FicWad

Abbey blushed at the suggestion that she had peaked Tracy’s interest in him. She swept a curl behind her ear and looked at him a moment. He was not exactly the man who had captured her heart from afar, in her teenage years; his fingers unpolished, no dark eyeliner beneath his clear blue eyes, his auburn hair ungelled and limp, and his round face beginning to age, yet she found herself beaming in adoration at him.

He cleared his throat after a moment, and she realized she had been staring.

“I’m so sorry,” she admitted her cheeks pink, “this kind of thing has never happened to me.”

“You mean you don’t usually stare at men with a glazed look in your eye?” Tré asked her with a chuckle. Abbey's cheeks flushed.

“N-no, I meant you don’t usually walk into a bar to find one of your musical heroes sitting alone, a beer in hand,” she told him earnestly, taking a large drink of her fruit concoction.

“Meh,” he said looking her in the eye, “I’m not a big deal.”

Once again, Abbey’s jaw dropped.

“Not a big deal?” she asked incredulously, “I have no clue who I’d be without your influence.” Tré smiled but rolled his eyes.

“I’m not exactly a good influence,” he told her calmly. Abbey looked at him in disbelief as Tracy began to mop up the smelly mess beside her.

“You’re not going all midlife crisis on me,” she asked him sheepishly, “are you?”

“Perhaps I am,” he told her running his fingers through his messy hair.

“A band is only as good as their drummer,” Abbey said to him, “you’re a damn fine one.” He smiled as if flattered and Tracy placed a new beer in front of him, satisfied.

“You say that like you’re some kind of expert,” he said with a laugh taking a swig of his beer.

“I kind of pride myself on being a bit of a Green Day expert,” she admitted with a blush. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. He was quiet a moment, as if thinking.

“When is my birthday?” He asked her quizzically.

“December 9th,” she answered with confidence.

“What year was insomniac released?”

“1997.”

“Mike’s last name?”

“Pritchard.”

“Where are you from?” He asked suddenly.

Abbey sighed, “The Midwest.”

“What’s wrong with that?” He asked her curiously.

She grinned, “It’s no California.”

“That’s true,” he admitted, “where are you staying?” She blanched, embarrassed. She couldn’t tell him this or the conversation would quickly be over, so she decided to change the subject.

“What brings you to a place like this?” Abbey asked him quickly.

“Well being a Green Day expert,” he told her with a laugh, “I’m sure you heard about Billie’s struggles with sobriety.”

She just nodded with understanding.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he told her with a smirk. She cringed.

“Notice what?” She asked in an attempt to be sly.

“Where are you staying?” He asked, perceptively.

“W-well, for a while,” she muttered, “I stayed at a motel on the other side of town.”

“And now?” He asked, his fingers drumming anxiously against the bar. "O-OceanBeach,' She

sputtered, her cheeks flushing. His eyes widened, and he looked her over.

“Why didn’t you go home?” He questioned seriously.

“That’s like accepting defeat,” she admitted downing the rest of the red drink, “I didn’t just come here for my health.”

“Why did you come here?” he all but demanded. Once again, she found herself frozen in embarrassment. Her dreams were cliché and she felt certain he would laugh.

“I-I want to s-sing,” she grumbled, looking to Tracy at the other end of the bar with pleading eyes. Tré smiled.

“Are you any good?” He asked nodding Tracy over.

“I wouldn’t know,” Abbey told him honestly. She lacked confidence in herself, in her naivety.

Tracy padded over to Tré.

“I’ll have another beer and whatever that is,” he told her nodding to Abbey’s empty cocktail glass. Tracy smiled and went to work. After a moment, she placed a bottle before Tré and a red cocktail before Abbey and then moved back to the other end of the bar where she began reading a newspaper. Abbey gratefully took a large gulp, her head beginning to get fuzzy.

“Well, obviously, I can’t let you sleep on the beach,” he said calmly. Abbey nearly choked on the fruity stuff.

“What?” She coughed, sitting her drink back upon the bar.

“I’m taking you home,” he told her taking a long drink of his Budweiser.

“No way,” she spouted, “I’m not going back to Indiana!” Tré laughed and peered into her eyes.

“I meant my home,” he said with a smirk. Her eyes widened, and her chest tightened up with apprehension. She couldn’t fathom what was happening.

“Why would you help me?” She gasped, “You don’t even know me.” A severe look crossed over his face.

“If you were a Green Day expert,” he said briskly, smiling grimly, “you would know that at one time I had to survive on the kindness of strangers.” His tone made her feel ashamed yet did nothing to alleviate her anxiety or suspicion. She threw back the contents of her glass.

