Reckless Memories

by Catherine Cowles

  “Ford.” Her voice was cold, the tone generally reserved for those who had hurt someone Kenna loved. Oh, shit. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought for sure you’d have bailed again by now.”

  Ford’s forearms flexed as he gripped the bar. “I’m here for the next few months. I just want to help.”

  Kenna scoffed. “Day late and a dollar short.”

  “Brown Eyes…”

  Her head snapped in Crosby’s direction. “Stay out of this, surfer boy, you don’t know a damn thing about what’s going on.”

  He held up his hands in defeat.

  Ford pushed away from the bar, straightening to his full height. “You don’t know a damn thing either, Kenna.”

  She rose from her stool. “I know more than you. You know why? I was here. I went to the hospital every day. To those god-awful physical therapy appointments when she got out. To the funeral. And where were you?”

  “Kenna…” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. All I knew was that she had to stop. I didn’t want her to bare my scars for all to see.

  Kenna shook her head and picked up her drink. “Sorry, Bell. I’m gonna go sit with the kids.”

  I nodded and watched her move through the crowd. When she scooted into the booth, I looked back to Crosby, and then my eyes traveled to Ford as if they couldn’t stay away any longer. There was so much pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry. She’s protective.”

  Ford’s jaw worked. “Understandable.”

  “She shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Ford opened his mouth to speak, but Crosby spoke up first. “God, I love when her fire sneaks out.”

  His statement startled a laugh out of me. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to push her too far, and I’m not going to do a damn thing to save you.”

  Crosby glanced over at Kenna. “Someone’s gotta startle a little life into her.”

  I turned back to Ford, and he looked so damn lost it had my heart cracking a little bit more. But I didn’t want my heart to crack for him. He was the one who had left without a word. He hadn’t earned this emotion, my heart breaking for his pain. I straightened my spine. “I’m going to work the floor for a bit. You got back of bar?”

  He started at my voice but nodded roughly. I took off without another word, striding between tables, looking for any excuse for escape.

  A hand snaked out and gripped my wrist. I whipped around and ready to elbow whoever it was in the gut. “Whoa, there! It’s just me.”

  I grimaced at Hunter. He’d been calling nonstop for the past two days. I hadn’t called him back. I wasn’t ready for the conversation we needed to have. We’d become close in the years since the accident, and he was one of the people I trusted most, but he’d fractured that bond in a way that wasn’t easy to repair. “What are you doing here?”

  He winced and rubbed his jaw. “The boys and I thought we’d get a few beers and some grub.”

  I glanced around at the two other men at the table. I knew them both to varying degrees. Pete was a transplant from Seattle, having moved to Anchor for a quiet place to raise his family. But Ethan had grown up with us and had been in the same grade as Hunter and me.

  I forced a smile. “Hi, boys. What can I get ya?”

  Pete grinned down at the table. “Still pissed at Hunt?”

  I scowled at him. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Lay off, Pete.” Ethan gave me a gentle smile. “You hanging in there, Bell?”

  I tried to push the smile wider. “Right as rain. Now, let’s get you your drinks. What’ll it be?” I let myself zone out to the rhythm of waitressing, the sea of familiar faces, and did everything I could to avoid the blue eyes behind the bar.

  I trudged up the stairs at the back of the bar, my legs feeling like they were carrying an extra fifty or sixty pounds. Everything hurt. I’d been on my feet since ten that morning, and it was now after one a.m. My bed was calling my name, but I desperately needed a shower to clean off the day—both the physical labor and the emotional pain. Showers always seemed to help. The pounding of the water against my skull dulled the painful memories.

  I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my keys. Unlocking the door, I stepped inside and kicked off my boots. “Shower. A shower will make everything better.” And it did. I turned the water as hot as I could stand it and let everything melt away. When I got out, everything was clearer, a little less ominous.

