Page 74 of Detour

Big Mouth Beckett’s laughter booms through the stairwell, bouncing off the paint-chipped walls. “You fucked yourself on that one, huh?”

Yes, yes, I did. That shit backfired big time. Keeping her car under false pretenses was meant to help Angela, not push her into some other dude’s arms.

I know something weird is going on with that manager of hers. I had my suspicions before, what with his lurking around Creekwood, but driving through the wash with Marc confirmed it. Dude is bad news any way you slice it. Even Angela’s absentee mom mentioned the guy being immoral. Watching him ogle Angela as she cleaned up the other night was torture. I swear I’ve never wanted to beat the shit out of someone so bad, but ultimately, I didn’t. That job’s important to Angela—after meeting her mom I can see why—and I couldn’t risk her losing it over me bashing her boss’s face in. With her only form of transportation taken away, I’ve been able to make my presence not only seen but also felt at every shift since, which seemed like a good compromise. At the time.

Angela’s strong, not only physically, but mentally, too, and can take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to. Knowing she’d refuse any help I offered, I jumped at keeping her car for a little longer than necessary. It’s not all bullshit—the vintage Jeep did need some repairs—but nothing we didn’t already have on hand. Beck got it fixed up as best he could, practically good as new, but I’ve been sitting on that information, waiting for the right time to bring it up. And now she’s with her boy Drew, or Drew The Douche as I like to call him—when Angela’s not around anyway—after spending the day with me. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Hell, I can still taste her if I lick my lips just right, which actually is fantastic considering how incredible Angela’s essence is.

I fling open our door, stalking to the kitchen to grab a sports drink from the fridge, then down the entire thing.

Today got away from me. It was damn near perfect before Satan’s mistress showed up, ruining everything. Angela was just starting to lower some of her walls for me. For us. I think back to the other night finding her asleep on the couch next to Beck. She’s warming up to us even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

Marc takes a seat at the counter, distributing the highly desired alcohol. Three shots of Fireball poured, we wordlessly cheers, then shoot them back simultaneously. The cinnamon-flavored burn a welcome distraction from the worry coating my throat.

The kitchen falls silent, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

Family members fighting with each other is nothing new, although in Marc’s family it’s usually only the men that do the verbal sparring. Watching two females go at it, especially with such blatant animosity, was unsettling for all of us. The fact it was directed at the woman that had her legs wrapped around my head just this afternoon made it that much harder to witness.

My parents avoid confrontation altogether, content with pretending everything is fine. And Beck simply doesn’t have any family. I can safely say none of us have ever seen anything like that before. Angela’s mom was out for blood. No doubt about it. And does she really think Angela owes her for giving birth to her? I don’t care how you spin it, that’s not how that shit works.

Today she let her guard down, only to throw it right back up at the first sign of her past. She’s strong as hell but she must be exhausted. Playing defense full time would wear anybody down. The walls Angela barricades herself behind make more sense now. It’s obvious they were built out of necessity, not choice. Needing to keep yourself safe from emotional abuse like that can take a toll. Seeing her mother’s cruelty firsthand gives me a whole new respect for Angela. Of course she’ll probably take it as pity though. While I do feel bad—nobody should be treated like that, especially not by a parent—I admire her strength for becoming the woman she is today.

I meant it when I said I wanted Angela. My attraction to her started the minute I laid eyes on her and has grown every moment since. Each small bit she’s shown, hooking me more and more. I can breathe easier when she’s near, like she’s the air I’ve been holding my breath for all my life. The air I’d go to battle for should anything, or anyone, threaten to take it away. That small taste from earlier did nothing to satisfy my hunger for her. I crave her day and night. Waking to Angela snuggled in my arms put every other morning in my life to shame. Starting a day without her in my bed lost any previous appeal and I’ll do anything to make sure the next time I get her there, she stays.

“Think she’ll come home tonight?”

My eyes trace the swirling pattern of the granite, considering his question. “I don’t know. She has graduation in two days so she has to come back sometime, right?”

Beck rubs the back of his neck, nodding absently. Marc’s lips tilt down slightly, none of us willing to voice our doubts.

“As long as that mother of hers doesn’t show up. Fuck. You really want to take that on?” Marc prods.

Eyes boring into his, I challenge, “You wouldn’t?”

“She deserves better than that. Shit, nobody deserves what I heard out there. I’m not even sleeping with her and I’d gladly take on that b-”

“Watch your mouth.” His eyebrows nosedive until I clarify, “It has nothing to do with sleeping with her.” We share a smirk.

“Coty’s right. Angie’s different. For whatever reason, she ended up living next door to us, the three misfits with shittier families than the next. But we get her now. We get to show her what we learned a long time ago. That family-”

“Is a choice,” Marc finishes Beck’s thought.

“We just have to show her that.” I nod, licking my bottom lip.

Words won’t work. They’ve been used as a weapon against her for so long, they’ve lost almost all meaning. We have to prove ourselves to Angela and hope she chooses us back.

* * *

“Pick up,” I ground out, listening to the line ring repeatedly before going to Angela’s generic voice mail—again. “Shit!” I toss my cell on the bed then yank my door open.

“Hey Coty,” a girl in the kitchen purrs as I pass. I jerk a nod in her direction and continue on. No thanks. She’s cute, with her perfectly curled blonde locks draped along her tiny shirt, showing off her curvy figure, down to her skintight jeans and high heels. She’s dressed to impress and usually it would. There’s just one problem though—she’s not Angela.

I scratch my stomach, hoping to alleviate the tightness there. It’s been twenty-four hours and still no sign of her.

The packed living room sends tingles up my arms and neck, settling at the base of my skull. Rolling my shoulders, I spot my roommates out on the back balcony. As soon as I slide open the door, my eyes scan the pool, wanting to see my favorite sight back here. However, my eyebrows snap together when I find it empty. Fuck.

“Anything?” Beck asks, some random on his lap.