Sky High

by C. J. Lake

  * Sky High

  C.J. Lake

  Copyright © 2015 by C.J. Lake

  Snow House Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Please Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.*

  To my 4evr crew—G,K, P, & J (R.I.P.). Big thanks to my editor who believed in this story from the beginning. And to my mom, who always believes.

  Chapter One

  It was a cold, stormy night in March—not that you could hear much of the raging winds and cracking thunder from inside the Billiard Grill. It was the usual Friday night crowd, as energetic and loud as the music. Jamie Bardo’s friends had taken him out for his birthday. They’d managed to snag the back corner table in the popular restaurant/pool hall, and now were laughing and approaching their second round of drinks.

  Around the table sat Jamie’s best friends in the world: Tragan Barrett, Matt Winter, and Dan Pellican. Present, too, was Tragan’s fiancée, Andy—a sweet blond whom the crew adored—and Matt’s new girlfriend, Emma, who happened to be Andy’s sister.

  Jamie and Pellican were both still single—although Pellican had dated a super-intellectual girl named Janine a couple of months ago. Their relationship seemed to end sort of abruptly, but Pellican wasn’t talking about it, and given his blustery personality, nobody was prying.

  Now, after the appetizers arrived, Jamie said, “I’d like to say a few words.”

  “Dude, the food just got here,” Pellican whined.

  “Hey, it’s his birthday!” Andy scolded lightly, then gave Jamie a supportive smile. Tragan’s girl was an angel, pure and simple. Jamie sometimes wondered if he’d ever meet a girl that awesome.

  “Thank you, Andy,” he said with a nod and addressed the group again. “You’re all gathered here tonight to honor a great man,” he began, and Matt barked out a laugh from the far end of the table. Drolly, Jamie pressed a hand to his chest and added, “And I’m honored to be your guest of honor.”

  “Speech!” Tragan encouraged and Jamie continued:

  “So, here we are. Twenty-three.” He declared the number with careful enunciation, even letting it hang in the air for a moment. Since he was the last of the group to turn twenty-three, it seemed like he should make it official or give it some meaning. Proudly, he stated, “We’re men now.”

  Matt’s tone was deadpan as he noted, “I’ve been a man for quite some time.”

  “Same,” Tragan said, leaning back in his chair. He had a bottle of beer in one hand, and his other arm was resting on the back of Andy’s chair.

  “Right, of course,” Jamie quickly agreed. “What I mean is, we continue to be men, but, you know, just to the next level.”

  “Bardo,” Pellican interjected.

  But Jamie merely held up his hand and said, “Excuse me. You’ll have the floor when it’s your birthday, Pellican—though I’d work on your charisma.”

  “Well, not to be a dick here, but the wings are getting cold.”

  “Go ahead and eat, bro. I don’t care,” Jamie told him. “Now where was I?”

  “You were saying this was going to be a great year,” Emma reminded him. She was seated flush up against Matt, almost like they were sharing a chair, and he had his arm draped possessively around her. As usual, they were sort of hanging all over each other—but they kept their PDA classy, so you couldn’t get annoyed.

  “Yes—a great year,” Jamie reiterated. “In fact, it’s only March and I’m already ahead of schedule with my whole personal improvement plan.”

  “Wait, what plan is that?” Tragan asked curiously.

  “Simple, bro,” Jamie said, before enumerating with his fingers. “Apartment. Job. Car. The ladies. Not necessarily in that order.”

  “Last I checked you didn’t have any of those things,” Pellican mentioned. “Except for the job.”

  “Hence the improvement part,” Jamie replied. “I thought that was obvious.” And it really should be, right? Pellican was a great friend, but he could be a bit slow when it came to worldly matters. “Although—speaking of the job—that’s stepping up, too,” Jamie told them. “Starting with my promotion.”

  “You got a promotion?” Andy said. “That’s great; congratulations!”

  Smiling proudly, Jamie said, “Yeah, didn’t Tray tell you? I’m a senior credit rep now.”

  Matt furrowed his brow. “What were you before?”

  “I was a regular credit rep.”

  “Ah.”

  Jamie figured it might not sound that significant to his friends. Matt and Tray worked in construction and Pellican worked in a warehouse; their jobs never seemed to change much. In corporate-America, though, responsibilities shifted all the time and a person’s title meant a lot. In Jamie’s case, a promotion to “senior” meant a supervisory role within his department, a larger cubicle, and an extra seven hundred bucks in his pocket each month. “After I move into my new place next week,” Jamie went on, referring to the studio apartment in Back Bay he’d just signed a lease on, “all I’ll need is a set of wheels.”

  “I’m not hearing any ladies,” Matt called out with a grin.

  Again Jamie held up his hand. “In due time,” he assured them.

  “You’re such a sweet guy,” Andy asserted, reaching for her Mojito. “Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

  “Thanks,” Jamie said, straightening his glasses a bit. “I must admit, I do pride myself on being the complete package.” Tragan snorted a laugh, but Jamie insisted, “It’s true,” then looked at Andy. “Also, I’ve been working out. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got some serious guns now,” he informed her, glancing toward his bicep. “I’m not even flexing.”

