Now it's time to see the story through Travis's eyes. Walking Disaster - Jamie terney.info KB. Walking Disaster - Jamie terney.info2. Walking Disaster (Beautiful #2) Can you In Walking Disaster, the life of Travis is full of fast women, underground [1] Beautiful terney.info Can you love someone too much? Travis Maddox learned two things from his mother before she died: Love hard. Fight harder. In Walking Disaster, the life of.

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Walking Disaster Epub

May 4, Beautiful Disaster 02 Walking Disaster - Jamie terney.info - Google Drive. How much is too much to love? Travis Maddox learned two things from his mother before she died: Love hard. Fight terney.infoy, the highly anticipated. In Walking Disaster, the life of Travis is full of fast women, underground gambling, and Walking Disaster (epub)] [DOWNLOAD A Beautiful Wedding (epub)].

Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Other editions. Enlarge cover. Error rating book. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Details if other: Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Can you love someone too much? Travis Maddox learned two things from his mother before she died:

She was looking down at me, her lids two slits, just enough to let me know she knew I was there. That's what I loved about her. When she looked at me, she really saw me. She didn't look past me to the other dozens of things she needed to do with her day, or tune out my stupid stories. She listened, and it made her really happy.

Everyone else seemed to nod without listening, but not her. Never her. She cleared her throat, and the corners of her mouth turned up. It's okay. Dad called her Becky.

She came to the house for the first time a few days ago. Her words were soft, and her eyes were kinda nice, but I didn't like Becky. I couldn't explain it, but her being there was scary. I knew she might have been there to help, but it wasn't a good thing, even though Dad was okay with her. Dad's nudge shoved me forward several steps, close enough to where Mommy could touch me. She stretched her long, elegant fingers, and brushed my arm. Nodding made her small smile bigger, so I made sure to make big movements with my head as I stepped toward her face.

She used what was left of her strength to scoot closer to me, and then she took a breath. I know you can do it, because you're a big boy now. Smiling when she looked so tired and uncomfortable didn't feel right, but being brave made her happy. So I was brave. This will be very hard.

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I've been trying to remember things from when I was three, and I. After a few moments, Mommy relaxed. She took another breath, and tried again. Can you remember what I'm about to say? Her skin wasn't very warm, and she could only keep her hand in place for a few seconds before it got shaky and fell to the bed. It's okay to feel things. Remember that. Second, be a kid for as long as you can. Play games, Travis. Be silly"-her eyes glossed over-"and you and your brothers take care of each other, and your father.

Even when you grow up and move away, it's important to come home. Don't settle for just anyone. Choose the girl that doesn't come easy, the one you have to fight for, and then never stop fighting. Never"-she took a deep breath-"stop fighting for what you want. And never"-her eyebrows pulled in-"forget that Mommy loves you. Even if you can't see me. She held the other end to Mommy's chest. Becky looked at my dad. You should probably bring the rest of the boys in to say goodbye.

But you don't want to let her go without the boys saying their goodbyes. He stomped out of the room, like he was mad.

I watched Mommy, watched her try to breathe, and watched Becky checking the numbers on the box beside her. I touched Mommy's wrist. Becky's eyes seemed to know something I didn't, and that made my stomach feel sick. You can still tell Mommy that you love her and that you'll miss her, and she'll hear everything you say.

She wants that very much. But Jesus wants her with him right now. Dad knocked on the door, and then it opened. My brothers crowded around him in the hallway, and Becky led me by the hand to join them. Trenton's eyes didn't leave Mommy's bed, and Taylor and Tyler looked everywhere but the bed.

It made me feel better somehow that they all looked as scared as I felt. Thomas stood next to me, a little bit in front, like the time he protected me when we were playing in the front yard, and the neighbor boys tried to pick a fight with Tyler.

Dad cleared his throat. Becky offered a small, sympathetic smile. Her body is letting go. This is going to be very hard, but it's a good time to tell your mom that you love her, and you're going to miss her, and that it's okay for her to go. She needs to know that it's okay. All of them but me. It wasn't okay. I didn't want her to leave. I didn't care if Jesus wanted her or not. She was my mommy.

He could take an old mommy. One that didn't have little boys to take care of. I tried to remember everything she told me. I tried to glue it to the inside of my head: Visit Dad. Fight for what I love. That last thing bothered me.

I loved Mommy, but I didn't know how to fight for her. Becky leaned into my dad's ear. He shook his head, and then nodded to my brothers.

Walking Disaster

Let's go say goodbye, and then you need to get your brothers in bed, Thomas. They don't need to be here for the rest. I knew he was faking a brave face. His eyes were as sad as mine. Thomas talked to her for a while, and then Taylor and Tyler whispered things in each of her ears. Trenton cried and hugged her for a long time. Everyone told her it was okay for her to leave us. Everyone but me. Mommy didn't say anything back this time.

Thomas pulled on my hand, leading me out of her bedroom. I walked backward until we were in the hall. I tried to pretend she was just going to sleep, but my head went fuzzy. Thomas picked me up and carried me up the stairs. His feet climbed faster when Dad's wails carried through the walls. I didn't answer. I heard him ask, and I remembered like she told me to, but my tears wouldn't work, and my mouth didn't either.

Thomas pulled my dirt-soiled shirt over my head, and my shorts and Thomas the Train Underoos down to the floor.

