Chaos and Control(75)

I gasp as he abandons our conversation and makes his way to the mic with heavy, calculated steps. His breathing is quick. Preston’s hands wring together before he slides them deep into the pockets of his jeans. His shoulders are high, a muscle in his jaw tightens, and he is only looking at me.

“A sickness that kills quietly

A secret that burns my tongue

An introduction and she

Commands my universe

I try to keep my distance

But it is futile

Like sailors follow stars

I am led by her light

She quiets razor sharp

Worries and dulls my fears

With teeth over a bottom lip

A pretty word and talk of baseball

She is flawless in her passion

Imperfect in her love

She made me a better man

And even though we are apart

She makes me better still”

Scattered applause startles me out of my daze as tears fill my eyes. I try to blink them away to clear my vision. Preston’s terrified and honest expression, his begging words and confessions, leave me reeling. I want to wrap myself around him and thank him for this gift, this brave show. I can’t imagine the strength it took to stand up there and make himself so vulnerable.

All Preston’s words, as perfect as they are, don’t make our lives any less complicated, though. I still have a violent ex harassing me, I still feel so betrayed by Preston, and my sister is still wasting away before my eyes.

I jump up from our table and stumble over my chair. My eyes focus on the door, and all I can think about is my escape. People move by me in a blur. I hear Preston’s deep and somber voice call my name, but I keep moving. Outside, the night air welcomes me. I hurry across the parking lot and start the walk back to Bennie’s.

Swiping the tears from my face, I clean my mascara-smudged fingers off on the skirt of my black dress. I focus on getting back to the apartment, putting one shaky foot in front of the other. At first the shoes don’t bother me. My walk is fueled by my need to fall apart behind closed doors. A few minutes in, I feel a blister forming on my heel and try to compensate for the discomfort.

I hear Preston’s truck rumbling toward me and close my eyes. The brat in me wants to kick out of these damn shoes and take off running. But I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath and exhale through my nose.

“Wren, get in,” he says softly, as if easing a child out of hiding.

“No, thanks. I’ll walk.” I continue down the road.

“Come on, Wren. I know those shoes are killing you. Please.”

I stop walking and look at him through the window. “I can’t, Preston. I can’t deal with this…with any of this.” Fresh tears paint my cheeks, and I wipe them away angrily.

“We don’t have to talk. Just let me take you home.”

Standing there, his pleading eyes on me, I give in and climb into the truck. He nods and takes off without another word. When we pull up behind the store, Preston cuts off the headlights and we are sitting in the dark.

“Well, that didn’t go how I’d planned,” Preston says.

I lean my forehead against the cool window and speak without facing him. “Thank you for sharing your beautiful words with me. I know that took so much courage. Believe me when I say that I want to forget everything and crawl into your arms. I want you to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be fine. But that isn’t reality.”

I turn to face him now. Preston’s fingers trace the lines stitched into the seat between us. He doesn’t look up.

“It could be.”

“No, Preston. It can’t. Bennie is dying. She’ll be gone soon, and everything will not be fine. When I came back to Crowley, I never imagined I would find someone like you here—someone to challenge me and unravel me. I never imagined I’d want anyone the way I want you. But I never imagined being hurt so much, either. You and Bennie and this secret? It just about destroyed me.”

“I told you…”

“I know. Bennie asked you to keep it from me. I’m furious at her, too, but I don’t have the luxury of dealing with that anger. She’ll be gone soon, and I won’t spend a minute of our time being mad at her.”

I push open the door and haul myself out of the truck, away from that beautiful boy and all his perfect imperfections.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Loveless


Mondays suck even when you don’t work. I wake feeling hungover, but I know it’s not from alcohol. This is an emotional hangover, the worst kind. My head is pounding, there’s an ache inside my chest, and my eyes feel like they have sand in them. That’s just the physical stuff. I pour myself out of bed and into the shower, where I try to scrub away all of it.

Bennie and I spend the day inside. I cook grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, and we lay on the floor, flipping through photo albums while My Bloody Valentine plays. Too often, my mind drifts to Preston or Dylan, but I work hard to stay in the moment with my sister. She goes to bed without eating, and I sit and binge watch episodes of Supernatural on Netflix.

With every dangerous situation on the show, with each surprise, I am brought back to thoughts of Dylan. I can feel my anxiety growing day by day. The last piece of mail he sent was so close, if he is coming, he could be here by now. Surely Sawyer would have told me if he was released from jail in St. Louis. A monster jumps from the shadows, attacking the Winchester brothers, and I yelp. I turn the television off and try to calm my frazzled nerves.