Declaration (Preservation, # 3)

by Rachael Wade

  “I have to go.” I spun around and started for the bedroom door, everything tilting and rolling sideways. What the hell was I thinking? She wasn’t just in love with someone else, she was my best friend. She just broke up with her fiancé, for fuck’s sake. She needed me to be her friend right now. She didn’t need me taking advantage of her during her darkest hour.

  My stride to the front door turned frantic.

  “Carter,” she said quietly, her shaky hand gripping my elbow. “Hold on, okay? Let me just think about this.”

  “No. I was wrong. This never happened.” With a turn of the doorknob, I was gone, dashing out into the hallway and far from the scene that was, without a doubt, the biggest mistake of my life. Because it would cost me. And it would cost Kate.

  And I had been right.

  It was still costing me now, as I sat in this rental car, driving on this island on the other side of the country. The debt would never go away. It was here to stay, and the collector was a bitch.

  Come to think of it, all this reminiscing was starting to make me thirsty. It was time for a cold beer. It was also time to start looking for a place to work. The thing about flying across the country to an unknown place on a whim is that it's messy. It's nothing like the movies. You know, the road trip, coming-of-age kind that features the free-spirited lead who finds himself in the midst of a life-changing event. Somehow, he miraculously stumbles across the perfect little job serving tables at a diner, or he meets Mrs. Right by chance at the closest rest stop, only to run into her later in the town grocery store, where, of course, they hit it off and sail off happily together into the sunset before the credits roll. Bit by bit, the character slowly finds his way in his shiny new life. Things fall into place, and he is able to do all of this with, like, five bucks in his pocket.

  Bullshit.

  I've got 20 in my wallet right now, and another 100 in the bank account. That won't last me until the weekend, and I doubt some lovely little thing in Daisy Dukes and a princess smile is going to walk out of the nearest gas station door and accidentally bump into me as I pass by, making me forget all about the irreplaceable, one and only Kate Parker. Sure, that would be nice. Actually, it'd be fucking peachy keen, but it won't happen. Why?

  Because this isn't a movie, and I'm a broke son of a bitch running from the girl who broke my heart like a sad little Boy Scout who had his water canteen stolen.

  Pathetic, party of one—right here.

  A modest shack sporting the name “Pete's” popped out at me as I caught the sun beginning to fall in the rearview mirror and I pulled over, rolling to a park in the gravelly lot. I let out a tired breath and stepped out of the car, eyeing the restaurant sign again before slamming and locking the car door.

  A barrage of smells wafted toward me as I stepped inside. To my pleasant surprise, there were no flamingo decorations. There weren't even any seashells in sight. Instead, the dimly lit pub felt like something I'd find near Elliot Bay...only it was New England style. If I'd ever been to Boston, I guessed this is what it would feel like to visit a pub on the harbor.

  “What can I do for ya, son?” a bartender asked as I slid onto a seat at the bar. The leather on the stool chafed against my jeans and the smell of whatever cleaning chemical was on the bartender's rag drifted over, making my eyes sting. He flipped it from one shoulder to the other, giving me another whiff. The man seemed to catch my reaction this time and laughed, tossing the rag under the bar.

  “So, what'll it be?”

  “Beer, please,” I said. “Surprise me.”

  “Alrighty then.” He nodded and quickly returned with a local beer I'd never heard of before, popping the cap from the bottle before sliding it in my direction. “Don't believe I've seen you around these parts. You been in here before?”

  “Nope, I'm new in town.”

  “Ah. You look new. Too pale.”

  “Yeah,” I glanced down at my pasty skin and chuckled. “Seattleites aren't particularly known for their sunbathing.”

  “Holy shit, boy, Seattle? As in the Pacific Northwest?”

  “Yup, you heard right.”

  “Well, I'll be damned. What brought you all the way here? Vacation?”

  “Not exactly. I'm looking for work.”

  “Ah, so you're moving in?”

  “That's the plan. Any idea who might be hiring around here? You need any help serving?”

