Firsts: A first in series collection Read online

  So, that’s his name, Travis. My cousin Pierce is jogging toward us. When he looks from left to right and sees me walking with Travis, he picks up his pace. Once he reaches us, Pierce pulls me next to him, and I immediately miss the feel of Travis’ hand on my back.

  “What the hell, Charlotte? You’re all wet. Meara’s been looking for you, too. Why are you with him?” Even though I’ve never had a brother, my cousins gladly fill the role. They have always looked out for me and get angry when a guy is anywhere near me. They did it with Caroline, and they do it for Meara, just the same. It’s borderline crazy sometimes how protective they are. Secretly, I like knowing I have someone who cares that much, but I’d never tell Pierce or Declan that.

  “You know her?” Travis asks.

  “She’s my cousin, asshat.”

  Travis takes a step back, mouth agape. “What?”

  “Yeah, I told you about my cousin, Charlotte. This is her. Why the hell are you with her, alone?” He’s practically seething.

  When I see Travis struggling to come up with an answer, I jump in.

  “We ran into each other. We were both on our way back from the other end of the beach. He was going to get his friend because he’s too drunk to drive home.” I raise my eyebrows, silently daring Travis to challenge me.

  “Fuck, man, you were supposed to be the DD,” Pierce tells Travis, clearly irritated. “Stacy wants to give me a ride now.” He chuckles and does the chin lift thing to Travis.

  “You’re such a pig,” I argue.

  “I’m a man, Char, but I don't disrespect them. You know me better than that.”

  “Whatever. I’ll drive him,” I volunteer, the words coming out before my brain can register what I’m saying.

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Yes, Pierce, I will. I’m a big girl. Besides, he’s your friend, right? It’s just a ride,” I scoff. “You can get his car tomorrow or something.” I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me tonight; I’m normally not this bold. It’s empowering, though, and I’m giving myself an internal high five.

  Pierce looks between Travis and me for a minute before he throws his hands up in the air.

  “Fine, but if something happens to her, it's your ass, Travis.”

  “Pierce, cut the guy some slack.” I have no idea why I’m defending him or insisting on giving him a ride. I think it’s because of the sadness I see in him. It’s nice to be the responsible one for once. I’m doing this to prove something to myself. Hell if I know what it is, though.

  “Let’s go.” Not giving Pierce a chance to fight about it anymore, I grab Travis’ hand and pull him toward my car. My parents always rent a vehicle for the summer, and thankfully, this year I got my own. He follows behind, dragging his feet and stumbling every few steps. Not as sober as I thought. We get to the car, and I open the passenger side door. He falls into the seat and reclines it so he’s lying down.

  “So, it would be helpful if I knew where you lived,” I prompt, backing out of the parking space.

  “Do you know where Pierce lives?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m in the apartment next to his.”

  “Okie dokie. Buckle up.”

  He must know Pierce pretty well if they live next door to each other. I want to ask him, but before I’m even out of the lot, he’s passed out and snoring. I put some music on and drive the twenty minutes to his place. Once parked in the visitor spot, I walk around to his side and open the door.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.” He doesn’t respond, so I try again, “Travis, we’re here.” I nudge him a few times, and he finally sits up. “Let’s get you inside.”

  After several stumbles and me using every ounce of strength I have to hold him up, we get to his door. He fumbles with the lock a few times, but finally gets it open, and we walk in together.

  “Thanks for the ride. And Charlotte, I’m really fucking sorry.”

  I start to respond but am cut off when he pushes past me and runs down the hall. It’s not long before I hear him throwing up. I look through the fridge and grab a bottle of water then walk to the bathroom. He’s stopped vomiting and is sitting up with his head resting on the wall, defeated.

  “You don't have to stay. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can, but I want to make sure you don’t choke on your puke and die or anything. I couldn't live with myself if that happened.”

