Rock Bottom

by Emily Goodwin

  “Oh, wow. I’ll look everything over, but I think I already know my answer.”

  “With that cold front moving in early next week, I think I know your answer too. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I end the call and text Anne my email address. I back out of my parking spot with the warm sun and ocean views on my mind.

  Chapter 19

  Dean

  “You are making a way bigger deal out of this than it needs to be.” Quinn pulls her arm free from my hold, stepping into her house. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” I counter. “You’re super pale, and I mean paler than normal.”

  Quinn glares at me, sinking down on the hall tree in the mudroom to take her shoes off. “I just overworked myself, that’s all. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I didn’t eat anything before working out today.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to do.” I step on the heel of my shoe and slide my foot out, and then do the same with the other. “You have to eat or you won’t gain anything.”

  “I’m trying to lose weight, not gain muscle.”

  “You still need to eat.” I extend a hand and help her up, going through the mudroom and into the kitchen.

  “You’re back early,” Bobby, Archer’s brother says, looking up from the kitchen table. He’s sitting with the girls, playing with Play-Doh.

  “Mommy!” Emma and Arya squeal.

  “Look what I made!” Emma holds up something that slightly resembles a turtle.

  “Shhhh,” Bobby reminds them. “Your brother is sleeping in the living room.”

  “You got Aiden to nap?” Quinn goes over to the table and sinks down. Her cheeks are red, but the rest of her face is pale. I get a glass of water and open the fridge, finding something for her to eat.

  My mind goes right back to Rory, and knowing that she not only took care of my sister but also that Quinn considers her more of a friend now isn’t helping.

  I tried everything to get Kara to hang out with my sister. Once Quinn and Archer got together—and I got my head out of my ass—I lost count how many times I suggested the four of us hang out.

  “Here,” I say, bringing Quinn a cheese stick and a glass of water. Not the best meal, but it’s better than nothing. “You need to eat.”

  “You okay?” Bobby asks. He’s a recovering addict, and it was because of him Archer and I got to be such good friends, actually. Our first year of college, Archer’s parents had to fly out to Vegas over Christmas break and deal with Bobby, who’d overdosed.

  Not wanting my roommate to have to spend Christmas alone, I invited him to come back with me. He fit right in with our family and became an honorary Dawson before break was over.

  Archer wouldn’t let Bobby around the kids until he got clean, and while he struggled a lot, he’s going on a full year of sobriety now. He looks much better, and I know how much having a relationship with his brother again means to both Archer and Quinn.

  “Yeah, I just got a little lightheaded while running.”

  “What does lightheaded mean?” Emma asks, giving Quinn a blob of playdough.

  “Dizzy,” she says and starts molding the playdough. “But I’m fine now.”

  “You need to go lie down?” Bobby asks. “I can stay.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  He taps his phone to check the time. “I got about an hour before I have to leave. I can put in a pizza for the kids if you’d like.”

  “Yeah, that’d be great. Thank you.” Quinn looks at me. “And thank you for driving me home. I would have been fine.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” I say. “The roads are still a little slippery.”

  Quinn rolls her eyes and looks at her daughters. “You are so lucky your brother is younger than you.”

  “I wish I didn’t have a brother.” Emma sticks out her tongue. “Boys are gross.”

  “That’s not a nice thing to say. Aiden loves you.”

  “I love Aiden,” Arya says. “My brodder.”

  “He’s a good little brodder,” Quinn repeats, leaning in to give Arya a kiss. “Uh-oh.” Quinn clamps her hand over her mouth and gets up, running to the bathroom. The distinct sound of her throwing up echoes through the house.

  “Should we get Arch?” Bobby asks, making a face as he looks in Quinn’s direction.

  “Nah. I’d rather send her upstairs if she’s sick. I don’t have time to catch a stomach bug.”

  “You’ve already been exposed.”

  “I’m thinking positive on this.”

  “Can we have pizza now?” Emma asks, unfazed by the sound of puking.

  “Sure.” Bobby pats her on the head and gets up to preheat the oven. I bring the glass of water to the bathroom and pull my shirt up over my mouth and nose.

  “Stop being so dramatic,” Quinn moans, reaching for the water. “You were in the car with me. You would have gotten it then.” She takes a drink and slowly gets up. “I am going to go lie down, though. Thanks again for driving me home.”

  “No problem, sis. I hope you feel better soon.”

  The screen of my phone lights up with a text, and I glance away from the TV to see the message. It’s not from one of my contacts, but as soon as I see the out-of-state area code, I know it’s Rory.

  Why is she texting me? Maybe she changed her mind after all and wants to come over. I grab my phone and open her text.

  Rory: How’s your sister doing? I didn’t want to text her in case she wasn’t feeling well or something.

  Me: She seemed better once I left, though she might have a stomach bug. You were exposed.

  Rory: Poor Quinn. And I think I’m fine. I don’t get sick often.

  Me: Thanks for helping her today.

  Rory: You’re welcome.

  I stare at the phone, not sure what to say. I can’t really fit a witty remark or find a way to flirt with Rory after a conversation about my sister throwing up. Three little dots pop up on the screen only to disappear, and then pop up again a few seconds later. She’s typing…typing…typing…and now she’s not anymore.