“Look,” she began bitterly, “I’m not that kind of girl.” Tré just laughed. Her cheeks reddened. Was it so hard to believe that she wasn’t some common street urchin?

“Abbey,” he said plainly, before gulping down the rest of his beer, “it’s not like that.”

Abbey breathed a sigh of relief and flushed with embarrassment of her stupidity.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tré told her with a grin, pulling a fifty from his pocket and placing it on the bar. Abbey pulled her wallet from her pocket and placed a twenty beside it.

Tracy appeared with a smile and placed the money in her apron, “ya’ll have a good night, now.” Tré nodded politely and gestured to the door.

As they stepped outside, Abbey was surprised to find it had grown colder in the short time she’d been inside, the alcohol in her system chilling instead of warming her. Tré produced a ring of keys from his pocket, before pressing a button causing a chirp from a cherry red Mercury Comet across the street.

“Ah,” Tré sighed with contentment, “Gypsy.” He began to cross the darkened street only to stumble midway.

“T-Tré,” Abbey murmured catching his arm, “perhaps you shouldn’t drive just yet.” He looked confused for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right,” he told her with a grin.

“Maybe we should walk for a bit,” she suggested towing him out of the road and down the sidewalk.

“So,” he asked conversationally, “where to?”

“Well,” she told him as they began down the same four blocks she circled less than an hour before, “I’ve got to make a stop somewhere, but first we should probably get some coffee in you.” He nodded.

She knew there was a 24-hour coffee shop down the street and pulled him by the elbow toward it. The dim sign outside the shop read ‘Brewed Awakening,’ she shoved through the door and directed Tré to a booth in the corner of the sparsely furnished store. He smiled gratefully up at her as she assisted him in sliding in.

“What kind do you drink?” she asked him softly.

“Vanilla cappuccino,” he told her with a lazy grin, “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.” She walked to the counter where a tired looking teenager stood his eyes red and drooping.

“Is that Tré Cool?” He muttered quietly. She nodded.

“Can I have two French Vanilla cappuccinos, please?” She asked trying to hide the irritation she felt. He rang it up and she handed him a twenty, and he returned with two styrofoam cups.

She returned to Tré who was leaning against the table, humming. She placed the cup before him, and he quickly sat up.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he mumbled attempting to sip the hot coffee.

“What is there to apologize for?” She asked with confusion.

“When I said ‘it’s not like that,” he began, “I didn’t mean you weren’t attractive.” Abbey flushed bright red and chuckled at his admission.

“I wasn’t offended,” she told him, earnestly.

“It’s just,” he told her, his fingers drumming habitually on the table, “I like my women like I like my scotch.”

Abbey grinned, “13 years old and stored in the basement?”

Tré burst into laughter, “I was going to say aged and smooth but that works, too.” For the next few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence as Tré allowed the coffee to soak into him. After a while, he cleared his throat.

“So,” he asked more soberly than before, “where do you need to go after this?”

Abbey sighed, “I hid my book bag, and it has everything I own inside.” He nodded before taking a gulp from his now cooled coffee.

“You ready to go then?” He asked unsmiling, “I think I’m okay to drive, now.” She looked him over a moment to assess whether or not he was correct before nodding quickly.

They head out of the shop and back towards Gypsy who glittered in the dim street light. Once again, he pulled out his keyless entry remote and Gypsy chirped as if in greeting, and Tré held the door open for her. She slid inside and sat in awe a moment of the decadent interior, as he closed the door behind her. She buckled her seatbelt before running her fingers over the white leather she sat upon. He slipped into the driver’s seat and turned to her appraisingly.

“She’s beautiful,” Abbey murmured with a smile.

He grinned and asked, “Where to?”

“Ocean Beach,” she reminded him with embarrassment. He nodded and started Gypsy with a purr. His driving terrified her a bit, and she wondered whether she had been foolish to let him drive as they darted down the darkened streets.

As the beach came into view, a sense of dread grew within her. Eventually, they came near a public bathroom.

“Here,” she told him briskly. He braked stiffly and she lurched forward, thankful for the seatbelt.

“You hid your stuff in a bathroom?” He asked his blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight above the beach. She nodded, embarrassed and leapt from the car.

She rushed forward and pushed her way into the Lady’s room. The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered creating a disturbing atmosphere. She nervously padded forward to the handicap stall and locked the door behind her. She shivered with déjà vu, and she climbed to stand up on the toilet. She stared up at the stained ceiling, a brown heart cake upon it, looking for signs of tampering only to find none. She shoved the dirty tile up and to the side and began feeling around inside. She expected her belongings to be waiting just on the inside, and fear and sadness soaked into as she felt nothing but dirty and insolation. She turned quickly and felt around the other side to no avail.