  “Wish I could help ya out, but I don't need any help here. Can't think of anyone around here who’s hiring, either. Your options are pretty limited on the island.”

  See? Not like the movies.

  “Yeah, I figured that. Doesn't hurt to ask.”

  “Sure doesn't.” He turned, thoughtful, rubbing his chubby cheek, and I watched as his eyes jumped behind me to the door. “You know...you might wanna ask this guy walking in right now. He works down at the marina. If you're good with your hands, he might be able to help you out. There's usually need for manual labor down those parts. Hey Jack,” he raised his voice, calling out to the guy who'd just walked in. “Come over here for a sec, will ya?”

  The guy he called Jack was immediately sidelined by a table of busty blondes and he leaned over their booth to shoot them a smile and chat them up.

  “Jackson!” the bartender hollered again.

  Jackson lifted his head this time, rolling his eyes in our direction. “I'm comin', Pete, shit!” He tapped the top of the booth table playfully and winked in the girls' direction before saluting them goodbye, then confidently strode toward us.

  “You're Pete?” I asked the bartender.

  “At your service,” he said with a smile, extending a hand.

  “Carter.”

  We shook and turned to find Jackson taking a seat next to me. “What's the big fuss about, man? You're messin' with my game the minute I step through the door. Not cool.”

  Pete slid Jackson the same beer as me, giving him a knowing look. “Where's Emma tonight, Jack?”

  “How the hell should I know? Probably out shopping for cleaning supplies with Whitney. It's the highlight of her week, you know that.” He laughed and took a swig of his drink, sending me a sidelong glance. “So, what's the deal? Who's this?”

  “This,” Pete began, “is Carter, from Seattle. He's looking for work.”

  “Oh?” Jackson nodded in greeting and gave Pete a confused look. “Ooookay. And this takes priority over those sweet little things over there, why?” He slid me another quick look. “No offense, man. But I need to score. It's been too fuckin' long, and the one I want isn't interested. Makes for a painful existence, you feel me?”

  This dude had no fucking clue. “Hell yes, more than you know.” I nodded jovially and we clinked bottles. “I think Pete here is trying to find out if you know of anyone who might be hiring at the marina.”

  “Hhhm. Nah, not that I can think of. Why, what do you do for work? And what the hell brings you all the way to our little island?”

  “I used to work at Pike Place Market in downtown Seattle. Well, in between gigs, anyway. I was in a band. I'm up for anything if someone will give me a shot. Need to come up with money for some rent so I can get a place. Just wanted a change, that's all.”

  “Huh.” Jackson eyed me curiously, then gulped at his beer. “Well, I know a place up for rent. It's actually right above my boss's shop at the marina. I can take you to check it out, and while we're down there, we can try and find you some work.”

  “Uhh...you'd do that? I mean, I don't wanna impose or anything.”

  “It's cool.” He shrugged. “Got nothin' better to do, anyway, now that Pete here ruined my game. After this beer I wanna slide in a game of pool, though. After that, I'll show you the ropes, introduce you to some people. Consider me your own personal island welcome committee. I know just which chicks you need to stay away from, the ones you'll never have, and the best fishing spots in town.” He eyed me curiously again, almost cautiously. “You do fish, right? 'Cause uh...if you don’t, that might be a pro
blem in my world.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, no worries. I fish. It's been a while, but I'm game. I grew up on the water.”

  “Alright, good deal. Well, just so you know, this island is a dead-end for ambitions, man. So if you're lookin' for something better than whatever Seattle offered you...you came to the wrong place.”

  “I have no idea what I'm looking for.”

  “In that case,” he turned his baseball cap backward, pulling it down snugly over his dark hair, “you'll fit right in around here.”

  ***

  “You're a lifesaver, dude,” I said, dropping the last bag from the grocery store onto the counter.

  “I know,” Jackson said, buffing his fingers on his chest before pulling them back to admire them, “I'm amazing.”

  I chuckled and began pulling the groceries from the bag to stuff them in the tiny refrigerator. A week ago, I'd met Jackson at Pete's Tavern, and now here I was, with a new apartment and a job to boot—all thanks to him.

