by S. R. Grey
“What about her stepdad?” Will asks frantically. “Am I just supposed to trust he’ll leave her alone while I’m across the country?”
“Will,” I begin, “your girlfriend really needs to talk to her mother about this guy.”
This is met with silence. I switch the phone to my other ear. “So, are you coming to Ohio, or staying there?”
“This is so fucked up,” Will spits. “You wouldn’t leave your girl if she needed you. I know you wouldn’t.”
“That’s different.”
“The fuck,” my brother explodes. “This is such bullshit. You’re as much of a hypocrite as Mom.”
The fist at my side clenches, and the hand holding the phone tightens. “That’s not fucking true,” I grind out.
Will throws back, “Whatever, dude. All I know is every fucking time I need someone they’re never there…including you. This is so typical. You may as well just be back in prison. You’re such a fucking ass.”
My brother disconnects before I can respond. I know he’s just frustrated, but his words still fuck with my mind. “Fuck this shit,” I mumble as I turn off my phone and stomp out of the baggage claim area and out to my truck.
All I really want to do is see my girl and tell her what has happened. She’ll make everything right, she settles me. But I’m too full of anger and venom to put this on sweet Kay. She has her own shit to deal with—she’s finally accepting that the night Sarah died was truly just an awful accident. She sure doesn’t need my family drama shit piled on top of that.
I leave the airport and hit the highway. It’s starting to get dark, but it doesn’t matter. The ride back to Ohio becomes a blur. My frustration, my stress, my anxiety, they all escalate with every fucking mile I log. By the time I hit Harmony Creek all I want to do is stop these feelings, especially the one nagging at me, telling me I’ve once again fucked things up with my brother. Not that the little shit should have even put me in that position. I may as well be back in prison…what a dick-thing to say. But the thing eating at me the most is what Will said about me being like our mother. Fuck that. I don’t treat my brother like a child, I don’t let him get away with shit, and I sure as fuck don’t disappoint him. Shit. Or do I?
It hits me that maybe Will isn’t entirely off base. Maybe I am like Mom, in more ways than I care to admit. We’ve both battled addictions—gambling for her, drugs for me. And we’re both too easy on Will. Am I doomed no matter what I do? Is my path set?
Well, if that’s the case, then why bother? Why try so hard to be different?
I hit the gas, but I don’t head home, to my house, to where Kay and forgiveness await. Nope, I don’t deserve forgiveness tonight. In fact, all I crave is fucking escape. So I drive straight to where I know oblivion can always be found. I head to a place where I’ll never be questioned for the mistakes I make, not by myself, or by others.
I drive to Kyle Tanner’s house.
One thing about Kyle’s place, in the past, there was a party every night. And it seems nothing has changed as I drive past the line of cars parked along the rutted side of the long gravel drive leading to the Tanner house of sin.
I find an empty spot up close to Kyle’s ramshackle house and park. In front of me is a car with steamed-up windows, rocking to and fro. I get out of my truck and chuckle as I walk past. Music is blaring from the dilapidated structure as I close in. A few guys are out in the yard, drinking, getting high. It’s just another night of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll at the Tanner abode.
I get a few “hey man” nods as I step up to the propped-open door. The greetings aren’t from anyone I know, but I nod back nonetheless before I step into the house. Inside, the air is thick and hot, reeking of dope and sweat. People are dancing to the raucous music, pressed together on the tiny living room floor.
It’s steaming hot out tonight, but it’s absolutely stifling in here. Some of the girls have stripped down to just bras and panties. This isn’t the junkie crowd that hangs out in the parking lot at Kay’s old apartment. No, these people are younger, some even underage. This is the youth of Harmony Creek, here to get wild and have a good time. For some this will be remembered as a blurred-out summer of rebellion, but for others this will mark their entry into a dead-end lifestyle. I know the outcome of the latter all too well. I’ve walked this path myself. But even the sick sense of déjà-vu that washes over me can’t make me turn around and leave. Instead, I ask a blonde walking by where I can find Kyle.
This girl is skinny, young. She has spiky hair, and she’s wearing short shorts and a distressed tank top. Her dilated eyes take me in as she slurs, “He’s in the kitchen, gorgeous.”
I start to walk away but she grabs my arm. “Hey, don’t go.” She tries to pull me to her, but I don’t budge. “Let’s dance,” she whines.
This girl is so fucking spun that I feel a little high just looking at her.
She starts to take off her tank top and when I see she has nothing on underneath I walk away. Girl-so-spun has nothing I desire. On my way to the kitchen someone hands me a full bottle of vodka, unopened. What the hell, I crack the seal and take a long pull. I take another drink, then another, and another. By the time I walk into the kitchen, half the bottle is gone and I’m officially buzzed.
