Bourbon on the Rocks (The Barrel House Series Book 2)

by Shari J. Ryan

  I allow the kiss to last until my lips begin to tingle from a lack of oxygen. “You feel it too,” he says.

  If I said I didn’t, I’d be lying. Instead, I stare into his eyes and swallow the surfacing pain. “You have a daughter. I’m not the person you should get involved with.”

  “Don’t put a single-dad stigma on me, Journey. I know I have a daughter, and I know I’m doing a great job of probably screwing her up myself. This isn’t about Hannah. I want you for me.”

  I don’t know why words aren’t flowing like they normally would, but I can’t think of a response. I’m still staring into his eyes and I can’t look away. “I need to spend time with you, please.”

  “Is that why you took my coffee?”

  “I thought you’d come after me.”

  “I thought about it, but that would have given you a winning point.”

  Do you understand what your kiss did to me last week? It’s all I’ve been able to think about. On top of that, I am uncovering the demons that you’re holding hostage, and I want to be there for you and—I want to see you smile. In fact, I’d selfishly like to be the reason you are smiling.

  “I can’t promise you things will turn out that way you want them to.” In fact, I’m almost positive they won’t. “There is a lot more to me than you know, Brody.”

  “I want to learn everything there is to know about you. I want to be your friend, and—I mean, I’ll take more but, we can start there.”

  Something comes over me when I agree to his plea. “Okay.” I thought I’d feel instant regret, but I voluntarily climb into his truck.

  “Do you like ice cream?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Get out of my truck. This will not work.”

  I stare at him with a raised brow.

  “I’m kidding,” he says.

  “Me too. I bet I can eat you under the table,” I quip.

  “Uh—” Brody scratches the back of his head. “Can I say ... that’s what she said?”

  As I question his reply, I realize my statement of: eating you under the table could imply. It’s not what I meant, but I’m not Melody who would start giggling at every stupid thing she accidentally says. “Sure, I say it all the time.”

  “See? We’re obviously meant to be. Just friends, I mean.”

  “Right, friends,” I tell him, pulling my door closed.

  The few seconds between closing myself inside his truck and Brody making his way to the driver’s seat, I lean back and inhale the scent of cologne and vanilla. Brody and Hannah—the dueling father/daughter duo.

  “Where did Brett and Melody go?” Brody asks as we pull out of the driveway.

  “There’s a park and a gazebo. Melody thinks no one knows it exists.”

  “Wow, look at how well we’ve taught them. Getting their freak on in a public park. That’s great.”

  “They’re probably singing show-tunes about falling in love,” I tell him.

  “Or twirling in circles as if dancing on air,” he follows.

  “Who would have thought there were two of them in this world?”

  “Maybe there’s someone for everyone,” Brody says, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

  “Don’t go that way,” I say before he pulls up to the end of the street. “Take a right.”

  “The other way is faster,” he argues.

  “Please, take a right.”

  I am positive he will take a left to spite me, but I’m grateful when he goes the long way. “I’ll stop ignoring your requests if you tell me why you stand so firm against everything I offer.”

  “Fine. If you took a right, I’d have to pass by the location where I watched Adam dump his car off a ledge. How’s that?”

  “Thank you,” he says. “I will never drive that way with you in the truck.” I’m staring at his profile, wondering if he’s taking me seriously, but he isn’t smiling or hinting at any form of sarcasm. “Tell me about the rest of that night, if you can.”

  9

  Feeling helpless took on a new meaning during the hour it took the “jaws of life” to retrieve Adam from his car. I wasn’t allowed to move any closer toward the ledge and I had no one to stand with, aside for some concerned witnesses. Adam’s parents arrived minutes before his body was being pulled from the car. They didn’t look at me or ask me any questions. I’m not sure what they assumed, but I was the one who called them. I was also the bad influence in his life, and the one who broke his heart two weeks earlier.

  I didn’t want to watch them, but it was hard to look anywhere else. They were holding each other up, crying so hard, the sound echoed between the rock walls on either side of us.

  “We have a pulse,” one of the paramedic’s shouted as they were preparing to lift him onto a stretcher. There were so many contraptions to rescue Adam, and I wasn’t sure what any of them did. They needed a crane looking machine to lift the stretcher up to the solid ground. I was held behind the yellow tape as they rushed him to the ambulance. I could only see his snow boots poking out of the bottom.

  Maybe it was best I didn’t see the extent of the damage.

  Adam’s parents walked along the stretcher and waited as they secured him inside. “Is he going to make it?” Adam’s father cried out.

  “We’re doing everything we can,” the paramedic responded.

  I turned for my car, planning to follow the ambulance.

  I was mesmerized by the flashing lights, staring at them as if they were pulling me in tow. Did he know I was following him? Did he speed up because I was?

  The thoughts were endless. I considered the thought that I might be responsible for manslaughter. I wasn’t sure though.

  My heart raced the entire drive to the hospital, and I could hardly figure out how to walk in through the emergency room entrance. My legs felt numb and my feet just seemed to move on their own. I spotted Adam’s parents in the waiting area, still falling apart with hopeless tears raining down their faces.

  I didn’t tell him to drink.

