by Lila Felix
Stockton and I worked side by side during the last summer. I made some of my best pieces there, with no cares, just me and my tools. He said he was sending samples off to see what people thought and if they cared to buy my designs. But so far, he hadn’t heard anything.
Who wants personalized silverware anymore when you can buy a set for ten bucks at the local superstore?
No one—that’s who.
My right eye closed in protest as an overzealous group of mediocre musicians clanged through an up-tempo version of Amazing Grace. They should’ve just left it alone. Some songs were just fine the way they were first composed. But no, everyone thought they could add a keyboard and a snare drum and call it contemporary. I called it killing a good thing.
After they brutally murdered a few more songs and I was uncouthly elbowed by West to join in the singing, church bulletins were passed around in a little basket with fall leaves sticking out from every hole. The passing started at the front of the congregation and was making its way to me.
Good. Something to read.
The pastor got up and was just as ‘Holy Spirit is better than coffee’ as the rest. He called out, in his holey jeans and button down shirt, for people to shout out their blessings. A man up front yelled out ‘Love’ at the same time another yelled out “Joy.” Then right in front of me a big pile of flame red hair yelled out “Grace.”
I wanted to yell out Tylenol.
Coffee.
Sugar.
As the pastor finally started something resembling a real sermon with his microphone planted in his ear with a boy band contraption that hovered around his mouth, the girl in front of me turned to finally hand me the basket with my coveted reading material.
And that’s when I saw her face—the face of dreams.
Maybe church wasn’t so bad after all.
She shoved the basket at me again, bringing me out of my ogling. Just a glimpse is what I got, but it was all I needed to get a good enough taste of her.
It’s also when I recognized her and my brain finally put it all together.
Beer goggle images from the night before meshed and integrated with the ones from my childhood in a hazy slideshow of recognition.
It couldn’t be. No, it just couldn’t be. She was a gangly wiry thing when we were babies. I mean, we weren’t exactly babies. We were adolescent Hicksville rebels who thought we knew everything. I did. There was no way this gorgeous creature in front of me could be her. But it was her.
When I’d set her up with Jake back in school, I’d done it to give her a boost. She was always a sweet thing, pretty sassy—smart as hell—everyone thought so. But her dad was a coal miner, just trying to do the best he could by his family. Coal miners worked their asses off but didn’t bring in a lot of money. She always wore clothes two or three sizes too big for her and some of them made for a grandmother rather than a teenaged girl. We never faulted her for it. Poverty in our town was as rampant as milk drinking.
Tate Halloway—who would’ve thought?
Her hair was wild now. Before it was an almost bleached out red—nothing as vibrant as the tendrils that floated over her chair now and tickled my jean-clad knees. I could see the back of her neck too, her freckles had now multiplied and taken on a ‘loud and proud’ stance all over her—a far cry from her previous, ‘maybe I have freckles, maybe it’s just dirt’ appearance. In school, she wore Coke bottle glasses that made her eyes look like they were being studied under a twenty-four-hour microscope.
It was like everything pretty about her was being hidden beneath a grandmother’s disguise.
Not wanting to keep the info to myself, I dead-legged West in the thigh who then bit on his fist to keep from yelling at me.
“What,” he whispered through a clenched jaw.
“That’s Tate Halloway.”
“What?”
“That’s Tate Halloway.”
“What?”
All that contemporary hymn singing had apparently deafened my brother. I jerked the pen out of West’s pocket—because he was extra nerdy like that and scribbled her name on the bulletin I’d yet to read.
He shrugged like he could give a shit, but I just continued to give him the biggest stare down ever. I watched his face evolve from ambiguity to knowing as he contorted his body to try and get a look at her face. Then he turned to me with wide eyes and a huge smile.
No one could ever say West was a quick one.
I spent the rest of the service studying Tate instead of the bulletin in front of me. I couldn’t believe I acted like such an ass in front of her last night. And it certainly explained why she was so snippy with me. The last memory she probably had of me was when I set her up on a date and Jake stood her up—not that last night gave her anything better to remember me by.
I hoped I didn’t puke on her.
Everyone around me bowed their head. I’d been observing her through the whole damned sermon.
While everyone was deep in prayer, I scooted past them—up the stairs and out of the hall. Pounding the pavement as fast as my overhung legs would take me, I kept glancing behind me to make sure she wasn’t following me. I had to run from her and avoid her at all costs.
First and foremost, she knew about Jesse and would ask me about her.
Second, I knew her kind and didn’t even want to begin to touch that fire.
Third, and this was probably what I was running from the most—I had a feeling that if Jesse had ruined me—that this girl could surely kill me.
Ignoring her wasn’t that hard.
That was a lie. The girl was everywhere.
I tried to pick up coffee—she was at a table near where I had to order.
I tried to go study in the library—she worked in the dang library.
She was every single place I wanted to go every single minute of every single day.
Not really—only the places I wanted to go.
I slummed down to the School of Business library to study with the suits now. One day I was gonna go in there in my Dad’s best overalls and some grass whittling between my teeth and proclaim “This sure is one fine studyin’ shack.” That would clear out their stuck up asses for sure.
