Beautiful Disaster 02 Walking Disaster (30 page)

“You barely know her,” Lexie scoffed.

“I know her.”

In my peripheral vision, I saw Shepley pull America toward the stairs, so I took Abby’s hand and followed. Unfortunately, Brad and Lexie did the same. In a line, we descended the stairs to
the basement, the music growing louder with each step.

The second my feet hit the last stair, the DJ played a slow song. Without hesitation, I pulled Abby onto the concrete dance floor, lined with furniture that had been pushed to the side for the
party.

Abby’s head fit perfectly in the crook of my neck. “I’m glad I never went to one of these things before,” I said in her ear. “It’s right that I’ve only
brought you.”

Abby pressed her cheek against my chest, and her fingers pressed into my shoulders.

“Everyone’s staring at you in this dress,” I said. “I guess it’s kinda cool . . . being with the girl everyone wants.”

Abby leaned back to make a show of rolling her eyes. “They don’t want me. They’re curious why
you
want me. And anyway, I feel sorry for anyone that thinks they have a
chance. I am hopelessly and completely in love with you.”

How could she even wonder? “You know why I want you? I didn’t know I was lost until you found me. I didn’t know what alone was until the first night I spent without you in my
bed. You’re the one thing I’ve got right. You’re what I’ve been waiting for, Pigeon.”

Abby reached up to take my face between her hands, and I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her off the floor. Our lips pressed together gently, and as she worked her lips against mine, I made
sure to silently communicate how much I loved her in that kiss, because I could never get it right with just words.

After a few songs and one hostile, yet entertaining moment between Lexie and America, I decided it was a good time to head upstairs. “C’mon, Pidge. I need a smoke.”

Abby followed me up the stairs. I made sure to grab her coat before continuing to the balcony. The second we stepped outside, I paused, as did Abby, and Parker, and the makeup-spackled girl he
was fingering.

The first move was made by Parker, who pulled his hand from underneath the girl’s skirt.

“Abby,” he said, surprised and breathless.

“Hey, Parker,” Abby replied, choking back a laugh.

“How, uh . . . how have you been?”

She smiled politely. “I’ve been great, you?”

“Uh”—he looked at his date—“Abby this is Amber. Amber . . . Abby.”

“
Abby
Abby?” she asked.

Parker gave one quick, uncomfortable nod. Amber shook Abby’s hand with a disgusted look on her face, and then eyed me as if she had just encountered the enemy. “Nice to meet you . .
. I guess.”

“Amber,” Parker warned.

I laughed once, and then opened the doors for them to walk through. Parker grabbed Amber’s hand and retreated into the house.

“That was . . . awkward,” Abby said, shaking her head and folding arms around her. She looked over the edge at the few couples braving the winter wind.

“At least he’s moved on from trying his damndest to get you back,” I said, smiling.

“I don’t think he was trying to get me back so much as trying to keep me away from you.”

“He took
one
girl home for me
once
. Now he acts like he’s made a habit of swooping in and saving every freshman I bagged.”

Abby shot me a wry look from the corner of her eye. “Did I ever tell you how much I
loathe
that word?”

“Sorry,” I said, pulling her into my side. I lit a cigarette and took a deep breath, turning over my hand. The delicate but thick black lines of ink weaved together to form
Pigeon
. “How weird is it that this tat isn’t just my new favorite, but it makes me feel at ease to know it’s there?”

“Pretty weird,” Abby said. I shot her a look, and she laughed. “I’m kidding. I can’t say I understand it, but it’s sweet . . . in a Travis Maddox sort of
way.”

“If it feels this good to have this on my arm, I can’t imagine how it’s going to feel to get a ring on your finger.”

“Travis . . .”

“In four, or maybe five years,” I said, inwardly cringing that I went that far.

Abby took a breath. “We need to slow down. Way, way down.”

“Don’t start this, Pidge.”

“If we keep going at this pace, I’m going to be barefoot and pregnant before I graduate. I’m not ready to move in with you, I’m not ready for a ring, and I’m
certainly not ready to settle down.”