  I twisted my hair up into a towel wrap and secured it in place. It would just have to do because I wasn’t standing here for another thirty minutes blow-drying my hair. Crossing to my dresser, I went straight for my comfiest PJs, the flannel ones covered in bright ice cream cones. As I pulled them out, my hand stilled on the top drawer. I opened it and carefully lifted out the scrapbook.

  Its clothbound cover was fraying slightly at the edges, and slips of paper and ribbon stuck out from the pages. I set it on my bed and quickly put on my PJs. Sliding under the covers, I pulled the scrapbook onto my lap. A therapist my parents had forced me to see after the accident had suggested the project. An artistic outlet and way to remember my sister.

  It had taken me over a year to complete the thing. It was part photo album, part mixed-media art piece. As sentimental as I was, I had always kept a memory box full of mementos from my childhood. It had been stuffed full of photos, ribbons from various contests, ticket stubs, paintings, and so on. I pulled from that, photos I got from family and friends, and multiple trips to craft stores.

  Each page of the scrapbook told a story. And those together, showed a life. The pages weren’t in chronological order. It would’ve been too depressing to flip through it, knowing when I was getting close to the end. Instead, I jumped around in a pattern that was my own. Violet’s ninth birthday, the day I was born, a family vacation to Disneyland.

  Each page layered a varied array of photos, paint, memorabilia, stickers, doodles, and more. I grinned down at a picture of the two of us outside The Tower of Terror at Disneyland. I had a massive smile on my face, while Violet looked a little green. My parents had refused to accompany me on the ride, so Violet had gone, even though heights made her sick to her stomach. I’d made it up to her by using all my saved-up allowance to buy her a porcelain statue of Sleeping Beauty she’d been eyeing in one of the gift shops. It was one of Violet’s belongings I’d insisted on keeping after her passing.

  I flipped a page, and my hand stilled. The photo I’d glued to the paper was gone. I’d decorated the area surrounding it with drawings of trees, marsh grass, and the pond where the picture had been taken. It should’ve been three smiling faces looking back at me. Violet, me, and Ford. My fingers skimmed across the page where the snapshot had been, the paper torn away just slightly. Had the glue dried out and the photo come loose?

  I went to the drawer where I kept the book. Searching inside, I came up empty. I tried to think back to the last time I’d taken it out. Maybe a couple of months ago? My stomach twisted. It must have fallen out, and I’d thrown it out when cleaning up and not paying attention.

  “It’s just a picture.” I knew I had a copy of it on my computer. I could always print it out and replace it. But something about it sent a chill skittering down my spine.

  9

  Ford

  I took a pull from my beer as I flipped over another page of spreadsheets.

  “Drinking on the job already?”

  Even Bell’s voice was different, huskier somehow, yet hauntingly familiar at the same time—just like everything else about her. God, I’d missed her giving me shit. There had been so many times I’d almost picked up the phone. So many times I’d almost come back to see her. But the fear of what I’d find when I got here had always kept me away.

  I took another sip of the beer. At least she was talking to me today. “Hank’s making me an early lunch. I think I can handle one pale ale.”

  Bell’s nose scrunched as she took in my beverage. “Girlie beer.”

  I barked out a laugh. �
�Don’t pull any punches.”

  She started at the sound of my laugh, her eyes widening, and then her expression closed down, shutting me out. I hated every wall she put between us, that I had put between us. Bell turned towards the back hallway, clearly ready to retreat to the office until the doors opened to patrons. But I didn’t want her to go. “Wait.”

  She froze, then slowly turned towards me, her expression guarded. “Yeah?”

  I inclined my head to the stools next to me. “Grab a seat. I wanted to go over some things with you.” I raised a brow when she didn’t move either way.

  Bell straightened her spine and headed back in my direction. I bit back a grin. Trouble never could back down from a challenge. The flicker of my lips faded away when she left a stool in between us. A barrier. “What’s up?”

  I gave my head a little shake and gathered up the papers in front of me. “You’ve done a good job of keeping this place afloat.” I looked over at Bell, but she said nothing, a passive mask covering her features. My hold on the papers tightened. “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “I’m waiting for the but.”