  His eyes pop open, and he tilts his head to examine me. I see a tiny upturn of his lips before he stands and drags his feet to what I assume is his bedroom. I dig through his bathroom cabinet until I find some aspirin. Following the hallway, I enter his bedroom. He’s lying face down on his bed, shirtless. I hand him the pills and water, trying my best not to stare at the hard planes of his back.

  “Here, take these.” I watch the muscles flex, and swallow the drool I’m sure is about to fall out of my mouth. I get the answer to my question; the tattoo goes all the way up to his shoulder. It looks like some kind of pattern with flames.

  He takes the pills and finishes the water. Without another word, he plops his head back down and is almost instantly snoring. I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. I shut his light off and walk back to the kitchen where I spot his cell phone on the island.

  I contemplate my next move and decide to go for it. If I can pull it off, it’ll be the most rebellious thing I’ve done. I dial my dad’s number.

  “Hello?” he answers.

  “Hey, Dad. Is it okay if I stay at Beth’s?”

  “I don’t know, hon.” His voice is hesitant, and I know I have to beg.

  “Please, Dad? I’m having lots of fun and some of the other girls I used to go to school with are staying there, too. Please?”

  “Okay, fine,” he relents. “Hey, how come you’re not using your phone?”

  “Uh, my battery died. You can call me on this number if you need anything. Bye, Dad. Love you.” I hang up before he can ask any more questions.

  Chapter 2

  Charlotte

  I WAKE UP THE next morning to that strange feeling someone is watching me. I squint open an eye and see Travis sitting on the coffee table looking at me. And he looks pissed. I gasp and sit up, brushing hair out of my face.

  “Umm, hi?” I say.

  “Umm, hi?” he repeats, eyebrows raised. “What are you still doing here?”

  Okay. Now I’m pissed. I put my ass on the line more than once last night for him. I throw the blanket off and point at his chest.

  “Ya know, for someone who saved you last night, you sure have a shitty way of showing appreciation.”

  He smirks at me. Smirks. Ugh. Asshole.

  “What the hell is so funny?” I squeeze my hands into fists and breathe through my nose.

  The nerve of this guy. He makes me feel emotions I usually hold inside. I never talk about Caroline. I always keep her memories to myself. I hate getting pity from people, so her story stays locked away, but last night I told Travis about her. Everything with him is intensified. I don’t yell at people or let the way they’re looking at me upset me. But with him, it’s unnerving how he’s made me feel in the short time I’ve known him. Especially my hormones; they’re on overdrive from just looking at him.

  Like now, he’s shirtless with a pair of grey basketball shorts on. In the light of day, I can see the flame tattoo better, and it makes him even hotter.

  He stands and walks toward the kitchen. “Nothing’s funny. I like your panties by the way.”

  “Shit!” I grab the blanket and cover myself. I totally forgot I took my wet jeans off last night. “You’re an asshole.”

  He laughs as I grab my pants and head to the bathroom with the blanket around my waist. Once inside, I shut the door and lean against it. What the hell am I doing? I thought it was a good idea last night. God, I’m an idiot. I brush my teeth with my fingers and finish freshening up. I open the door a crack and don’t hear anything, but my stomach can sense the food. I go to the kitchen, and w
hen Travis turns around, he has a plate of bacon and French toast in his hand. Damn. He put a shirt on. My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles simultaneously.

  “Hungry?” he asks, clearly amused.

  “Starving, and you made my favorite, how sweet of you.” I take a seat at the kitchen table and thank him when he sets a plate down in front of me.

  “Well, it’s the least I could do,” he replies, so quiet I almost don't hear.

  I take a bite of the most amazing piece of French toast I’ve ever had. It has this crunchy coating on the outside and is so delicious, I unapologetically groan. “Damn, this is good.”

  “So. Charlotte, huh?”

  “Yup. But people call me Char, too. Apparently two syllables are too much to annunciate.”

  “You’re kind of a smartass, aren’t you?”

  “Honestly?”

  The mood in the room shifts, and his eyes turn a darker shade of blue when he rigidly answers, “Always with me.”