  Fuck it.

  Me: What are you doing?

  Rory: Not coming over for a booty call

  Me: You’re no fun.

  Rory: I’m lots of fun.

  Me: Prove it.

  Rory: Well…I do like role playing ;-) I get reeeaalllllyyyy into it too.

  That was not the response I expected from her.

  Me: Oh yeah?

  Rory: Yeah. I love when it lasts for hours. Actually, the last time I role played, it lasted days. We had to break it up into sessions, but the big finish was worth it.

  Me: You’re not talking about what I think you are, are you?

  Rory: Unless you’re thinking about role playing a half-elf sorceress who uses her magic to con people while avenging a loved one, then no.

  Me: I don’t know what to say to that.

  Rory: I’d be willing to role play with you. You’d make a great dwarf.

  She sends a picture of a Dungeons and Dragons character sheet along with a winking face.

  Me: I’d rather be a Dragonborn. It’s easier for me to get in character that way

  Rory: OMG YOU’VE PLAYED?

  Me: That would be a no. But if you want to teach me…

  Rory: Nice try.

  Me: What if I really wanted to play?

  Rory: If you actually wanted to play D&D? Like for real? Then yeah. I’d teach you.

  Me: Can we play naked?

  Rory: And THAT would be a no. Goodnight Dean.

  I set the phone down, and that same strange feeling comes over me. But this time, I know exactly what it is.

  There’s no way I’m going to keep Rory off my mind.

  Chapter 20

  Rory

  I step back, looking at my sundresses laid out on the bed. It’s Wednesday evening, and I’ve officially been signed up to go to Miami next week for work. To offset the days I’ve been missing, I worked a double yesterday and stayed
over a few extra hours today when one of the evening-shift nurses was running late.

  The weekend went by fast, and it was so nice to see my brother and parents. And then Lennon was here for her interview—which she nailed—and we got to hang out that evening.

  Now it’s business as usual, and with the promise of sunshine and beaches in the near future, I know this week is going to drag by.

  “It’s only a few days,” I say to Figaro, who’s batting a bottle cap around the floor. “But I’d rather have options than get there and regret not bringing more, right?” I nod to myself. “Right.”

  I put two dresses back in my closet and move the other to my “pack” pile, which is starting to get so big I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit everything in my suitcase.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Johnson is going to take good care of you. You might not want to leave when I get back. Which we’ll have to talk about.”

  I pick up the bottle cap and throw it for Figaro to chase. The woman in the apartment above me is letting me drop Figaro off with her for the week while I’m gone. We’ve already introduced him to her cat, and after a few good hours of nonstop hissing at each other, the two cats seem to mildly tolerate each other now.

  I pick up the agenda for the week and sink down onto my bed. Each day starts with breakfast, and then moves right into presentations. Some actually sound interesting, and others are being put on by medical and pharmaceutical companies trying to sell their products. Which could be interesting, yet if I can find a way to get out of one or two, I will. I’d much rather take that hour lying out in the sun than listening to someone talk about the different ways to sanitize surgical tools.

  I’m a bad girl, I know.

  “I only have one swimsuit, and I’ve had it for years.” I pick up the bottle cap again and roll it across the room. Figaro bats it under the dresser. Instead of trying to get it, he looks at me. “I’ve created a monster.”

  I get the bottle cap back, wondering why I even bother with cat toys, and grab my laptop. After a few quick minutes of online shopping, I order two new swimsuits. The first one is a white one-piece with a deep V-neckline and high-cut sides. It’s sexy while still holding onto a bit of modesty and will be perfect for my pool time after I’ve gorged myself at dinner.

  The second is right there on the edge of my comfort zone, but I processed the payment before I had time to second-guess myself. It’s a sparkly blue bikini, with cheeky bottoms and a rather skimpy top. I’ve always been on the thin side of average, but I’m by no means in good shape, and with only a week until the trip, there’s no way I can get to my ideal body weight in that time.

  “I’m fine the way I am,” I say, looking myself in the mirror. I’ve wrestled with body image my whole life and spend most days somewhere between I need to change and I’m hot the way I am.

  Yawning, I close my computer and set it aside on my nightstand. My stomach grumbles, and I groan when I remember that I didn’t go grocery shopping on my way home from work because I was tired. My plan was to nap and then head out before this snowstorm hit.

  I ended up looking through my clothes instead, and now the snow is fluttering down. People still tend to panic whenever a bad snowstorm is predicted, and the store is probably picked over. This is what I get for putting things off.

  Forcing myself up, I look out my window, watching the snow fall. While I complain about the cold and lament about how much I miss the sun, there’s no denying the beauty in fresh snow.

  There’s something about the way it blankets the earth, softening everything and muffling harsh noises. It always made me feel safe too, because if someone was trying to get into my house, I’d see their footprints in the snow. It might be a weird thing to appreciate about snow, but it gave me piece of mind when I thought someone was standing outside my window at night.

