Page 69 of Wrecked

Adam reaches across the seat and opens the glove box. He pulls out one of those rectangular tissue packs and offers me one.

I sniffle and pull out one from the plastic. “How are you not sobbing right now?”

With a finger to my cheek, he wipes away a tear that is falling toward my chin. “I’ve seen a lot of ugly. Takes a lot to make me cry.”

“Good to know you’re not made of stone.”

He hands me another tissue. “I thought we’d already established that I was a romantic.”

I let out a huff. “That’s still to be seen. Come on, I need to hear what happens next.”

I grab his phone and get out of the car first and ask Toby to borrow his radio. Adam and I are painting the upstairs bedrooms today, so while he grabs the rollers, brushes, and paint, I get the radio synced and wait until Adam is here to turn the book back on to where we left off.

Listening to an audio book took me longer than I’d expected to get into it, but by chapter seven, I am immersed in the story. It also doesn’t hurt that the male narrator has a huskiness to his voice.

I’m on the floor, putting blue masking tape on the trim so that we won’t ruin the fresh white paint yesterday’s crew put on it.

“Never in my wildest imagination would I have believed that my dad getting me a hooker for my sixteenth birthday would bring us closer together.”

I mock laugh and say to myself, “Sounds like a great guy.”

I’m tearing a piece of tape with my teeth when the story turns darker.

“The first time he sent me on a drug run was the scariest day of my life.”

My eyes dart across the room to Adam, who is standing on a ladder.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, he looks my way. “You all right over there?”

I clear my throat as I rapidly nod my head and go back to working.

“I grab the rolled up bill and lean down to snort my first line. The sting burns my eyes, and I can’t help but cough from the powder hitting the back of my throat, but I did it. My throat goes numb, and my body temperature rises.”

I look back at Adam and see he hasn’t moved. He’s listening, but his focus is on me. His thoughts are probably running just as wildly as mine.

“I don’t know whether to be disgusted with what my life has become or pity myself.”

Is this what it was like the first time Brad got high? Did he mean for it to become a habit? Was he alone with the wrong people, thinking they were right, when the best people were busying themselves on a basketball court, looking the other way?

He rests the can of paint in his hand on the ladder and gives me his full attention. “We can turn it off.”

It’s a sweet offer, but if he can deal with listening to a story about a guy getting high, then so can I.

“Nah. It’s just a story.” I tear a piece of tape not as neatly as I’d like. “I’m waiting to get to the sexy scenes. What kind of romance is this?”

He laughs a big, beautiful booming laugh. Turning his back to me, he resumes painting the walls.

We spend the morning listening and painting, working into the early afternoon. So far, the book has gone from sweet to sad to angsty. The two main characters have been dancing around their attraction to one another and are finally alone.

I’m using a roller to paint the walls. Adam already cut the corners with a brush.

I’m rolling my brush up the wall when the narrator says, “Before she can sit down, I grab her hand, pulling her toward me, slamming our bodies together. Without a second thought, I push my lips against hers.”

“Finally!” I practically shout at the speakers.

I can hear Adam’s chuckle from where he’s working behind me on the other side of the room.

I dip the roller in the paint and glide the creamy shade of sandstone on the wall.