by Sarina Bowen
Fine, so she’s young, but she’s also smarter than I am. “Well, the thing with May has been different for me.” As I say this, I realize it’s not just an excuse. May snuck up on me, and I wasn’t really expecting it.
“Got it,” she says. “You actually care about someone for once, and it threw you for a loop.”
“Hey, now,” I argue, because that’s character assassination. “I care about lots of people all the time.” I don’t get off on loving ’em and leaving ’em. I’ve never been that guy. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthcoming with you, but I didn’t realize I was taken until it was suddenly true.”
“Fine. Congratulations. So why are we having this awkward conversation?”
Right. “Because let’s not bring personal stuff into the business. I shouldn’t have dodged you. That wasn’t cool. But you shouldn’t cut me off, either.”
For a second, Chelsea just blinks at me. “Okay, wow. I was already offended that you’re not interested anymore. But you think I cut off your beer supply because you took away the dick?”
“Well, didn’t you? I have seven employees. They depend on the Gin Mill, too. It’s not just me.”
Chelsea takes a step backward. “Great advocating, asshole. But it’s not my fault you don’t have Goldenpour.”
“It isn’t?”
“Not even close. They cut you off.”
“Who’s they?”
“Giltmaker. The brewery.”
“Why? Because I was a bitch last night? Did they cut everyone else off, too?”
Slowly, Chelsea shakes her head. “Just you. And I don’t know what you did last night, but the order came down a week ago.”
Fuck! “Do you have any idea why?”
“None at all. It’s a really unusual request. You’d better ask them about it yourself.”
I try to take that in. And unfortunately, I have a theory. An ugly one. It involves my uncle Otto, that dickhead. I inhale deeply to try to loosen up the anger in my chest.
It doesn’t work.
Chelsea is still watching me with her perfect blue eyes. “I hope you figure it out, Alec. I’ve always liked you. A little too much, maybe.”
Shit. “Always liked you, too, you know. Still do. You’re still a three snaps kind of girl.”
“Oh, save it.” She rolls her eyes. “Now go figure out what you did to piss off Giltmaker. Good luck.”
“Thanks. And, uh, I’m sorry again about…”
She waves off my apology. “I’m a big girl, Alec.” She climbs back into the truck without another word.
Oof. Could this day get any worse? And it’s only ten thirty. I’m going to need to confront Otto. But not before I get a cup of coffee and something to eat. So I trudge around the building and across the parking lot to the Busy Bean. I don’t have my wallet, but it’s Friday, which is Audrey’s morning. She lets me run a tab.
But—fuck. My sister is behind the counter looking grumpy. Maybe it’s a family trait. “Hey, Z,” I say. “Can I please have a large coffee and one of whatever smells so good?”
“That’s the pretzel. With cream cheese and salmon, or plain?”
“I want the whole experience.”
Zara pours my coffee. “Roddy!” she yells over her shoulder. “Could you make a pretzel for Alec?”
“Of course, milady,” comes the answer.
Zara grins. “I love that guy.”
“He knows just how to kiss your ass.” I lift the mug she hands me and take a gulp of coffee immediately. “Where’s your sidekick today?” I’ve yet to break the news to Zara that I’ve left my wallet upstairs. I’m not saying a word before I get my hands on that pretzel.
Zara squints at me. “At the hospital in Montpelier. I’m kind of surprised you’re not there, too.”
“What?” That makes no sense. “Is Audrey okay?”
“She’s fine,” Zara says slowly. “In fact, everyone is going to be fine, I hear.”
“Well, good?” I’m still missing something.
My sister gives me a weird look. “Alec, it’s May who was in the hospital overnight. She totaled her car last night on her way home in the snow.”
“What?” I’m vaguely aware of the sound of my coffee cup hitting the counter a little too hard. And of the burn of the coffee splashing the top of my hand.
Zara grabs a stack of napkins and throws them down on my hand, then she takes the cup away from me. “I’m so sorry,” she says quickly. “Thought you’d already know that.”