  His intensity makes me freeze mid bite. “No, I’m not. I’m usually shy and quiet, but for some reason you bring out this… side of me.” I shrug my shoulders and shove the last of the food into my mouth.

  He looks at me while biting his thumbnail nervously. I skirt past him and deposit my dirty dishes in the sink.

  His chair scrapes across the floor, and I startle when he speaks directly behind me. “We need to talk.”

  “Okay.” Isn’t that always bad, when someone says ‘we need to talk’? It’s like the universal sign for ‘what I’m about to say is not cool’.

  “Let’s go in the other room.”

  I follow him and cross my legs on the couch so I’m looking at him. His hands run back and forth on top of his buzzed head, and he lets out a huge breath.

  “I don’t even know what the hell to say to you. I don't remember all of last night, but what I do remember, I was a complete ass.”

  “Yes, you were,” I agree.

  “I’m sorry. I just… I’m going through some shit, and you caught me at a bad time.”

  “About the baby?”

  His eyes narrow as he assesses me. “How do you know about her?”

  “You told me… last night." I’m hesitant in my words. I don’t want to upset him.

  “What did I say?”

  “You said that she’d be about three years old. And that she’s dead,” I add quietly.

  His hands scrape up and down his jeans. “Like I said, I don't remember much from last night, but I do remember you coming after me in the water. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Fuck.”

  He stands and looks out the window. After a few minutes, he starts talking again. “I moved up here from Chicago last year because I couldn’t take it anymore. The pitiful looks I got from everyone, the fucking whispering behind my back. Everyone down there knows what happened. Nobody here does. I made sure of that.”

  I can’t help but feel proud right now, because he trusts me with a secret.

  “I met Tammy in high school. I had this plan back then. I was going to graduate, become a firefighter, marry her, and start a family. I learned the hard way that life doesn’t go according to plan. She ended up getting pregnant our senior year of high school. I was excited. She told me on my birthday. Best fucking birthday ever, right?”

  He rests his forehead on the glass, but I can still see his profile. His eyes squeeze shut as he relives this memory. “I know the average nineteen-year-old isn’t supposed to be excited about getting his girlfriend pregnant, but I was. I put my dream of becoming a firefighter on hold and got a job at my uncle’s construction company. I needed insurance, and the money was good.”

  Wow. I can’t imagine many guys would be responsible like that at such a young age. Usually, nineteen-year-old boys are drinking and partying in college, not wanting to have a family.

  “As soon as we graduated, we got an apartment together, and I proposed to her. She said ‘yes’ right away and was excited, at least she seemed to be. I got a crib and painted the second bedroom. Tammy went along with everything, never once acting hesitant or doubtful.”

  He turns around and begins to pace, pain evident on his beautiful features. “I was working a lot, trying to save money to support us. I came home after a fourteen-hour day, and when I walked into the apartment, it was quiet. Too quiet. She always had a radio or TV on. I called for her, and when I didn’t get an answer, I walked toward the bedroom. I thought she was taking a nap, but then I heard the water. I turned directions and went to the bathroom. When I opened the door, I almost passed out.” He stops talking and looks at me, jaw now clenched and white knuckled fists at his sides.

  “If it’s too much, you don’t have to finish.”

  “No, you need to know, you need to understand. I was not myself last night. You deserve to know why I acted like that. Besides, my mom keeps bugging me to talk to someone about it, and I’ve decided that you’re the lucky one.” He unclenches his jaw to give me a weak smile.

  “Anyway, the shower was running, and she was in the tub. Her wrists were sliced open with blood dripping down them. Most of it was dried, though. I don’t know how long she had been sitting there.”

  I gasp and cover my mouth. “Oh, God. That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “She left a note. A fucking note. She said she didn’t think it was fair to take the baby’s life without taking her own, so…”

  “I’m so sorry.” I wipe the tears that silently fall down my cheeks. I can’t imagine seeing someone you love like that. And knowing the life you created was destroyed on top of it.

  “Yesterday was the anniversary of that day.” He sits back down next to me. “I actually hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since I moved here almost a year ago. I fucked up last night. God, I fucked up so bad with you.”