I gently cupped her shoulders. “This isn’t the ‘I wanna see other people’ speech, is it? Because I’m not sharing you. No fucking way.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” she said, exasperated.

I relaxed and released her shoulders, turning to grip the railing. “What are you saying, then?” I asked, terrified of her answer.

“I’m saying we need to slow down. That’s
all
I’m saying.”

I nodded, unhappy.

Abby reached for my arm. “Don’t be mad.”

“It seems like we take one step forward and two steps back, Pidge. Every time I think we’re on the same page, you put up a wall. I don’t get it . . . most girls are hounding
their boyfriends to get serious, to talk about their feelings, to take the next step . . .”

“I thought we established that I’m not
most girls
?”

I dropped my head, frustrated. “I’m tired of guessing. Where do you see this going, Abby?”

She pressed her lips against my shirt. “When I think about my future, I see you.”

I hugged her to my side, every muscle in my body immediately relaxing with her words. We both watched the night clouds move across the starless, black sky. The laughter and humming of the voices
below sparked a smile across Abby’s face. I watched the same partygoers she did, huddling together and rushing into the house from the street.

For the first time that day, the ominous feeling hovering over me began to fade away.

“Abby! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” America said, bursting through the door. She held up her cell phone. “I just got off the phone with my dad.
Mick called them last night.”

Abby’s nose wrinkled. “Mick? Why would he call them?”

America raised her eyebrows. “Your mother kept hanging up on him.”

“What did he want?”

America pressed her lips together. “To know where you were.”

“They didn’t tell him, did they?”

America’s face fell. “He’s your father, Abby. Dad felt he had a right to know.”

“He’s going to come here,” Abby said, her voice swelling with panic. “He’s going to come here, Mare!”

“I know! I’m sorry!” America said, trying to comfort her friend. Abby pulled away from her and covered her face with her hands.

I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but I touched Abby’s shoulders. “He won’t hurt you, Pigeon,” I said. “I won’t let him.”

“He’ll find a way,” America said, watching Abby with heavy eyes. “He always does.”

“I have to get out of here.” Abby pulled her coat tight, and then pulled at the handles of the French doors. She was too upset to slow down long enough to first push down the handles
before pulling the doors. As tears fell down her cheeks, I covered her hands with mine. After helping her open the doors, Abby looked at me. I wasn’t sure if her cheeks were flush with
embarrassment or from the cold, but all I wanted was to make it go away.

I took Abby under my arm, and together we went through the house, down the stairs and through the crowd to the front door. Abby moved quickly, desperate to get to the safety of the apartment. I
had only heard about Mick Abernathy’s accolades as a poker player from my father. Watching Abby run like a frightened little girl made me hate any time my family wasted being in awe of
him.

Midstep, America’s hand shot out and grabbed Abby’s coat. “Abby!” she whispered, pointing to a small group of people.

They were crowded around an older, slovenly man, unshaven and dirty to the point where he looked like he smelled. He was pointing to the house, holding a small picture. The couples were nodding,
discussing the photo among themselves.

Abby stormed over to the man and pulled the photo from his hands. “
What
in the
hell
are you doing here?”

I looked down at the picture in her hand. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, scrawny, with mousy hair and sunken eyes. She must have been miserable. No wonder she wanted to get
away.

The three couples around him backed away. I glanced back at their stunned faces, and then waited for the man to answer. It was Mick fucking Abernathy. I recognized him by the unmistakable sharp
eyes nestled in that dirty face.

Shepley and America stood on each side of Abby. I cupped her shoulders from behind.

Mick looked at Abby’s dress and clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Well, well, Cookie. You can take the girl out of Vegas—”

“Shut up. Shut up, Mick. Just turn around,” she pointed behind him, “and go back to wherever you came from. I don’t want you here.”

“I can’t, Cookie. I need your help.”

“What else is new?” America sneered.

Mick narrowed his eyes at America, and then returned his attention to his daughter. “You look awful pretty. You’ve grown up. I wouldn’t’ve recognized you on the
street.”

Abby sighed. “What do you want?”

He held up his hands and shrugged. “I seemed to have gotten myself in a pickle, kiddo. Old Dad needs some money.”