  “There is no but. You’re the reason this place didn’t go under.” I met her gaze and held it, willing her to really hear me. “Thank you”—I cleared my throat—“for being here when I wasn’t. When I couldn’t.”

  Bell’s jaw hardened. “I’d do anything for Frank and Kara.”

  It cut. Not her dedication to my parents, but the fact that she had to make it clear that her contribution to The Catch’s future had nothing to do with me. “I imagine we owe you some back pay.”

  Her eyes hardened, the green glittering like gemstones. “I didn’t do it for the money.”

  She said “money” like it was a dirty word. Shit. I was making a mess of this whole thing. “I didn’t mean that you did. But I can tell you’ve been putting in extra hours.”

  “They were my hours to give.”

  I ran my hand through my hair. This was getting us nowhere. “Well, thank you. I mean it. And the place looks amazing.” I’d expected to find a large payout for a bar remodel somewhere in the books, but I’d only found expenses for paint, secondhand light fixtures, and other inexpensive items.

  Bell straightened one of the bar menus in the holder in front of her. “We did what we could with what we had.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can get you a little more to work with.”

  Her brow arched. “You don’t want to be in charge of the budget?”

  I took another pull of my beer. “No. You’re making sound decisions with the bar. You’ve been more clever than I might’ve been. I just want to get you a little more breathing room.”

  The set of Bell’s shoulders eased, and there was a mirroring sensation in my chest. “Okay. What are you thinking?”

  “The lunch and dinner rushes are holding steady. That will always be our bread and butter, but I think we can get the after-hours crowd to pick up a little more.”

  Bell traced an invisible design on the bar top. “Maverick’s has become more of the late-night spot. It’s rowdier. Loud music. Where people go to blow off steam.”

  “I don’t want to attract a rough crowd. I don’t think that’s wise. But what would you think about live music on the weekends?”

  She was silent for a minute, and I was surprised by how much I wanted her to like my idea, how much I craved her approval. Years ago, the roles had been reversed. It was always Bell coming to ask me what I thought about this or that, if I liked a drawing she was working on or whatnot. And now, I was holding my breath to hear what she thought about a business move.

  “I think it could work…” She started drumming her fingers on the bar. Now that was familiar. If Bell didn’t have something to doodle on, she always pounded out a beat while she was thinking something through. “We could attract more tourists that way, some of the locals looking for date night options. We should consider offering a late-night menu—limited, of course. Things that Hank could prep, but a line cook could make.”

  “That’s a great idea. Finding the right music is going to be key to attracting the crowd we want.”

  “You’re right.” Her fingers picked up their pace along the bar. “I know a few guys who have a country/folk sort of feel. That might be a good fit. Something people could dance to or just sit by and listen.”

  “That sounds perfect. Maybe we could do themed nights. Mix it up so people don’t get bored?”

  “That’s a great idea. The only problem will be finding a variety of musicians.”

  I grinned, a million memories sliding through me. “Just as long as we aren’t desperate enough to throw you up on stage.”

  Bell laughed, and it was the sweetest sound I’d heard in a long damn time. “My musical genius is above your pay grade.”

  The front door swung open, and I glanced at my watch. It wasn’t quite time to open our doors. “Sorry, we’re not open—”

  My words were cut off as Hunter strode in with Ethan in tow. “Come on, big brother, I think I’ve earned early access.” His gaze flicked to Bell, concern filling his expression, but he kept that false smile on his face.

  She hopped off the stool. “I gotta go check the tables out back. If you ask nicely, I bet Hank will fix you boys something before he’s officially on the clock.”

  Hunter’s shoulders sagged as he watched Bell head out the door to the back patio. “Fuck.”

  “She still not talking to you?”

  Hunter shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Nope. I screwed things up good this time.”

  Ethan slapped him on the back. “It’s Bell. She’ll forgive you. You just gotta give her a few days to stew.”