I didn't blink. I didn't even try to get the water off of my face, even though I hated it. I'm going to take care of you. So don't you worry. We're going to miss Mom together, but don't be scared. I'm going to make sure everything's okay. I promise. Even though I should have been fighting for her, I was upstairs, in a tub full of water, still as a statue. I had already let her down. I promised her in the very back of my head that I would do all the things she had told me as soon as my body worked again.

When the sad went away, I would always play, and I would always fight. Nights, too. Staring right through you, picking which parts of you they will pull away first, which pieces will be the sweetest, the most tender, or just which part will be most convenient. What they don't know, what they've never anticipated, is that the prey is faking.

It's the vultures that are easy. Just when they think all they have to do is be patient, to sit back and wait for you to expire, that's when you hit them. That's when you bring in the secret weapon: That's when you shock them with how much you just don't give a fuck. An opponent in the Circle, some random douche bag trying to expose your weakness with insults, a woman trying to tie you down; gets them every time.

I'd been very careful from a very young age to live my life this way. I didn't want her to leave. I didn't care if Jesus wanted her or not. She was my mommy. He could take an old mommy. One that didn't have little boys to take care of. I tried to remember everything she told me. I tried to glue it to the inside of my head: Play. Visit Dad. Fight for what I love.

That last thing bothered me. I loved Mommy, but I didn't know how to fight for her. Becky leaned into my dad's ear. He shook his head, and then nodded to my brothers. Let's go say goodbye, and then you need to get your brothers in bed, Thomas. They don't need to be here for the rest. I knew he was faking a brave face. His eyes were as sad as mine. Thomas talked to her for a while, and then Taylor and Tyler whispered things in each of her ears.

Trenton cried and hugged her for a long time. Everyone told her it was okay for her to leave us. Everyone but me. Mommy didn't say anything back this time. Thomas pulled on my hand, leading me out of her bedroom. I walked backward until we were in the hall. I tried to pretend she was just going to sleep, but my head went fuzzy. Thomas picked me up and carried me up the stairs.

His feet climbed faster when Dad's wails carried through the walls. I didn't answer. I heard him ask, and I remembered like she told me to, but my tears wouldn't work, and my mouth didn't either. Thomas pulled my dirt-soiled shirt over my head, and my shorts and Thomas the Train Underoos down to the floor.

I didn't blink. I didn't even try to get the water off of my face, even though I hated it. I'm going to take care of you.

Walking Disaster

So don't you worry. We're going to miss Mom together, but don't be scared. I'm going to make sure everything's okay. I promise. Even though I should have been fighting for her, I was upstairs, in a tub full of water, still as a statue. I had already let her down. I promised her in the very back of my head that I would do all the things she had told me as soon as my body worked again.

When the sad went away, I would always play, and I would always fight. Nights, too. Staring right through you, picking which parts of you they will pull away first, which pieces will be the sweetest, the most tender, or just which part will be most convenient. What they don't know, what they've never anticipated, is that the prey is faking.

It's the vultures that are easy. Just when they think all they have to do is be patient, to sit back and wait for you to expire, that's when you hit them.

That's when you bring in the secret weapon: an utter lack of respect for the status quo; a refusal to give in to the order of things. That's when you shock them with how much you just don't give a fuck.

An opponent in the Circle, some random douche bag trying to expose your weakness with insults, a woman trying to tie you down; gets them every time. I'd been very careful from a very young age to live my life this way. These bleeding heart assholes that went around giving their soul to every gold-digging banshee that smiled at them had it all wrong. But somehow I was the one swimming upstream.

I was the man out. Their way was the hard way if you ask me. Leaving emotion at the door, and replacing it with numbness, or anger-which was much easier to control-was easy. Letting yourself feel made you vulnerable. As many times as I tried to explain this error to my brothers, my cousins, or my friends, I was met with skepticism. As many times as I had seen them crying or losing sleep over some dumb bitch in a pair of fuck-me heels that never gave a shit about them anyway, I couldn't understand it.

The women that were worth that kind of heartbreak wouldn't let you fall for them so easy. They wouldn't bend over your couch, or allow you to charm them into their bedroom on the first night-or even the tenth. My theories were ignored because that wasn't the way of things. Attraction, sex, infatuation, love, and then heartbreak. That was the logical order. And, it was always the order. But not for me. I decided a long time ago I would feed on the vultures until a dove came along.

A pigeon. The kind of soul that didn't impede on anyone; just walked around worrying about its own business, trying to get through life without pulling everyone else down with its own needs and selfish habits.

A communicator. A creature that mates for life.

Unattainable until she has a reason to trust you. As I stood at my open apartment door, flicking the last bit of ashes off my cigarette, the girl in the bloody, pink cardigan from the Circle flashed in my memory.

Without thinking, I'd called her Pigeon. At the time it was just a stupid nickname to make her even more uncomfortable than she already was. Her crimson-spattered face, her eyes wide, outwardly she seemed innocent, but I could tell it was just the clothes.

I pushed her memory away as I stared blankly into the living room. Megan lay on my couch lazily, watching TV. She looked bored, and I wondered why she was still in my apartment. She usually got her crap and left right after I bagged her. The door complained when I pushed it a little wider. I cleared my throat and picked up my backpack by the straps.

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