Page 47 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
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When I returned home later that evening, I nearly tripped over the boxes stacked up in the living room. Wade was moving in.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Ridge
I was breaking allmy own rules.
I don’t do heavy, deep, and real.
I don’t pour my heart out and bare my soul.
And I sure as hell never share my fears or expose my weaknesses.
Self-preservation is the name of the game. Why give someone the power to ruin you when you’re perfectly capable of doing it all on your own?
It had been an entire week since I spilled my guts at the swimming hole, and I wanted them back. My guts. My balls. Mysanity. Because clearly, I’d lost all three.
That was the only explanation for why I was running along the abandoned railroad tracks at ten-thirty at night.
Did I mention that it was four and a half miles from where I lived? Or that I had a perfectly good truck, but instead of driving, I was running?
I arrived at the junkyard dripping with sweat, severely dehydrated, and famished.
Panting from the exertion, I rested my hands on my hips and stared at the chain-link fence. It loomed before me like Everest. Another hurdle.
I turned and scanned the houses on the hill across from me, trying to figure out which one she lived in, but short of going door to door like a Jehovah’s Witness, I wouldn’t find her that way. Summoning my last reserves, I vaulted the fence.
Why was I doing this? Oh, right. Because Evie had texted:Come and find me. I dare you.
It was a test like everything with us, and once again, I’d risen to the challenge. After work, I’d driven to Bluebonnet Diner, but Evie had the night off.
So, I’d embarked on this scavenger hunt for a girl who I should be running away from instead of chasing if I'd been in my right mind. But now that I’d started this quest, I couldn’t stop until I won.
I followed the music to the old Chevy Impala and raised my phone light, shining it directly on her face. She shielded her eyes with her hands, but I kept my light trained on her.
Evie was sitting cross-legged on the roof in a black Purple Rain T-shirt, cutoffs, and black high tops. Her lips were painted the same shade as her nails—cherry red, so dark it was almost black.
“Put your hands in the air where I can see them,” I commanded like a cop in a cheesy B-movie.
Laughing, she slowly raised her hands in the air. I turned off my phone light and pocketed the device, then grabbed the doorframe and climbed onto the roof.
“About time,” she said when I sat next to her on the broken-down hunk of metal.
Not sure if it was a trick of my imagination, but she smelled like black cherries. Ripe and juicy and so tempting that it was a goddamn miracle I had yet to take the first taste.
“You win,” she said.
“What’s my prize?” I wanted her to say,Me. I’m your prize. But of course, Evie would never offer herself up so readily.
She held up one finger, then pulled her backpack into her lap and rummaged through it. The zipper was broken, and safety pins, skull patches, and zebra print duct tape held the backpack together. In the middle, a red patch shaped like a fist said, POW!
Even if she could afford a new backpack, I had the feeling she’d still prefer this one.
She handed me a bottle of water and plunked a Tupperware container into my lap. I guzzled half the bottle, and when I came up for air, I cracked open the container and looked inside. Cherries, apple wedges, and trail mix all arranged in separate compartments.
“This looks like a snack pack for a toddler.”
