If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(16)

“Have a good day, Mila Hill,” he tells me, his eyes flickering up and down the length of me. “Watch out for those wolves.”

And he’s gone. He disappears into the bar and I realize that I’m standing alone outside. I shake my head and sigh, going inside to order my sandwich. I have no idea what just happened, but Pax Tate is firmly in my head now. And I have the feeling he’s not going anywhere. My stomach flutters and I realize that I like that thought.

********

Pax


[page]I walk Mila to the deli all week.

I have no idea why.

All I know is…I’m drawn to her. She’s everything that I’m not and it fascinates the hell out of me. And it fascinates me that she hasn’t told me to leave her alone. She seems as entranced by the situation as I am.

So every day, at 11:00 a.m., I roll out of bed and shower, then make my way into town. I park in the same place and wait until she comes out.

Every day, she teases me about stalking her.

Every day, I tell her that she’s the stalker, because she’s choosing to walk past my car. Never mind the fact that I’m parking directly in front of her shop now. She giggles and flushes and looks into my eyes and I swear to god, I have no idea what I’m doing.

But I keep doing it.

And she seems to like it.

Yesterday, she mentioned that she was taking today off, just in case I needed to know for my ‘stalking calendar.’ I love a girl with a sense of humor. And I have to admit, today feels a bit empty because I know that I won’t be seeing her. She gave me something to get up for, something to look forward to.

But not today.

I woke up early this morning from a restless sleep, roused by my own tossing and turning. I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac and actually, it’s why I started taking pills in the first place, years ago. I realized way back then how easy it was, how very easy, to swallow a pill and slip into oblivion.

I had a therapist after my mom died, and even though I can’t remember what he looked like, I can remember that he prescribed me sleeping pills. It helped keep the nightmares away.

All I remember now about the nightmares is that they were horrible. Bad enough that I used to sneak down and sleep in the doorway to my father’s room. He would wake in the morning and find me sprawled on the floor. And I would wake not remembering my dreams.

My therapist told my father it was my mind’s way of protecting itself from the emotional trauma. Well, my mind has done a good job. To this day, I don’t remember the events surrounding my mother’s death.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I pick it up to find a text from my father.

You need to come sign your papers.

Fuck. It’s that time already?

I toss the phone back on the stand, where it skids across the mahogany, coming to rest against the wall. Every quarter, I have to sign papers for my trust fund, since it is fed by my mother’s family business. I am technically the sole heir to her shares. It’s a pain in the ass, but it’s a necessary evil.

I am on the way to the shower when my doorbell rings and I pause. I’m not expecting anyone. It had better not be someone trying to sell me religion or they might find their teeth knocked into their throat.

Because f*ck that.

Glancing through the window of my door, I see Jill the bar whore on my porch, nervously shifting her weight from left foot to right. I sigh. I’m really not in the mood for her, but I open the door anyway. I guess I feel sorry for the desperate look on her face. She pretty much always comes to me when she doesn’t have money to buy from her dealer.

A blow job for a line of blow. It’s our running deal. And the deal was her idea. Who am I to pass that up?

Jill smiles as the door opens, revealing grayish teeth. It’s a sign that she has been using harder shit, like meth. I cringe. Even I won’t touch that shit. It’s the devil, or so I’m told. One time and even the strongest user is addicted. I don’t need that.

“In the mood to get your dick sucked?” she asks with a smile, her fingers jittery as they thrum her leg. She’s agitated and restless, a sure sign that it’s been awhile since she’s used and she’s craving it bad.

“Not really,” I tell her honestly. “I just woke up. And to be honest, my dick is a little pissed off that you left me to die on the beach. A stranger had to call for help. You ran off like a chicken shit.”

Jill looks stricken.

“Pax,” she whines. “I didn’t mean to. I just can’t go to jail, you know? I’ve got two kids. I’m a single mom. I can’t be in jail.”

She’s desperate now, whining even louder and I stare at her in surprise. Shocked horror, actually.

“You’ve got two kids?”

After all this time, a couple years, I didn’t know that. She’s never said anything, never mentioned them even once.

She nods. “Yep. A girl and a boy. Five years old and seven.”

All I feel is disgust now and I shake my head.

“Then what the f*ck are you doing on this shit, Jill? And hanging out in the bar all day and night? It’s one thing to f*ck up your own life, but it’s entirely different when you’re f*cking up someone else’s. You need to get your shit straight.”

I start to close the door in her face but she lunges inside, clutching at me. Crying. Wailing. Panicked. I grab her wrists and hold them to prevent her from scratching me.