Between Us (all of us #1)

S E V E N T E E N

A U B R E E

Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight. Out of mind.

More like out of sight, now I'm out of my mind.

Two weeks ago when Trenton stormed out of here like the Tri-State tornado, he awakened a feeling in me that I didn't know was still there. Roger didn't disturb me in that way anymore. Whenever he stomped out of the house, I let him and even though it bothered me, it didn't hurt me. But watching Trenton rush down my stairs, clenching his side after dragging my boy home to me because he knew that's what I'd want, it tortured my insides like I'd run toward an oncoming truck until it struck me.

I still feel it. Knowing he's so upset with me that he hasn't been to the house or even spoken to Diesel, it makes me sick to my stomach.

Last night I squeezed in some Solana time that I desperately needed. She's got her own things going on so we hadn't seen each other in a while and it was nice to catch up. I got her up to date on everything, to which she responded simply and with hardly any instance of surprise over the fact, "Please just fuck him already." Of course she backed up her claim with a valid and convincing argument on why I should, and I confessed how good Trenton was making me feel. How he was making up for what was lacking in my life, and now I just want to make things right.

I hurt him so badly, I tore away his hope—but I had to. I can't promise him something like that. Something that can't happen.

"Nah, it's cool, Dees." Trenton's voice is faint and hearing him somewhere nearby makes me clutch the edge of the kitchen sink. "Just remember I got my ass kicked because of you."

"I know, I owe you for that," says Diesel. "I promise."

My eyes search for him and I see him pass by the kitchen window as the two of them enter the back yard.

I need to talk to him. I need to tell him I'm sorry—something that can make this right. Normal. I don't know.

But it may be too late to be able to make things right, or to even pretend like we didn't end up here. Knowing the texture of each others lips, the tastes of our tongues. The feeling of his kisses on my bare skin, and mine on his.

Ugh, we can't go back. Not even if we wanted to.

And I don't want to. All I want is to see him. To touch him. To be next to him.

I hear the glass open and Diesel passes the kitchen as he goes toward the hall. Leaving Trenton outside by himself.

I toss the soapy sponge on top of the dishes and rush through the kitchen. Through the sliding glass, our eyes link as soon as he's in my sight. Sitting right in my line of vision at the backyard table, an unlit cigarette placed in between his lips, and I wish it were me.

The doorknob jingles viciously and I stop, dead in my tracks when the door opens up beside me and the big, hulking man of my nightmares tosses his briefcase and pulls me into his chest.

"I'm back, baby. Things make sense. I'm going to do right," he whispers in my ear, but my eyes are still on Trenton. He's risen from his seat, lips parted in shock and an intensity in his eyes that looks a lot like the last night I'd seen him.

I shut my eyes because I can't handle it. I can't physically ingest his heartbroken stare anymore. He shouldn't have that look in his eyes. He shouldn't be so jealous any time Roger touches me. Roger's my husband and Trenton's just a boy.

A loud crash from outside prompts me to open my eyes again. The table's on its side and Trenton's hands are in his hair like he's just lost himself to a fit of rage.