“How would I know that?” I roar. “She crashed her car?”
“There was a deer. She swerved and hit a tree.”
Holy shit.
Holy shit!
I turn around and run for the door.
“Alec!” my sister calls after me. “You probably shouldn’t run in there and… Oh hell.”
That’s all I hear as I race out of the coffee shop and toward my truck. But I don’t have the key. Or my driver’s license. So I have to run upstairs instead. When I enter my apartment, of course I forget about the goddamn cat. We startle each other as I go tearing into the bedroom.
He hisses at me from the middle of the floor. And when I see what he’s playing with, I almost lose my mind.
My sweater. In his evil mouth, he’s got the sweater May knit for me.
“You little fuck!” I yell, grabbing for it.
Bukowski lets go of the sweater only to slice a paw through the air and scratch the back of my hand.
“Dead man! That’s what you are,” I growl. I tuck the sweater under my arm because I am too flustered to think about where to keep it safe from him. The neck is unraveling. He fucked up my sweater. I’m not a superstitious guy, but I feel ill at the sight of it.
And this is the first time in my entire life when I ever felt like crying over a piece of clothing.
I don’t, though. I grab my keys and wallet and get the hell out of there.
Chapter Twenty-Four
May
“Why don’t you drink some more water,” my mother suggests, holding out the hospital cup with the straw. “Maybe the ibuprofen will kick in faster.”
I take the drink that’s offered, because it’s the path of least resistance.
If I thought my family was overbearing before, it was nothing like the frenzy they’ve whipped themselves into now. Note to self: If you’re not looking for attention, don’t crash your car into a tree.
It’s practically a vigil. My mother, my sister—who’s home from college for Christmas break—both my brothers, my grandfather, and Audrey are all crammed into this hospital room with me. And for no reason at all. We’re basically waiting for a doctor to step in and sign off on my release.
“Most of you guys can head home,” I suggest. “Nothing more to see here.”
“I want to hear what the doctor says about your hand,” Griffin argues.
He means well, I remind myself. I love my family. It’s just that I want to punch them a little sometimes.
The door opens, and we all turn our heads to see who it is. Please be the doctor, I beg the universe. I just want to go home.
“Oh Jesus!” Lark squeaks. “Honey!”
Crap. “I’m fine. But I hope the hair and makeup person you found for your wedding is a superstar. Either that, or the photographer better be gifted with Photoshop.”
I have terrifying bruises on my face, courtesy of my car’s airbag. When my mother arrived at four in the morning, I’d tried a joke, “You should see the other guy.”
But one look at my face, and she’d sobbed. I felt like an asshole. I still do.
“What happened?” Lark asks, moving around the bed to the only free spot.
“Deer in the road,” I say quickly. Not to mention the phone in my hand.
And—humiliatingly—the cops had asked for a blood-alcohol test. Which of course I passed. But I was embarrassed, anyway. Once you actually drive a car when you shouldn’t, the shame never goes away. Even when alcohol is not in my bloodstrea
m, it’s on my mind.
My family suspected the worst, too. In the wee hours, when Griffin and Audrey arrived with my mother, Griff very gently asked me if there was alcohol involved with the accident.
“No. Just stupidity,” I assured him. “But thanks for doubting me.”
And then I felt like the biggest jerk. He and his pregnant wife got out of bed at three thirty because I was texting and driving.
I’m so tired of my own drama. But Lark’s cautious hug feels pretty good nonetheless. “Where does it hurt?” she asks. “Besides your face.”
“Oh, my ribs. My neck. Pick a spot. And then there’s this.” I lift my right hand out from under the sheet to show her the cast on my wrist. When the car crashed I banged my hand on the dashboard and cracked a metacarpal bone. I have the X-ray to prove it.
“No! It’s not broken, is it?”
“It’s cracked,” my grandpa pipes up. “Had the same thing myself once when a cow stepped on me. Was my own damn fault for getting in her way.”