  Yup, my own personal little movie moment. Go me.

  He'd ended up showing me the place he mentioned was available for rent, which belonged to his boss. Turned out my knowledge of boats did help me out around here, just as I'd hoped. Jackson's boss not only offered me the place he was renting above his boat shop here at the marina, but he also offered me 20 hours a week—if Jackson was willing to give up 10 of his—to help in the shop. The work was mostly customer service and a little odds and ends labor here and there, but that was all I needed, and it was better than nothing. I'd still need to find another part-time job, but the studio apartment was so affordable, I wouldn't have to struggle, and my new landlord-turned-boss was cool enough to give me two weeks free just so I could get on my feet and come up with first month's rent.

  “Well,” I said, “I'm going to have to find some way to repay you or something. And I doubt I can offer you much. Sounds to me like you have this island wrapped around your finger.”

  “No payback necessary, man. Just buy me a beer every now and then and we're square, cool?” He grabbed his truck keys and clapped hands with me, ready to take off. “Oh, and uh...I might bring some girls over next week to throw you a little welcome party. Might wanna stash those BBC DVDs away...and the musicals...dude, the musicals gotta go. You're not battin' for the same team, are ya?”

  Hear that? That was my manhood shriveling up and dying a tragic, tragic death.

  “Nope, definitely not. I mean, yes—no. I mean I'm totally straight—”

  “I get it.” He clapped my back with a grin.

  “Uh...how many girls are we talking?”

  “Does it matter? The more, the merrier, right?”

  “Sort of...I'm not really...I don't know how to say this, but uh...”

  “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  “Are you like, a monk in training? Are you saving it? If there's something I should know, you should tell me now, man, 'cause when I say welcome party, I mean a welcome party. I don’t advertise this to everyone, but…I work at this club in town from time to time for extra cash and—”

  “A club?”

  “Yeah, a club. Have you had a good lap dance lately? Because I work with the best of the best. These girls will blow your fuckin’ mind, dude.”

  My eyes squeezed shut and I waved my hand around while I stuttered, attempting to explain my current aversion to the opposite sex. It's not that I wasn't interested. God knew it'd been a long time since I'd gotten laid or even had a good conversation with a female. But it was more than that.

  It was this thing with Kate.

  It didn't only fuck me up in the general sense—it screwed me over with other women, too. I'd had a few one night stands back home, had even tried the casual dating thing for a while when I realized Kate would never be mine. Anything to fill the hole; anything to take my mind off the one woman I couldn't have. But my stupid conscience kept getting in the way and I couldn't do any of that anymore. Because no matter how warm my bed was at the end of the night, I only wanted to see one face on the pillow next to me. Each girl I'd hooked up with was a replacement. Not fair to me and sure as hell not fair to the girl sleeping in my bed. But it was life.

  Weren't we all settling for something at some point because whatever was missing was too fucking painful to face?

  “I'm just kinda hung up on this girl back home. It's complicated.”

  “Holy shit.” Jackson gave a low whistle and dropped his truck keys back on the counter, pulling up a seat from the mini kitchen table. “Is that why you're here? To get away from some girl back home?”

  “It's not like that.”

  “Then what's it like?”

  “Ah, I don't really wanna bore you with the details.”

  “Try me. If there's anyone who has a shitload of boring details about a girl he can’t have, it's me, man. Wait until you meet Emma Pierce. She hangs at Pete's. We've been friends for years, and she's my own personal fucking torture device. Seriously. Try being this close—” he pinched his fingers together— “to having someone, and then, BAM! Fate sticks you with a big, fat middle finger.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes, wow. This girl is fucking perfect. Perfect for me. But her sister died, she didn't get to say goodbye, and I was the dumbass who found her on the side of the road that night...now she can't get past it. She associates me with her sister’s death and all this shit. See? Complicated.”

  “Wow.”