Kyle is seated at the table, dirty jean-clad legs kicked out in front of him. He’s smoking a blunt with another guy and a kind-of-pretty girl.
He laughs when he sees me. “Fucking Chase Gartner, I knew you’d come a-calling sooner or later.”
“Whatever,” I murmur before I take another long pull from the bottle in my hand.
“Welcome back, man,” Kyle says as he nods to the kind-of-pretty girl.
She passes me the blunt, and I don’t hesitate. I take a hit, hold, and then exhale slowly. And so it continues, we pass and smoke. It’s been so fucking long that the weed hits me fast. I hand the blunt back to the girl and take another swig from the bottle.
I feel myself stumble.
Not literally, but I’m at the precipice in my mind, looking down, to where everything is black and empty, like I’m about to be.
The four of us sit around the table, talking about nothing, stupid shit that I forget a second later. I drink the rest of the vodka. Or maybe we shared it, like the blunt. I am not sure at the moment. All I know is that when I sit the empty bottle back on the table, Kyle stands up. He gestures for me to follow him. Without hesitation, I do.
Kyle and I go into the living room. It’s as crowded and hot as earlier, maybe more so now. We push and elbow our way through the throng of dancing bodies. When I sway to the right I notice there are two people fucking on the couch. No one else pays them any heed. I watch for a minute, just for the fuck of it. Kyle waits for me, laughing at my side.
“You want a turn?” he asks me.
The girl riding the guy glances over her shoulder at us. She winks at me, then turns back. Shit, it’s the spiky-haired blonde I talked to when I first came in. The guy whose dick she’s riding would have been me four years ago, but it won’t be me tonight. I tell Kyle as much and push him so he’ll move. He does.
We continue through the crowd until we reach a narrow staircase in the corner. I follow Kyle up the steps. We turn right at the top and go into a cramped bathroom I’ve been in so many times before. And the same scene from back then plays out now.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, Kyle chops up a rock of coke he’s taken from his pocket.
“This is new stuff, Gartner…pure, clean.” On a handheld mirror, he cuts lines. “You’re gonna love this shit, man.”
I have no doubt I will. Kyle rolls up a twenty and hands it to me, then places the mirror with the fat lines of coke on the countertop right the fuck in front of me.
I hold the rolled-up bill in my fingers and stare down at my old vice. The white powder beckons, spread out and waiting for me like my own personal whore. I lean down over a line and place the rolled-up bill to my nostril. I close my eyes—
—and
just then someone knocks.
I open my eyes, lower the bill, and straighten.
“Fucking occupied,” Kyle yells to whoever is knocking on the door.
The person leaves, but I don’t resume what I was doing. It hits me hard and fast that I don’t want to snort this line. I don’t need this shit anymore. Stress, anger, and frustration have led me here, because old habits are that fucking easy to slide back into.
Shit, look at me. I am already drunk and high. But this is where it stops.
The hole in my heart that used to press me to use with abandon isn’t so open and gaping anymore. It’s not fixed, but it’s healing. The fissures and cracks have been filling with love from my girl. And she’s really all I need. It was a mistake to think she can’t handle me, she’s seen me more troubled than this. Case in point, the night she was accosted in the parking lot.
Fuck. I have to get out of here. I can’t be here a minute more. I want to go home, home to Kay.
I drop the twenty on to the grimy floor and walk away. Kyle yells out something, but I put my hand up, like I’m saying, “Shut the fuck up and leave me alone.” And, actually, that’s exactly what I am saying.
Kyle doesn’t follow, not that I expect him to. He fears me, as he should.
When I get to my truck, I drop the keys on the ground. When I bend to pick them up everything spins. I am entirely too fucked up to drive, it’s obvious to me, even in the state I’m in.
I turn on my phone, but hesitate to call my girl. I don’t want her anywhere near the debauchery down here. I figure it’s a hike, but I can walk to the church. Kay can pick me up there. That’ll give me time to calm down some too, maybe sober up a little. Right now I feel really high-strung, despite the booze and weed.
As I walk away from Kyle Tanner’s house, even in my wrecked state, I realize something. Tonight I may have stumbled, but I got right the fuck back up. I stopped when it mattered. So maybe I have changed a little.
And that means there’s hope for me, after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
KAY
When I return to the farmhouse I’m surprised to find Chase and his brother have not yet returned from the airport. Full dark has fallen and more than enough time has passed to account for the return drive from Pittsburgh. I step out of my car and glance around. There’s definitely no truck in the driveway. And the house is dark, closed up tight.