  “She hasn’t noticed,” Tragan interrupted, and Andy giggled.

  Affably, Jamie smiled. “So that’s why I’m telling her.”

  “Jamie?”

  He turned his head. A familiar blond waitress was approaching their table, though it actually did take him a second to remember her. Her pale blond hair was longer now and free from the ponytail she had often worn back when they’d spent time together. “Lily? Hey…” Jamie said, surprised, and met her hug. The hug was brief and platonic—unlike their relationship, which was just brief. “You’re working here again? So you’re back?”

  “The short answer is yes,” Lily replied. “I am working here again, but only a couple of nights a week. I hate relying on tips, because people are so cheap!” she lamented. “I’ve registered with some temp agencies, though, so I’m sure they’ll find me something soon.”

  “Cool,” Jamie said agreeably. “It’s great to see you. But what happened to L.A.?”

  The sour face Lily made in response indicated that she was bitter about the whole West Coast experiment—but she covered it quickly and smiled again. Definitely an aspiring actress, Jamie thought. “It didn’t really work out. Just wasn’t my scene,” she finished with a shrug. “So what’s new with you?”

  “Nothing, really,” he
began, which was more of a generic response than the truth. In actuality, it had been almost a year since he’d seen Lily and in that time, he felt as though he’d come a long way—both at work and in his personal life. In fact, just thinking about buying a car and moving into his own place made Jamie feel as though he were on the cusp of a new era.

  “Your hair’s different,” Lily said. With an appreciative smile playing at her lips, she cast her eyes over Jamie’s light brown hair. “It used to be super short.”

  “Oh, yeah…” Jamie said, absently running a hand through it. He wasn’t one of those guys who was all into his hair, but he had to admit: ever since he’d let it grow an inch or two, he’d been getting more attention from the ladies. Maybe it was a sexual attraction thing: just as there were times when he liked grabbing onto a girl’s hair, he had to assume that girls felt the same.

  With a tilt of her head, Lily smiled and turned her observation into a compliment. “I like it better this way. It looks really good.” She gave him an almost-flirtatious, almost-coy sort of smile. Then she scanned the table, giving a pleasant smile to his friends, but seemed to be searching for something. “Is anything else new with you?” she asked when her eyes landed on Jamie again. He sensed she was prying a little, maybe even checking the table to see if he was with a girl.

  Before he could answer, a guy called from a nearby table. “Miss? We’re waiting on drinks,” he said, sounding annoyed.

  “Sorry, I’m coming,” Lily replied, glancing back, and then rolled her eyes discreetly for Jamie’s benefit. He gave a soft chuckle as she whispered to him, “Uch, I forgot how annoying customers can be!”

  “Think of them as thirsty,” Jamie suggested. “Not annoying; just extremely thirsty. It’ll make you feel better.”

  She smiled warmly at him. “That’s so you. You always put a positive spin on things.”

  “Oh. Well…”

  “I’m really happy we ran into each other, Jamie.”

  “Miss…”

  “Coming!” Lily said. “He’ll probably be a stingy tipper, too,” she muttered. Then, before doing an about-face and hurrying to the other table, she gave Jamie a meaningful glance and said, “I’ll see you around, okay?”

  “Sure,” Jamie agreed. “See ya.”

  When he sat back down, Tragan leaned forward and said, “Dude, what was all that about?”

  “Nothing—you remember Lily.”

  “No,” Tray said.

  “Me, neither,” Matt agreed.

  “He hung out with her last year,” Pellican reminded them.

  “Just for a few weeks,” Jamie added. “After she graduated from BC, she moved out to L.A. with her roommate. They were drama majors, I think.”

  Pellican scoffed. “Girls bring enough drama without majoring in it, for fuck’s sake. It’s like: run now,” he joked.

  Jamie just shrugged, reaching for his beer.

  “If you want my opinion,” Tray mentioned casually, “I thought she was dropping some hints.”

  “Totally,” Pellican agreed with a snort. “Nothing subtle there.”

  Jamie sat up straighter and started nodding. “Okay—so it wasn’t my imagination. She was feeling me out, right?” he said, looking at his friends. “Trying to find out if I’m still single?”

  At that, Pellican paused with his half-eaten buffalo wing mid-air. “Oh—no, dude, I meant dropping hints about her tip. What I got out of that whole conversation was: please don’t be a cheap-ass punk.”

  “Well, don’t tell him,” Matt said with a laugh. “He’s not paying tonight.”

  “Oh, shit, I forgot,” Pellican mumbled, “we’re treating.”

  “And with that…” Emma piped up, grinning at Jamie sardonically as she lifted her wine glass. “Happy birthday, Jamie!”

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks later

  As Jamie turned his car onto Crown Street, his phone rang. Seeing Pellican’s name displayed on the center screen, Jamie hit the button to connect. “Hey, bro.”

  “Hey, did you call me before?”

  “Yes. I wanted to tell you the change of plans for tonight. We’re not playing pool. Tray got the new Death Call Asylum game, so we’re hanging out at his place instead.”