Everything smelled like leather in their library.
Two more weeks was all I had until Thanksgiving break. I could put up with anything for two more weeks.
After an hour of staring at the economics book, having not even read a single sentence I slammed it shut, causing the hyped up sponsors of Red Bull studying around me to jump out of their ties.
What? They’d never heard a book slam?
It had become a real problem of late. I couldn’t concentrate on my studies regardless of my earnest determination. I wasn’t lazy by a long shot. Any kid raised on a farm, especially raised on a farm by a father who was a blacksmith, didn’t have a choice in the matter.
Poor country kids didn’t have the luxury of being lazy.
We worked for every morsel that hit our mouths.
Which was why I was so conflicted. I felt like a spoilt brat not happy with Daddy’s color choice of their brand new sports car.
I was stuck in a constant juggling of choices. My mind never stopped thinking about it. I looked around the room, observing the way the other students were diligent in their goals, highlighting the shit out of them in their books, taking notes like note taking was their pic line to the IV of life. Some of them shook out ‘stay awake’ pills and chased them with enough energy drinks to give heart palpitations to an Orca whale. It was their life, school and the pursuit of bigger better things.
I’d once chased that same dream.
Why was I finishing out the semester again?
I stood with my brow furrowed cursing the books in front of me on the table and what they stood for. School felt like a prison of late.
I hate school.
My home was in the workshop.
My home was with the metal—the silver—the gold.
Home was feeling the
heat through my gloves and a constant sweat on my brow.
Home was on my mother’s discarded stool focused on a project—seeing the finished product in my mind’s eye as it took shape under my capable hands.
Still standing, the librarian eyed me as if someone not comfortable among the leather and highlighters was an anomaly.
I should be grateful, I began to debate myself out of what I really wanted to do.
I should be grateful that I have the opportunity that most people would kill for. I have a killer truck and a paid for education courtesy of my brother and my father’s legacy. I had a great family and a business degree would only further those prospects.
But I hated it—every single second of it.
The walls came to life in my mind, closing in on me.
No, this is not what I want.
I want to go home.
Chapter Four
Tate
“No, I’m not doing that!” I laughed hysterically into the thin cell phone. “You’re out of your mind!”
“Please,” Carter begged me from the other end. “Please, please, please!”
“Now you’re just being pathetic.” I hovered outside the library doors, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep my voice down while talking with Carter. I had an issue with talking quietly. An issue as in I was incapable of doing it. When I spoke to anyone, my voice got obnoxiously loud and my laugh was worse. My friends were constantly shushing me.
It was a miracle and also a kind of ironic joke that I got a shelving job in the library. While I loved my place of employment, even more so because it was perfectly convenient to my college life, I didn’t exactly fit in.
The library, and consequently most of the other employees, had this certain stoic severity about them. The books were lined up perfectly. The volume level kept to a studious whisper. My coworkers wore modest, preppy clothes that matched their trimmed, perfectly coiffed hair and their dull, lifeless shoes.
My boss had told me once that she hired me to “spice things up” around the mundane routine that hardly ever changed from day-to-day. And the thing was, I didn’t blame her. The library was boring. And that was an emotion I could not tolerate.
But I stayed for the good of the people I worked with. I didn’t even want to imagine their lives without me to brighten the mood and bring a little crazy to their rigidly scheduled programming. Plus, when I wasn’t stacking books, I could study and I always got the books I wanted when I needed them because as soon as they were returned, I set them aside for myself.
“Listen, we’re going tonight,” Carter continued on. “And if I have to blindfold and gag you again to get your ass there, then that’s what I’ll do.”
The thing was… I believed her. “Come on, Carter. Really? Karaoke? I would rather go to the silent film marathon in the student union then endure a bunch of my peers singing bad boy band remixes while drunk off their asses.”
She snorted a laugh. “What happened to carpe diem, Tate? I thought we were living the college life to the fullest? Especially before you-”
“I never said it included every bad song from the nineties,” I snickered. But she’d already said the magic words and she knew it.
“Tatum Mackenzie Halloway, you’re going tonight, even if I have to drag you there myself. Plus, those guys from my Econ class are going to meet us. I can finally introduce you to Sawyer.”
“And his friend Huckleberry Finn?”
“You laugh now, but this guy is seriously hot, my friend. And he’s interested in you.” She sounded so smug on the other end. I could just imagine what Sawyer had already heard about me. If it was coming from my optimistic BFF, the sky was the limit.
“Yeah right. Just wait until he hears me sing… that interest will die a very painful, very slow, very tone-deaf death.”
“Maybe we’ll just watch other people sing,” Carter suggested wisely.
I started laughing again, loudly. “This was your idea!”
“But mostly for the half-price beer and free peanuts.”
“Ah, my frugal friend, this is why our college years are going to be epic.” I looked out at the sprawling campus in front of me. We were way into fall at the beginning of November and all of the trees had turned to beautifully muted tones of dark orange and rusty red, burnished gold and rich purples. The sun had settled low on the horizon and the pastel pinks and indigos in the sky blended well with all the fall glory. I breathed in the smoky air and smiled at this life I lead. Carter was right. I had taken up this whole live-life-to-the-fullest manifesto and I was enjoying every minute of it. Karaoke would be fun. And maybe the added bonus of Sawyer would coat the fringes of loneliness that seemed adamant on staying with me.