Abby’s entire body tensed. “How much?”

“I was doing good, I really was. I just had to borrow a bit to get ahead and . . . you know.”

“I know,” she snapped. “How much do you need?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Well, shit, Mick, twenty-five hundred? If you’ll get the hell outta here . . . I’ll give that to you now,” I said, pulling out my wallet.

“He means twenty-five thousand,” Abby said, her voice cold.

Mick’s eyes rolled over me, from my face to my shoes. “Who’s this clown?”

My eyebrows shot up from my wallet, and instinctively, I leaned in toward my prey. The only thing stopping me was feeling Abby’s small frame between us, and knowing that this skeevy little
man was her father. “I can see, now, why a smart guy like yourself has been reduced to asking your teenage daughter for an allowance.”

Before Mick could speak, Abby pulled out her cell phone. “Who do you owe this time, Mick?”

Mick scratched his greasy, graying hair. “Well, it’s a funny story, Cookie—”

“
Who
?” Abby shouted.

“Benny.”

Abby leaned into me. “Benny? You owe
Benny
? What in the hell were you . . .” She paused. “I don’t have that kind of money, Mick.”

He smiled. “Something tells me you do.”

“Well, I don’t! You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? I knew you wouldn’t stop until you got yourself killed!”

He shifted; the smug grin on his face had vanished. “How much ya got?”

“Eleven thousand. I was saving for a car.”

America’s eyes darted in Abby’s direction. “Where did you get eleven thousand dollars, Abby?”

“Travis’s fights.”

I tugged on her shoulders until she looked at me. “You made
eleven thousand
off my fights? When were you betting?”

“Adam and I had an understanding,” she said casually.

Mick’s eyes were suddenly animated. “You can double that in a weekend, Cookie. You could get me the twenty-five by Sunday, and Benny won’t send his thugs for me.”

“It’ll clean me out, Mick. I have to pay for school,” Abby said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

“Oh, you can make it back in no time,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.

“When is your deadline?” Abby asked.

“Monday mornin’. Midnight,” he said, unapologetically.

“You don’t have to give him a fucking dime, Pigeon,” I said.

Mick grabbed Abby’s wrist. “It’s the least you could do! I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!”

America slapped his hand away and then shoved him. “Don’t you dare start that shit again, Mick! She didn’t make you borrow money from Benny!”

Mick glared at Abby. The light of hatred in his eyes made any connection with her as his daughter disappear. “If it weren’t for her, I woulda had my own money. You took everything
from me, Abby. I have nothin’!”

Abby choked back a cry. “I’ll get your money to Benny by Sunday. But when I do, I want you to leave me the
hell
alone. I won’t do this again, Mick. From now on,
you’re on your own, do you hear me? Stay. Away.”

He pressed his lips together and then nodded. “Have it your way, Cookie.”

Abby turned around and headed for the car.

America sighed. “Pack your bags, boys. We’re going to Vegas.” She walked toward the Charger, and Shepley and I stood, frozen.

“Wait. What?” He looked to me. “Like Las Vegas, Vegas? As in Nevada?”

“Looks that way,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“We’re just going to book a flight to Vegas,” Shepley said, still trying to process the situation.

“Yep.”

Shepley walked over to open America’s door to let her and Abby in on the passenger side, and then slammed it shut, blank faced. “I’ve never been to Vegas.”

An impish grin pulled one side of my mouth to the side. “Looks like it’s time to pop that cherry.”

A
BBY BARELY SPOKE WHILE WE PACKED, AND EVEN LESS
on the way to the airport. She stared off into space most of the time
unless one of us asked her a question. I wasn’t sure if she was drowning in despair, or just focused on the looming challenge ahead.

Checking in to the hotel, America did all the talking, flashing her fake ID, as if she had done it a thousand times before.

It occurred to me, then, that she probably
had
done it before. Vegas was where they had procured such flawless IDs, and why America never seemed to worry about what Abby could handle.
They’d seen it all before, in the bowels of the city of sin.

Shepley was an unmistakable tourist, his head leaned back, gawking at the ostentatious ceiling. We pulled our luggage into the elevator, and I pulled Abby to my side.