  I didn’t tell him to drive.

  I didn’t invite him to the party.

  Yet, it was still my fault.

  Hours passed and my phone rang many times, but I didn’t bother to look at who was calling. I was sure my parents were looking for me, and Melody was freaking out.

  If anyone found out where Adam acquired the alcohol, Dad’s shop would be in jeopardy. I understood the risks before I passed out the invitations, but I told myself nothing would happen.

  Adam’s father approached me even though I was strategically hiding behind a beam. “What happened tonight?” he asked.

  “We were at a party. I wasn’t around him most of the night. I don’t know how much he drank, but he found me kissing someone and ran off. I tried to follow him, to stop him, but I couldn’t catch up. By the time I reached him, it was too late.” I felt I had no other option than to be honest. His father deserved at least that much.

  “Where was this party?”

  “It was at an abandoned building near the mills,” I lied, to protect Dad’s business.

  Adam’s dad sat down in the chair beside me and his fingers clasped together, dangling his hands between his knees. “I know the two of you broke up a couple of weeks ago because of college, and I told Adam I commended you for being brave enough to do so. Long distance isn’t something you should be worried about at your age,” he began, sighing to take a moment to breathe. “I know you were both in pain and I’m not going to speculate your reason for kissing someone else. You’re eighteen. You live and learn. I know you didn’t tell him to drink or drive, so as much pain as I’m in and as scared as I am, I want to relieve you of this burden, Journey. You should go home. We’ll let you know what the status is when we find out.”

  I shouldn’t have been given any sort of forgiveness. Whether I gave him alcohol or not, he got into that car because of me. “I’m going to stay, if that’s okay with you?”

  Adam’s dad shook his head. “No, y
our parents have called us to see if we knew where you were. Your dad is on his way to pick you up.”

  “I sat in the hospital waiting room until I was forced to go home,” I tell Brody.

  “Your sister was frantically looking for you all night. I remember that.”

  “Yeah, I saw the missed calls.” I keep my focus locked on the small shops lined along the downtown area. Most of them close after five, but a few stay open.

  “What were his injuries?” I hear the hesitation as he asks.

  “Brain damage, a torn artery, spine damage, a collapsed lung, and two dozen broken bones were the worst of the injuries.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Brody says, pulling into an empty meter-spot in front of the ice cream shop.

  “It’s not your fault,” I remind him.

  I hop down from the truck as he opens his door, and I meet him on the curb. “Do you think people in Vermont are the only weirdos who enjoy ice cream in the dead of winter?” Brody asks.

  “Possibly.”

  Brody opens the glass door to the shop and the cowbell above the doorjamb greets us into the empty space.

  I approach the counter first, knowing what I plan to order. “The King Banana Split, please. All chocolate scoops.”

  Brody is staring at me with either amazement or shock. “Where are you going to put all that?”

  “I’ll handle it,” I tell him.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  With a shrug and a smirk, I grab a wad of napkins with two spoons, and pull out a ten-dollar bill.

  “No, I got this. It was my idea,” he tells me. “I’ll have the same as this crazy woman.” Brody and his games.

  “Thank you,” I offer before tending to the pick-up area of the counter.

  If my mind wasn’t jolted by rehashing old wounds, I would have argued his point about ice cream being his idea. He needs to be reminded I did not voluntarily walk out to his truck.

  Brody takes both our sundaes and places them down on the nearest table. I lay down the stack of napkins and spoons before taking a seat.

  “So, what about you?” I ask. What’s your full story?”

  With his spoon carving out a massive wad of ice cream, he smiles and glances up at me. “When you finish your King Banana Split, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  “Forget it, I don’t want to know anything, but I do plan to eat this entire sundae.” I don’t play for bribes.

  “You’re unbreakable, huh?” he counters.

  I’m a cracked windshield waiting for the next hot or cold day to shatter me into an in-repairable state. “No one is unbreakable,” I tell him.

  “Speaking of which,” he says, taking another bite. “I know this might sound rude and it’s certainly not my place, but do you always eat like this?” Confused by his question, I stare with a raised brow, waiting for clarification. “I just mean—” He takes my hand and runs his thumb over my wrist bone. His touch sends a shiver up my arm, but I do my best not to react. “Have you been eating okay since your dad—”

  I yank my hand away from him and tuck my fists into my sleeves. “Did my mother say something to you?”

  Brody’s eyes widen and he swallows hard. “No, of course not. I don’t think your mom would say something like that to me.”

  “Melody?”

  He shakes his head. “I was just asking a question.”

  I must look terrible if he’s asking. “Do I look sick?”

  “No, not at all. I’ve noticed you speak like you have the appetite of an overweight man, but it doesn’t appear that you’ve been eating like one.”

  “I’m fine but thank you for checking.”

  I continue digging at my ice cream, needing to prove that I can consume this gigantic mess of chocolate, banana, and whipped cream. The bites continue one after another until I scrape my bowl clean before he does. I’ve endured four brain-freeze headaches and my stomach feels like I’ve swallowed a lead weight, but I did it.

  Brody spots my clean cup and grins. “Okay then.”

  “Spill it,” I tell him.