“Cracked and broken is kind of the same thing, right?” my little sister asks. Trust Daphne to always point out the dark side of everything.
We don’t get along.
“This is really going to slow down your Christmas knitting projects,” Lark says, kissing the tips of my fingers that are sticking out of the cast.
I smile for the first time all morning, because Lark is the first person to make a joke instead of looking at me like I’m terminal.
“Whoa!” a male voice says.
Eight heads swivel toward the doorway again. It’s our friend Jude this time. “Hey, Eeyore,” I say.
“Pooh Bear! I heard you broke a paw!” His face cracks into a silly smile. “Can I follow you home and hover over you and shove soup in your face every couple of hours?”
Everyone laughs but me, because it will only make my ribs ache. When Jude was laid up with a broken arm two years ago, I took good care of him on our family couch.
There are a lot of amazing people in my life. I swear I’ll appreciate them all a little bit more if I could only get out of this room and this hospital gown and just go home.
In the hallway outside my room there’s the sound of skidding feet. And then something collides with the doorframe. “Damn it. Ow.”
My heart seizes up as Alec’s face appears in the doorway. And when he sees me—and my colorful bruises—his eyes go red. He makes a terrible sound then—like a pained gasp. His hand flies up to cover his mouth.
This is about to get very awkward, and I have no one to blame but myself.
“I’m so sorry,” Alec rasps. His gaze is locked onto me. He enters the room like there’s nobody there except for me.
“It’s the fella that owns that speakeasy!” Grandpa cries. “The whole damn town is in here now.”
Alec doesn’t even hear him. “I knew you were driving, and I sent those texts anyway. I just had to have the last word.”
“Wait,” Griffin starts to say. “Selena sent those texts…”
“You read my texts!” I squeak.
“Here we go,” Audrey mumbles.
“Selena is a dude!” Daphne squeals. “No way!”
“Oh, noooo.” Griff groans. “Selena’s not even real?”
“Duh,” Audrey whispers.
Alec doesn’t hear any of that. He picks up my good hand off the blanket, making another low sound of pain. “I’m so sorry. I did everything wrong. Everything.”
“No, you didn’t,” I try to say, but my throat is strangely tight. And Alec’s face is full of remorse. He sits down on the edge of the bed. His other hand hovers in the air near my face. But he’s not certain where to touch me, which really only confirms that I look like I’m near death.
And then his eyes tear up.
“Okay, what if we all gave them some space?” Audrey suggests.
“Good idea,” my mother agrees.
“Not happening,” Griff grunts. “If there’s no Selena, that means Alec has been…?” He groans. “That is just wrong.”
Audrey tows him toward the door. “You can complain to me about it in the hall.”
Everyone shuffles out except for Alec, whose eyes are wet. “I’m so sorry,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “You were angry, and I didn’t handle it right. I never should have sent those texts.”
“Yeah, well. There’s a reason it’s not illegal to send a text to someone who’s driving. Nobody made me read them. And I’m sorry I stormed out.”
“Listen,” he says, wiping his eyes. “About what Smitty said—it isn’t the least bit true that I was with you to make Griffin jealous. That’s just a lie.”
I look up into his big brown eyes, and I can tell he’s sincere. In fact, the liar in this room is me, not him. “I get it. He only made me doubt you for a minute. Because we are such a weird couple.”
“I know.” He kisses my good hand. “The weirdest. But I don’t care. You snuck up on me, and I’ve got it bad.”
That should make me happy, but it makes me cold inside, because I know how easy it would be for me to screw it all up. “You’re not part of my life plan, though. I’m not supposed to end up with a guy, let alone a bar owner.”
He shakes his head. “You say that. But we spend a lot of quality time together that’s nowhere near a bar. So explain it to me again, okay? I’m not that smart, so go slow. Make me understand why I have to find some other job so I can be with you.”
Now there’s an alarming idea. “I’m not asking you to do that.”