  If there were no footprints, then it wasn’t a human at least. Which kind of freaked me out more at times, but I think I’d rather have a ghost spying on me than a real person who could kidnap and torture me.

  Though that’s not to say an angry spirit couldn’t do the same…

  Stretching my arms out over my head, I grab a sweater and pull it on. My hair is still in a messy bun from work, and I yank the band out, snapping a few strands of hair in the process. I quickly brush out the knots and then pull my hair into a braid over my shoulder.

  Prepping myself to go out into the bitter cold, I put on a hat, scarf, and thick gloves.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I tell Figaro. “Don’t wait up for me.” I shove my feet into boots, run back into the kitchen to get the reusable bag I almost forgot, and then go out into the cold.

  I was right. The grocery store is packed, and the shelves are picked over. I’m able to get enough to get me through the week at least, though my preferred French vanilla coffee creamer was gone. I put the last few things in my cart and head to the front of the store to check out.

  Right as I’m pushing my cart out of an aisle, Dean walks past. I’ve done a good job the last few days not thinking about him, and I’ve accepted that what we had was nothing more than a one-night stand.

  No feelings.

  No strings.

  No regrets.

  And when Quinn texted me the day after she got sick at the gym, I hardly thought of Dean as well. Hardly. But then I was busy with family and now looking forward to Miami, and I’ve kept my mind occupied.

  But seeing him now is making my heart skip a beat and I want to reach into my chest and slap that thing around. He’s a player and is good at the game.

  I can’t have feelings for him.

  Coming to a dead stop with a heavy shopping cart on a floor that’s slippery from melted snow is a bad idea. I lose my balance and the cart keeps going, jerking me forward. Dean probably wouldn’t have noticed me if I’d just walked like a normal person, but someone fumbling through the store gets pretty much everyone’s attention.

  Dean catches my cart and stops me from falling flat on my face. I twist my arm as I break my fall, quickly straightening up and acting like nothing happened.

  “Thanks,” I rush out, feeling blood rush to my cheeks. I sweep my eyes over Dean and blood rushes through the rest of me. He’s wearing dirty work boots and worn jeans, with flecks of paint or plaster on them. His Carhart jacket is unzipped, showing off the flannel shirt he has on. It’s day and night from the well-put-together Dean I’ve seen at the bar, and I’m really liking this grungy construction worker look.

  “You have a tendency to do that.” He flashes a cheeky grin. “Good thing I’ve been around to catch you.”

  Hah. I wish. We both know what would happen if I really fell, buddy.

  “The floor is slippery.”

  “Yeah, that tends to happen in the winter.” He eyes my cart. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who loses their shit whenever it snows.”

  I raise my brows. “Oh, hell no. I told you I’m from up north. This little snowstorm is nothing.”

  “I know you’re not from Canada,” he replies flatly.

  “I used to live in Michigan.” I twist my fingers around the handle of the cart. “In a little town called Silver Ridge. Look it up if you want, it’s real.”

  “I’ve heard of Silver Ridge.”

  “Really? People in the next town over haven’t even heard of it.”

  Dean shrugs. “Sam mentioned it.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot you knew my brother. So see? I really am from Michigan.”

  Dean steps to the side, moving out of the way of busy shoppers, who definitely are freaking out over the snow. “Though I am curious what else you made up.”

  “Other than my name and being from Canada, nothing. Oh, my brother is in the FBI, not the Canadian police force.” I swallow hard, noticing bits of sawdust in Dean’s hair. Was he working on a construction site today? When he talked about taking tile samples to his office and meeting with clients, I assumed he stayed mostly behind a desk and acted more like the boss. />
  There’s something hot about a man who works with his hands.

  “You really like archery?”

  “Love it,” I say with a smile. “And I really am good at it.”

  We stand there for a second, and my heart is beating faster and faster. I need to say something before the silence gets awkward and Dean walks away. Which is what he should do.

  And what I should do.

  Walk away. Go our separate ways.

  “You have dust in your hair,” I blurt, and Dean reaches up, running his hand through his thick locks, messing it up and reminding me how he looked when I woke up in his bed. I take in a slow breath, talking down my libido. “I thought you stayed in the office all day.”

  “I mostly do now since I’m preparing to take over once my dad retires, but I still go out and help out on job sites.” He brushes the saw dust out of his hair and off his shoulders. “We were hanging drywall today. I went by to help speed things along so I could send my guys home before the snow started.”

  “That was very nice of you.”

  Dean shrugs off the compliment. “It’s supposed to get nasty out there with a mix of ice and snow later.”

  “Ugh, I know. All I hope is we don’t lose power. I don’t have a fireplace, and I really wanted to binge TV tonight.”

  “I have a fireplace,” he says matter-of-factly. “And a generator. You can come over and take shelter with me.” His perfect lips pull up in a smirk again, and he knows exactly how good he looks right now.

  I’m never one to turn down a snack when I’m starving, but I remember him giving this same exact look to that woman at the gym. Hell, he might have used this same exact line on her too.

  “I’d rather take my chances at home.”

  “It can take a while for the power to come back on. Last year we got hit with a similar snowstorm and the power was out for two days in some parts of town.”