  “Okay,” Pellican agreed. “Am I on speaker right now?”

  “Yes, sorry about that,” Jamie said, breaking into a smile, “but I’m just in my new car right now.”

  Pellican congratulated him. “Cool, you got it?”

  “I’m just about to park,” Jamie mentioned, as he rounded the corner onto Hamilton. “Wait—oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “Holy shit!” Jamie blurted, slowing his car down as he processed the disturbing image to his left. “Someone’s parked in my spot!” Just then another car came up behind him, then another behind that, so he knew he had to keep moving; he couldn’t block traffic while he lingered beside the parking spot that was supposed to be his.

  He made the next left so he could drive around the block again.

  “Probably some college kid who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing,” Pellican remarked.

  “There’s clearly a ‘private parking’ sign there,” Jamie grumbled, as he wrapped around to Crown Street again, then Hamilton, and then…

  There it was. It hadn’t been a mistake or a mirage. A shiny little red car was planted in the dream spot—adjacent to Jamie’s apartment building—even though the space had been promised to Jamie by the landlord, and had sat empty this entire week.

  Just as Jamie was mulling the “Violators will be towed” portion of the sign, Pellican said, “You should have him towed. That’ll grow him up fast.”

  “What?” Jamie said distractedly, unsure how long he could stay double-parked like this, in denial.

  “If it’s a college kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing, I mean,” Pellican clarified. “Either way, you should still have him towed.”

  “I don’t know…” Jamie murmured, more to himself.

  “What’s to know? He took a spot that didn’t belong to him; that’s how the world works.”

  “I don’t want to be a dick about it. It might be one of my neighbors.”

  “So what?”

  “Besides, it looks like a chick car,” Jamie observed thoughtfully. “I don’t want to do that to a girl. It might be bad karma.”

  “What?”

  “Look, one time my sister got towed and she was hysterical. I had to leave work to come take care of it for her.”

  “Ah, come on,” Pellican muttered, clearly having no tolerance for drama.

  “She sobbed for like a week!” Jamie said, slightly exaggerating that one part.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’ll just leave a note,” Jamie said, as he pulled onto a side street, to search for another place to park.

  Pellican openly scoffed at that. “A note? Are you George Washington? No one leaves a note anymore. That’s ridiculously old-school.” Jamie pretended to mull it over, as he wove down another narrow side street, then another, before he finally found an available spot. “Well?”

  As he slid backward into the space, Jamie said, “Pellican, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever wondered why you’re not universally beloved?”

  “Says who? Oh, shit—gotta go. My boss is calling me.”

  Once they disconnected, Jamie cut the engine and stepped out into the late-day sun. This particular March day was temperate and mild and fit perfectly his equanimous mood. (Equanimity, meaning calmness, had been in his Word-Of-The-Day calendar this week. He was trying to expand his vocabulary by actually making a point to remember.)

  He couldn’t help giving his new car an appreciative look before turning and walking back to Hamilton Avenue.

  Boston wasn’t a bad city to drive in; Tray and Matt both drove, and having a car was preferable to being dependent on public transportation, though the T came in handy, no matter what. Traffic really wasn’t all that horrible when you were used t
o it, but parking was hell. So many rules and not nearly enough spots.

  As he approached the shiny little red car, he noticed a bumper sticker on the left side of the fender that read: Beware of the Snow Siren. Then he reached into his jacket pockets to scrounge for a pen and something to write on. A crumpled receipt from P.F. Chang’s would have to do. He flipped the receipt over and placed it on the trunk of the car, before clicking his pen and starting to write—

  “Uh, can I help you?” he heard a girl say.

  Abruptly Jamie looked up and saw a brunette crossing the street toward him—with a look of concern pinching her otherwise cute face. “What are you doing near my car?”

  She obviously wasn’t shy about confrontation, he thought, as she charged right up to him. “Hey,” Jamie said, giving her an easy smile as he crumpled the receipt. “I was just leaving you a note. So, are you the Snow Siren?”

  He was half-kidding, but she didn’t crack a smile. She narrowed her eyes, confused. “What? No,” she said, crossing her arms, realizing he was referencing her bumper sticker. “That’s a mountain in Antarctica.”

  “Ah,” Jamie said with a nod. “Well…like I said, I was about to leave you a note—”

  “About what?” she pressed. “Did you hit my car?”

  “No, of course not,” he replied quickly. “See, this is my spot,” he told her.

  At first the girl didn’t say anything. But by the slight widening of her dark eyes, he’d say that she was genuinely struck. God knows why, though, Jamie thought. Considering that the space was clearly marked as “private.”

  Finally she spoke. “Wait. Who said it’s yours?” she challenged. “You can’t just claim a spot because you feel like it.”

  “Obviously,” Jamie remarked, put off by her accusatory tone. Jesus, did she think he was crazy or something? That he went around randomly leaving notes on cars, totally unaware of how society operated?

  Probably not wise to ask her all that, though. She was already staring daggers at him; he wasn’t going to make it worse. In fact, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong here, he was determined to smooth this over so the girl wouldn’t get all upset.