  My gut burned at the guys’ familiarity with Bell. The feeling crawling around inside me felt a whole lot like jealousy, thick and insidious. It had always been the three of us growing up: me, Violet, and Trouble. I’d had a crush on Vi since the moment I met her in preschool, with her shiny blond hair and pale blue eyes. I’d been sunk. Her baby sister had just been a part of the package, and before long, we were an inseparable trio. Hunter had never been crazy about Vi and Bell, had always opted to hang out with Ethan instead, but it looked like that was one of the many things that had changed over the years.

  I wanted Bell to have good people in her life, and my brother was the best. But I guess, when it came down to it, I wanted a space there, too. I’d missed her. More than I wanted to admit. Hearing her laugh earlier had been the best kind of pain, full of the sweetest memories and the deepest longing for a time that was gone forever. Because I would never be that person again, the boy who thought he was a man. One who had never experienced true devastation. The man I would’ve been if the accident had never happened was a stranger to me. All I knew was who I was now, but I wasn’t sure how much I even knew him anymore.

  “Earth to Ford. What the hell, man?”

  I was jolted back to the present by Hunter’s voice. “Sorry. What?”

  A muscle in Hunt’s cheek ticked. “How’s she been?”

  I glanced towards the back door, my hand tightening around my beer. “I’m honestly not sure. She seemed to be letting her guard down a bit today…until you walked in.”

  Hunter’s gaze hardened, and I knew I’d crossed a line. Shit. I was supposed to be making amends with my brother, not making things worse. “I fucked up. I admit it. I should’ve told Bell I was calling you from the beginning. But she’s acting more pissed at me than she is at you, and I stayed.”

  I swallowed back the retort on my tongue. I’d bought that anger and more. “Ethan’s right. You know how Trouble’s temper is. Just give her a few days to cool down.”

  Ethan slapped his hands down on the bar. “All right, this family tension is making me feel super uncomfortable. So, how about we eat instead?”

  I let out a chuckle. “Fair enough. What do you guys want?”

  Caelyn appeared from the hallway with a tub of ice. “Holy hot guys.” She let out
a low whistle. “What’re you doing here so early? Not that I’m complaining about the eye candy.”

  Ethan grinned. “Early lunch. The boss is buying.”

  Hunter scowled and knocked the ball cap off Ethan’s head. “I said we could break for lunch early, not that I’d buy you food. You eat too much. You’ll bankrupt me.”

  Ethan patted his stomach. “I’m a growing boy.”

  “Growing a beer gut, maybe,” Hunter chided.

  “Here, I can take your orders and give them to Hank.” Caelyn pulled out a pad and pen from under the bar and started scrawling.

  I turned to face my brother. “Did you have the guys help you fix up the bar? I’ve been meaning to tell you how great everything looks.” Hunter just stared at me, and everyone else grew quiet. “What?”

  It was Caelyn who spoke up. “It wasn’t Hunter. I mean, he helped with some of the heavy lifting, but it was all Bell.”

  My brows rose. “Bell?” When I knew her, she’d had zero interest in renovation or anything of the sort.

  Hunt cleared his throat. “Yeah. She’s been taking online classes for interior design.” He glanced around the space, a small smile tipping his lips. “She’s got a real knack for it.”

  I looked around the bar with new eyes. Taking in everything from the big changes, like the poured cement floors, to the small details, like the distressed metal menu holders. Everything fit together in an effortless balance of rustic chic. And I knew after looking at the books that she’d made things look a lot more expensive than they were. “Why isn’t she taking classes in Seattle?”

  “I’m just going to get this order in with Hank.” Caelyn hustled towards the kitchen as if the bar were on fire.

  Hunter and Ethan shared a look, but Ethan spoke. “Caelyn has custody of her siblings. Got it when she was just twenty-one. She was drowning, trying to make it work those first couple of years. Bell and Kenna came back as soon as they graduated. Hell, they practically lived with them for a year.”