  “It’s fine. You’re okay now. I’m okay.” I put my hand on his arm, hoping to make him feel better. I want to take his pain away, make it mine, so he doesn’t have to feel it anymore.

  “No, it’s not fine. You could have gotten hurt last night. Christ, look at you; you’re a whole five feet nothing, and I grabbed you in the fucking water. I could have fucking killed you.” He puts his hands on top of his head, links his fingers together, and squeezes his eyes shut.

  “But you didn’t. And I’m fine.” Taking a breath, I add, “Do you want to talk about it more, about why you were there?”

  “No. I don’t. I want to forget about it, actually. I’ve dealt with their deaths; yesterday was a bad day. I want you to know, though,”—he makes me look at him before finishing—“I’m not normally that guy.”

  “Let’s forget about it, then.”

  “Pierce is gonna kick my ass when he finds out you stayed here, rightfully so.”

  “No, he’s not. I told him we ran into each other. Seriously. I understand how rough yesterday was for you. I won’t say anything to him. I get it.”

  I want him to know that what he says or does with me is safe. “But please, let’s move on. Talk about something else. How about twenty questions?”

  * * *

  Travis

  “Twenty questions? You want to play twenty questions?” I ask, dumbfounded.

  “Sure, why not? You explained last night, I understand, now let’s move on. I’ll go first. Favorite movie.”

  I hang my head for a minute, processing what just happened. How did this girl — this beautiful, brave, selfless girl — make her way into my cold heart in a matter of a minute? When I woke up this morning, the memories of last night flashed in my mind, and I can honestly say I’ve never felt like such a piece of shit. I don’t know what it is about her. A girl like her should be with a good guy. Not one like me, who's so messed up in the head that I walk into a lake, drunk off my ass, and practically drown a completely innocent stranger trying to help.

  Since Tammy killed herself and my unborn baby, I’ve been a fucked-up mess. When it first happened, I did nothing but sit in my apartment and drink myself into oblivion. I didn't s
hower for weeks because I refused to go into that bathroom.

  After a few months of agony, my mom kicked my ass into gear. I went back to work for my uncle’s construction company and made everyone believe I was healing. What they didn’t know was that as soon as I got home, I would drink shot after shot of Jack until I passed out. Then I would do the same thing the following day. This went on for about a year and a half. I got really good at pretending.

  Then Mom stopped by unexpectedly one evening after I had passed out. That was the final straw. She made me sober up, and I decided to move up to Wisconsin from Chicago to be by my brother, Brandon. He moved to the Milwaukee suburbs a few years ago and got a job as a police officer, like our dad was.

  I was fine all day. I even forgot what day it was until right before I picked Pierce up for Meara’s graduation party.

  Seeing all of the eighteen-year-old kids so happy brought back the memories of what I was like a few years ago. I had so much damn hope and excitement for my future.

  I had grabbed a bottle of Jack out of the cooler and walked around until I drank the entire thing. I remember looking over at Char and watching her profile. She was looking at the water with such a sense of peace. I envied her. She looked like a fucking angel — wavy blond hair halfway down her back, the reflection of the moon glowing around her like she literally fell from Heaven.

  I lean toward her and grab the back of her head. My only thought is to get my hands and mouth on this girl. At the last possible second, I decide to slow down so I don’t scare her, and brush my lips against hers. Barely there, but every nerve in my body comes to life for the first time in years. She’s hesitant at first, but once I swipe my tongue across the seam of her lips, she presses harder and grips my biceps. My dick gets hard, and before I do something to push her too fast, I pull back and answer her question.

  “Backdraft.”

  “Hmm?” She hums, eyes wide open, cheeks flushed, and damn if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

  “My favorite movie. It’s Backdraft.” I smile at her and let go of her head. I go to the kitchen with the excuse of getting a couple of bottles of water. Really, I need a minute to tame my dick. I adjust my shorts and sit back down next to her. Handing her the open bottle, I ask the same question.