'Possibly,' she thought frantically. 'I was mistaken, maybe this the wrong stall.’ Though as she replaced the tile, she knew she was wrong. There was no mistaking that dirty heart shape, and her chest tightened and let herself out of the stall and left the smelly place.

As she got back inside Gypsy, she felt like a fist was squeezing her heart. Tré looked her over expectantly, and as she met his light-blue eyes, she began to cry. Tré looked shocked and uncertain.

“W-what’s wrong?” He asked his voice squeaking with anxiety. She shook her head.

“Someone,” she began, fighting back sobs, “stole my stuff.”

“It’s not so bad,” he told her, unsure, “you could get new stuff.” Fresh tears burned her eyes and streaked down her cheeks.

“That was everything I owned,” she cried, her face in her hands, “my clothes, my sketch book, my family photos.” Tré shook his head in remorse.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, his voice full of pain. She felt ashamed of herself and quickly swiped away the tears. She could no more burden him than she already was and shook her head profusely.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, “we can go now.” He nodded and shifted Gypsy into Drive. As they drove through the unfamiliar cityscape, the first colors of sunset streaked across the sky in vibrant reds and oranges. She allowed Gypsy quiet purr to lull her into comfort as she leaned against the cool window and drifted off.

Too soon, she felt someone shaking her awake. She batted the hands away.

“The beach is public property,” she grumbled without opening her eyes, “I’m not hurting anything.”

“Abbey,” a familiar voice mumbled, “we’re here.” Her eyes begrudgingly opened to find Tré smiling over at her with patience. She sat up quickly, hoping she hadn’t drooled on Gypsy’s interior. She looked to through the windshield to find an extremely large, white, two-story ranch-style house, the neatly trimmed grass before it glittering as the morning dew absorbed the California sunrise.

“This is my humble abode,” Tré said with a quiet laugh, before opening the door to step out. Abbey just stared on in awe before Tré gestured her toward the house. She stumbled from Gypsy’s warm interior into the brisk morning. As they began up the sidewalk, Tré whistled an unfamiliar tune and twirled his ring of keys. As they approached the oak door, he keyed open several locks before pushing the door open to reveal a beautiful living room decked out with black Italian leather furniture and fluffy white carpeting. An extremely large flat-screen TV hung darkened upon the milky wall. A lacquered, black oak table lay before it, a gloss red staircase began in the corner. She gasped at its beauty and turned to face Tré her eyes wide with wonder. He just smiled and took off his jacket and hung it upon the wall, his muscular biceps bare underneath. She tensed up as his hands touched her shoulders before he began to slide her coat off. She quickly pulled her arms from it and handed it to him.

He gestured toward a hallway near the stairs and began toward it. She meekly followed him as he turned into a luxurious kitchen, all black granite and silver.

He turned to the refrigerator and pulled bottled water from inside before asking, “You want anything?”

“W-water’s fine,” she mumbled meekly. He tossed her a bottle and directed her back into the dark living room.

She sat upon the comfy leather couch, and Tré turned toward the stairs.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her as he went. She sat quietly for a minute before he paced quickly back down, a bundle of fabric in his arms. As he reached the couch, he threw part of the bundle beside her.

The remainder he handed to her with a sleepy smile, “They’ll probably be huge on you, but you can sleep in them.” She thanked him quietly.

“The bathroom’s down the hall to the left,” he whispered to her awkwardly, “I’m going to head to bed.”

“Good night,” she mumbled as he turned and headed back up the stairs.

She sat in silence a moment before kicking off her shoes and wandering through the dark and into the bathroom, which was, of course, glamorous and large. She shut the door quietly and stripped quickly down to her underwear, blushing despite her solitude. She looked at the clothes he had given her; a faded black T-shirt and a large pair of gray sweat pants. She slid into the pants and tied the drawstring as tight as it would go before pulling the shirt over her head. She breathed in the scent tentatively, a musky, sweet smell wafting into her nostrils. She sighed as she neatly folded her jeans and T-shirt and left to the living room.

She spread the blanket he gave her over herself as she lay down on the cool leather. As she closed her eyes, she thanked the heavens for Tré and his kindness but knew she could not take advantage of him. She curled up beneath the fluffy blanket and tried to plan her next step, to no avail. All she knew was she planned to get out of his hair as soon as she woke. She sighed as she drifted off, she didn’t miss sleeping on the beach. Within moments, she was dreaming of blue eyes.