“Didn’t say you were. But I need to understand. I mean—you don’t need to come to my bar, just like I never come to your law office. If I had, say, an allergy to case files, you would leave them at the office, right?”
“Alcoholism is not an allergy.”
“I know that, okay? It’s a goddamned metaphor.” He gives me a shaky smile, and the love in his eyes is killing me.
“I never talk about my drinking problem with you.”
“Maybe you should,” he says simply.
“I don’t want to.” The idea makes my throat feel tight. “With you, it’s fun to pretend that I’m not at all like Smitty. But I am so much like him. You just can’t see it.”
His smile fades, as I knew it would. “No you’re not.”
“Not at the moment,” I concede. “I’ve been doing great. But what would happen if you came home from work one night and I’m passed out on the couch? What if you tell me I need help, and I won’t go?”
His mouth opens and then shuts again. “I don’t know what I’d do. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t figure it out. Or that I don’t want to. I’m not known for being a serious guy, May. But I’m serious about loving you.”
You say that now… I clear my throat. “I know you think so. But I haven’t been very honest with you. I used to drink to feel numb. I don’t do that anymore, but I still want to. Every day.”
He flinches, and it hurts me to see it. But it’s really time that he knew.
“A year ago, I rushed into a relationship with Daniela because I wanted to prove I could get on with my life…”
“But I’m not Daniela,” Alec says, stroking my hand.
“You’re not. But I’m still me. And that person has some things to figure out. Alone.”
“You say that. But it’s not your only choice.”
“I think it is.”
“No.” His expression is grim. “I love you. But if you don’t feel the same way then just say so.”
“I…” There is nothing more terrifying than hearing “I love you” from Alec. He has no idea what he’s even saying. “I can’t love anybody right now.” That way lies the abyss.
He drops his chin. I wait for him to argue. Or leave. But he does neither one. He just kisses my hand one more time.
And then the doctor walks in, at last. “Good morning Miss Shipley! I hear you were hoping to go home.”
It takes a second for me to unstick my throat and answer. “That’s right. If yo
u could spring me from this joint, I’d be grateful.”
Alec stands up. He rests a palm on my hair for two beats of my heart. “You and I will talk later,” he says. And then he finally leaves.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Alec
I feel shattered when I walk out of May’s hospital room. But I don’t even get a moment alone to give myself a pep talk, because Griffin is waiting there, glaring.
“Save it,” I say with a sigh. “I know you hate the idea. She’s your sister.” Blah blah blah. I’m so exhausted all of a sudden that it’s difficult to speak.
“You two have nothing in common,” Griff says.
“We have tons in common.” It’s totally true. We’re both the forgotten middle child with grumbly older siblings and younger ones who suck up all the attention.
And both of our families underestimate us.
Griffin scowls. “Sneaking around was a shitty thing to do.”
That’s a much better point, except for one problem. “Sneaking around was never my idea. Ask May which of us was sneaking around.”
“But does that seem right to you?” His big eyebrows lift. “She’s young, and she’s been through a lot.”
“Two things,” I say, walking slowly backward down the hall. Because I’m done here. “She’s pretty tired of you all treating her like she’s made of glass. Maybe if you eased up she’d tell you what’s on her mind. And she doesn’t want me for keeps, anyway. So it looks like you get your wish after all. I’m outie.”
With that, I turn my back on Griffin Shipley.
As I exit the hospital doors, Audrey is standing there in the sun. “Hey!” she says, smiling at me as if we’ve bumped into each other at the grocery store, or some happier place. “Can you give me a lift to the coffee shop?”
“Sure,” I grunt. Although I’m not in the mood for company. But when a pregnant woman needs a ride, a man doesn’t hesitate. I bleep the locks on my truck and then open the passenger door for her. She lets me help her up without any pushback. “How much longer?” I ask when I climb into the driver’s seat. Ever since Zara’s pregnancy, I have more empathy for pregnant women.