  “Isn't Seattle supposed to be, like, a super intellectual city, man? Don't you have anything else stored away in your vocab bank other than wow?” He laughed and punched my shoulder, but I was stunned still, standing there staring, in awe that this poor son of a bitch could not only relate to unrequited love, but that he might actually have it a lot worse than me.

  “That sucks, dude. Just flat out...sucks. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well. To make matters worse, every hot chick I nail doesn't do shit for me. Sure, it's fun. It numbs me for a bit. But all I see is Emma’s face. All I want is her body, her mind, her....fuck, listen to me. I'm pathetic, right?”

  “No.” I suddenly felt solemn. “Not at all.” I pulled up a chair of my own, releasing a heavy sigh. “No one ever compares, right? You hear her voice down the hall even though she's not really there, and every time the phone rings, you pray to God it's her, then rethink that prayer because if it is, it'll only remind you that she's not yours, and instead she's out fucking some professor with abs you'll never have and a penchant for smooth pick-up lines that you can't even begin to come up with on your own. And then you wanna die a slow, miserable death with the realization, only you already are. And then you see just how much of a sorry loser you’ve become. Any of this resonate?”

  “Wow.”

  I gave him a bland look.

  “Don't hate, bro, but I've got the abs.” Jackson laughed and lifted his shirt, glancing down. His lips bunched into a thoughtful pout. “But yeah, aside from that, I feel you. Oh, and minus the professor thing. So he’s all smart and shit? That blows.”

  “Yup.” I exhaled. “It does indeed.”

  A six-pack and two hours later, we'd filled each other in on Kate and Emma and the many ways they unknowingly made our lives a billion times more difficult—and painful. Somehow, between the light buzz I was sporting and Jack's lame jokes, I'd found myself smiling and even enjoying myself, which was something I wasn't entirely sure I was capable of since I'd arrived on Sanibel Island. It also made me miss Dean, and the other guys from the band.

  Mostly Dean, though. The crazy bastard.

  Lying there, as I tried to fall asleep, I couldn't help but imagine how well Dean and Jackson would get along. Sure, Dean marched to his own drum and all that, and Jackson's ego was out of control, but other than that, I could actually see those two hanging out. As my homesickness began to rear its ugly head, I forced my mind away from thoughts of Dean and what he must be up to and instead focused on my cell phone.

  Bad idea.

&nb
sp; There were three missed texts from Kate.

  Will you call me? Are you doing okay?

  Please stop this. Call me. I miss you.

  We need to talk. You can’t avoid me forever. We set a date for the wedding.

  The beers I'd downed with Jackson earlier suddenly burned a hole in my throat. I could feel them bubbling in my stomach, my heart sinking and drowning in them. Kate and Ryan, still getting married. Even after what Ryan had done. Even after he'd shattered her trust and beat it to a pulp. Even after she swore she'd never go back to him. After I'd dumped out my insides and laid them on her bedroom floor, telling her how much I loved her and how I'd never hurt her the way he did.

  After I kissed her. Selfishly. Feverishly. Stupidly.

  I slammed my phone into the nightstand drawer, pushing the kiss far from my mind. I didn't talk about the kiss. We didn't talk about the kiss. And I was done thinking about it, too. There was no me and Kate. Never was, never would be. Ryan won, and I was never even in the game.

  So when would my heart catch up with what my mind clearly already knew?

  CHAPTER 2

  Wild Ballerina

  My fingers grazed the neck of my guitar as I settled on playing “Slow it Down” by The Lumineers. It was hands down my favorite of theirs. Incidentally, it reminded me of Kate.

  Go figure.

  I blew out a heavy breath and began to play, dragging my gaze upward to stare out at the ocean. I'd wandered away from the marina for the afternoon and decided to explore some new territory near the south pier. After the night I had, I needed some time to think. I’d finally met the girl Jackson had told me so much about, Emma, the one he not-so-secretly loved but couldn’t have.

  The past few weeks had been hell.

  He’d finally said the words—told her he loved her—and then the dumbass went and fucked it up by sleeping with some chick she works with, who also happened to be her friend. I hadn’t known the guy long, but I was beginning to get the impression that he was on screw-up default mode or something.