The funny thing about this sudden epiphany that my soul felt alone was that I hadn’t even been aware of it until a certain frat house part a few weeks ago. Had I know that the re-emergence of Bridger Wright in my life was going to awaken a hunger for some kind of relationship, I would have left him and his drunk ass to wander the streets of Nashville in the middle of the night.
I had tried to convince myself that I wasn’t really lonely, that it was just the rejection that Bridger was so intent to give me every time we shared the same breathing space. And in trying to convince myself that he was a grade-A douche for avoiding me at any cost, I’d managed to ignore the true stirrings of heartache.
Gah! Boys.
Dumb.
“So you’re in?” Carter asked hopefully.
“I’m in,” I sighed. “Carpe karaoke!”
She giggled in my ear. “And you get off of work when?”
“Four hours from five minutes ago. Shit, I’m late!” And then I hung up on her. That’s how much she loved me. She put up with my frazzled chaos.
I shoved my phone into my pocket and rushed through the heavy wooden doors. My supervisor, Catherine, stood at the circulation desk and promptly gave me the stink eye. I smiled at her and then tripped over some kid’s backpack that he’d left out in the middle of the aisle. I landed flat on my face with absolutely nothing graceful to brag about.
“Ow,” I moaned.
“Oh, no,” I heard a thick southern drawl groan above me.
I rolled over to my back and looked up at none other than Bridger Wright. Apparently, he wasn’t only trying to murder my soul but also, in the physical sense of murdering, me.
“Ow,” I said again.
He seemed to come back to himself somewhat and jumped up from his chair. “Uh, sorry,” he mumbled. He held out his hand like any boy raised with manners would and pulled me to my feet. But as soon as I was standing, he backed off and dropped my hand.
“Well, well, well,” I grinned at him. “Bridger Wright. I did not expect to see you here tonight. You know, because usually whenever you see me, you run the complete opposite direction like I’m getting ready to light your pants on fire.”
He blushed the satisfying color of eggplant. Obviously, he thought he had been smoother about this.
“You saw that?” he croaked.
I gave him a “Duh,” look and let him suffer for a little bit longer. “Figure out my name yet?” I teased him.
A small smile played at the corner of his full lips and his green eyes twinkled with confidence. “I have figured that out, Tate Halloway.” His eyes smoldered at me for just a moment and he said, “All grown up.” Before the fire could be fully lit in my belly, his good-humor suddenly disappeared and he rubbed the back of his neck when he said, “Hey, that night, I wasn’t exactly at my best.”
I let out a bark of laughter that I knew had Catherine glaring over at me. “No kidding! You mean, wandering around the middle of the road, with more alcohol in your system than blood, wasn’t one of your shining moments?”
His cheeks pinked on the high planes and he ducked his head. “Not exactly,” he admitted and then cleared his throat.
“Well, don’t worry about it. I’ve seen a lot worse at those frat parties. You were mostly highly entertainin
g. You and your brother were kind of ridiculous but at least you weren’t trying to come on to me.”
He smiled, but it was a faded version of the real thing. Images of him as a child flashed in my mind’s eye and I pictured him laughing in bursts of loud laughter and horsing around with his brothers. Bridger had always been one of the happiest kids I’d ever known, but these days he seemed withdrawn and depressed.
I wondered if something was going on with his family. I knew his parents had died a few years ago; my grandparents occasionally caught me up with the happenings of that little town and they’d mentioned the fire as soon as it happened. The Wright family was a pillar of that community and Noah and Grace had been some of the loveliest people I had ever met.
He chuckled politely but then an awkward silence fell between us. “So, uh, how have you been?” I asked after it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything more.
“Fine.”
“Yeah? You like school?”
“It’s fine.”
Alright, a man of few words. I could work with that. “So, we should catch up sometime. I haven’t seen you in forever. You know, I actually heard that you had decided to come here from my Grams, but since I hadn’t seen you in two years, I thought maybe she had the school wrong. I would love to hear all about what’s going on back in Constance.”
He looked down at his homework and then slowly dragged his eyes back to me, or rather, my feet. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair and shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, sure.”
There was this part of me… this evil, malicious, sadistic part of me that really loved torturing Bridger right now. He had been such a pain in my ass my entire childhood! And now, finally, I could extract my revenge.
Plus, good grief, he was adorable shuffling his feet and looking like he’d rather be swallowing nails than talking to me.
Nobody could say I didn’t love a challenge.
“Like tonight!” The words bubbled out of me in an excited giggle. Okay, it wasn’t all about revenge. It was just that he looked so… lonely, and sad or miserable or something. I hated seeing him like this. I knew it was dumb because we hadn’t been around each other for years, but this was not the Bridger that I knew. This guy was depressing to look at, let alone be around. I felt sucked into his vortex of gloom and I’d only been with him for five minutes.