Walking Disaster

had hatred in her eyes. No matter what I did—moving on without her, or lying in my bed agonizing over her—she would have hated me. “I
can’t win with you. I can’t
win
with you! You say you’re done . . . I’m fucking miserable over here! I had to break my phone into a million pieces to keep from
calling you every minute of the damn day—I’ve had to play it off like everything is just fine at school so you can be happy . . . and you’re fucking
mad
at me? You
broke
my
fuckin’
heart!” I screamed.
    “Travis, you’re drunk. Let Abby go home,” Shepley said.
    I grabbed Abby’s shoulders and pulled her closer, looking into her eyes. “Do you want me or not? You can’t keep doing this to me, Pidge!”
    “I didn’t come here to see you.”
    “I don’t want her,” I said, staring at her lips. “I’m just so fucking unhappy, Pigeon.” I leaned in to kiss her, but she grabbed my chin and held me away.
    “You’ve got her lipstick on your mouth, Travis,” she said, disgusted.
    I took a step back and lifted my shirt, wiping my mouth. Red streaks left behind made it impossible to deny. “I just wanted to forget. Just for one fuckin’ night.”
    One tear spilled over onto Abby’s cheek, but she quickly wiped it away. “Then don’t let me stop you.”
    She turned to walk away, but I grabbed her arm again.
    A blond blur was suddenly in my face, lashing out and striking at me with small but vicious fists.
    “Leave her alone, you bastard!”
    Shepley grabbed America, but she pushed him away, turning to slap my face. The sound of her hand against my cheek was quick and loud, and I flinched with the noise. Everyone froze for a moment,
shocked at America’s sudden rage.
    Shepley grabbed his girlfriend again, holding her wrists, and pulling her to the Honda while she thrashed about.
    She fought him violently, her blond hair whipping around as she attempted to get away.
    “How
could
you? She deserved better from you, Travis!”
    “America, STOP!” Shepley yelled, louder than I’d ever heard him.
    Her arms fell to her side as she glared at Shepley in disgust. “You’re
defending
him?”
    Although he was scared as hell, he stood his ground. “Abby broke up with
him
. He’s just trying to move on.”
    America’s eyes narrowed, and she pulled her arm from his grip. “Well then, why don’t you go find a random WHORE”—she looked at Megan—“from the Red and
bring her home to fuck, and then let me know if it helps you get over me.”
    “Mare.” Shepley grabbed for her, but she evaded him, slamming the door as she sat behind the wheel. Abby opened the passenger door and sat next to her.
    “Baby, don’t leave,” Shepley begged, leaning down into the window.
    America started the car. “There is a right side and a wrong side here, Shep. And
you
are on the
wrong
side.”
    “I’m on your side,” he said, his eyes desperate.
    “Not anymore, you’re not,” she said, backing out.
    “America? America!” Shepley yelled.
    When the Honda was out of sight, Shepley turned around, breathing hard.
    “Shepley, I’m—”
    Before I could get a word out, Shepley reared back and launched his fist into my jaw.
    I took the blow, touched my face, and then nodded. I deserved that.
    “Travis?” Megan called from the stairs.
    “I’ll take her home,” Shepley said.
    I watched the taillights of the Honda get smaller as it took Abby farther away, feeling a lump form in my throat. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Possession
    S HE ’ S GOING TO BE THERE .
    Showing up would be a mistake.
    It would be awkward.
    She’s going to be there.
    What if someone asks her to dance?
    What if she meets her future husband and I’m there to witness it?
    She doesn’t want to see me.
    I might get drunk and do something to piss her off.
    She might get drunk and do something to piss me off.
    I shouldn’t go.
    I had to go. She was going to be there.
    I mentally listed the pros and cons for going to the Valentine’s party but kept coming back to the same conclusion: I needed to see Abby, and that’s where she would be.
    Shepley was getting ready in his room, barely speaking to me since he and America had finally gotten back together. In part because they stayed holed up in his room making up for lost time, and
he still blamed me for the five weeks they’d spent apart.
    America never missed a moment to let me know she hated my guts, especially after the most recent time I’d broken Abby’s heart. I had