  “I thought you weren’t participating in the game?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Kind of,” he says, taking one of his final bites before his bowl is clean too.

  He is determined to finish eating before speaking another word, which is fine because I won’t beg for his story. It’s what he probably wants.

  We dispose of our bowls, spoons, and napkins, then make our way back out to the truck without a discussion of where we’re going next. Though, I’m going to suggest he take me back to Mom’s so I can get my car and go home.

  When the ignition roars to life, Brody releases a groan. “So, I was twenty-two, tending a bar a few towns over, and fell for one of the waitresses. It was one of those situations where I fell before knowing a whole lot about her. As it turns out, I should have asked a few questions along the way, but we got married, had a kid, and got divorced. It’s not much to brag about.”

  As Brody has been talking, I’ve noticed he’s driving in a different direction than Mom’s house.

  “We can’t learn until we make mistakes, right?” I respond to his short life story before preparing to tell him to turn around.

  “I’m thankful for Hannah. I got her out of the deal.”

  Another moment of sweetness from Brody Pearson—it’s almost shocking. “That’s a nice thing to say,” I tell him.

  “She’s my world, honestly. I can’t imagine life without her. I fought for a year for sole custody before her mother gave up the battle to move out of state with her new husband.”

  A mother gave up trying to keep her child? “She’s lucky to have you.”

  “Yeah, I mean, I like to torture her and whatnot, but I don’t see another way of surviving the tween and teen years, ya know?”

  A smile pokes at my dimples and I release a quiet laugh. “Holy shit. Did you just—” Brody looks over at me quickly before returning his focus to the road. “Did you just almost, sort of smile?”

  “No,” I tell him. “It was a twitch.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  “To your apartment.”

  “My Jeep is still at my mom’s house.”

  “I know.”

  “Brody ...”

  “Journey. I was hoping to watch an episode of the Kardashians with you. I don’t have E-TV anymore and I’m dying to know what’s happening.”

  “Worst pick up line ever,” I tell him.

  “It’s not a pick-up line. I’m not planning to touch you if that’s what you were hoping.”

  “No. I’m pretty sure I asked you to bring me back to my mom’s house.”

  “No, you didn’t. You reminded me where your Jeep is. I didn’t forget.”

  “You think you're smooth, don’t you?”

  “Actually, I prefer the beard which is why there will be no touching tonight. I know the rules.”

  “You kissed me just two hours ago. You broke that rule.”

  “Eh, it wasn’t part of the game since you made the rule after you initially kissed me at the school bake sale. Therefore, being on the receiving end of the rule, I took it as in nothing more than a kiss will happen unless I get rid of the beard.”

  I get the feeling Brody has talked his way out of just as many things as he’s talked his way into just by making everyone around him dizzy with his scattered thoughts. He’s also good at causing distractions since we’re pulling into the parking lot of my building.

  “One show, then you’re taking me to get my car. Deal?” I ask before opening the door.

  “Deal,” he agrees.

  As we walk up the steps to my floor, I tell myself I’ve let my guard down. I’m stronger than this, and if I didn’t want him upstairs in my apartment, I would have made my rejection a lot firmer. What’s worse is, I think he realizes this. I unlock the door and flip the lights on.

  “If I didn’t say so t
he other night, I really like your place. The layout is perfect.”

  In response, I hand him the remote and tell him where to find the channel the show is on. I then grab a book off my kitchen counter and take a seat on the bar stool as he falls onto the sofa.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” he asks.

  “Reading?”

  “I don’t want to watch The Kardashians alone,” he says, pointing at the TV.

  “I didn’t know you needed someone to watch it with you?”

  “Well, I do.”

  “If I come over there and sit down, you will take advantage of me.”

  “Is that a question or a statement?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes,” I tell him.

  Brody tosses his head back and flips through Hulu to find The Kardashians, hitting play on a recent episode. Choosing a specific episode makes me wonder if he’s seriously following the series. I give up my charade of reading and plop down next to him on the couch. “Do you mind if I grab myself a glass of water?” he asks.

  “I can get it.”

  It only takes me a minute to fill a glass and return it to him. “Thank you. I don’t know why I’m so thirsty. Must have been all that ice cream.”

  “Must be,” I say, peering at him out of the corner of my eye.

  He continues sipping the water from his glass while watching the show, so I quit wondering what he’s up to until he laughs at a scene so hard, he spills water down the center of his shirt. “Crap,” he says. I purse my lips and narrow my eyes, wanting to tell him I know he spilled his water on purpose. “It’s just on me, not the sofa. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  Brody pulls his Henley over his head and drapes the shirt off the side of the coffee table. He’s now sitting beside me, shirtless.

  If I look, I’ll know what he’s been hiding. It won’t be good for my effort to fight him off. Yet, it’s like I have zero control and blatantly turn my head to take in the scene.

  I’m a bit winded and my mouth becomes so dry I can’t figure out how to swallow. Brody apparently visits the gym either daily or almost daily. Tattoos cover his chest, shoulders, and arms, doing little to hide the array of muscles lining every inch of his core. He’s larger than I thought; he hides the fact that he’s completely ripped.