I lean back against my car door and try to reason out what might be causing Chase and his brother to be delayed. I checked the flight status earlier and I know Will’s flight came in on time, so the only thing I can come up with is that Will was probably hungry and they stopped somewhere to grab a bite to eat.
But why is Chase’s phone turned off?
I suddenly wish I had Will’s number, because, I don’t know, something feels off. And if I had Chase’s brother’s number I could find out what’s going on. Maybe.
I decide to try Chase again.
In the darkness, with a background symphony of frogs singing down at the creek, I dig my cell from my purse and call Chase’s cell once again. But like before when I was leaving the church, the call goes straight to voicemail, which means his phone is still turned off. Again, I can’t imagine why Chase would purposely shut down his cell. Maybe his battery died.
I push off the car door and reluctantly go up to my apartment. Truth be told, I am not myself. I’m still reeling from the episode at the cemetery—seeing my mom and learning the truth. Doug unlocked the patio door. Unbelievable.
Four years wasted, four years spent believing something that wasn’t true. I carried so much blame. I lost my mom’s presence in my life. And why? All because Doug Wilson kept a secret of his own, one that could have changed so much. Has it come too late? Where will we all go from here?
I can’t even consider. In fact, I try to block out the events of the evening for now. I need to behave as if nothing is wrong when Chase and his brother finally do arrive. Later, once Will is asleep, I’ll share with Chase all that has happened and ask him for his opinions.
Up in my apartment, I flip on a lamp and toss my purse onto the sofa. I head back to the shower, unzipping my dress—dirtied and wrinkled from my time at the cemetery—along the way.
The hot water does a good job of reviving me. I actually start to feel more emotionally balanced by the time I’m dried off. With a renewed calm, I slip a blue eyelet lace dress—the one I know Chase loves—over my head. I don’t bother with makeup or shoes; I just go back into the living room and plop down on the sofa.
The minutes tick by silently as I wait for my boy and his brother to come home. At some point, I glance over at the kitchenette.
Should I make some food? I wonder.
If I’m mistaken about their delay, and Chase and his brother haven’t stopped to eat, they may very well be hungry by the time they get here. But just as I stand, with the intention of making at least a couple of sandwiches, my cell phone buzzes.
I glance down, see Chase’s name flash across the screen, and answer with haste.
“Chase, is everything all right?”
When my boy slurs my name as a response, I know immediately something is very, very wrong.
“Oh my God, what happened?” I ask, panicked. “Are you okay? Is everything all right with Will?”
“No,” Chase begins, his voice drifting, like the phone’s slipping out of his grip, “nothing is right, baby.”
My heart races with fear. “Chase, please, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”
He exhales audibly. “Will wasn’t on his flight, Kay. He, uh, changed his mind, he’s staying in Vegas. Sometimes plans change, you know.” He laughs. “And I’m sorry, baby. I wasn’t planning on going there, but something came up with his girl, and Will didn’t show. So I did it, I went there. And it was the wrong thing to do.” Chase sounds messed up, he’s barely making sense. And I know, I just know, it’s not solely because his brother has blown him off.
“Where are you?” I ask carefully. “Do you need me—?”
“I always need you, baby girl,” Chase kind of chuckle-slurs.
Now I know for sure he’s been drinking, a lot. Or he’s done something else. I pray it’s not the “something else.”
I breathe in deeply. “Chase, let me come get you. Just tell me where you are, okay?”
He lets out a long sigh. “I’m at the church, Kay, out on the front steps.” He pauses and for a moment stillness hangs in the air. “I walked here from Kyle’s house,” he adds at last.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Chase at Kyle’s means only one thing, my boy has fallen. I don’t judge though, I just tell Chase to wait for me there, and then I disconnect. I slip on some shoes, grab my purse, and leave to go pick up the pieces of the man who sounds as close to broken right now as I’ve felt all evening.
Ten minutes later, when my obviously fucked-up boy gets in the car, he’s all over me, kissing and touching. He can’t get close enough, it seems. “Touch me, baby,” he says as he leans across the console and drapes himself all over me.
Chase is beautifully disheveled. His face is angelic, but his hair is devilishly tousled. And his eyes are bleary-blue, bloodshot. There’s also no mistaken that Chase smells of alcohol and weed.
“What did you do?” I ask. I need to know just how far down he’s fallen.
“Hmm?” he replies distractedly as he settles back into his seat.
I drive away from the dark, empty parking lot, silently thankful the carnival ended yesterday.
As we head to the house, it seems Chase can’t decide what he wants to do. He leans back over the console and kisses down my neck. His hands are busy, one on the back of my seat, keeping my erratic boy somewhat upright, and one slipping under my dress. Chase caresses between my thighs and I swerve a little. Thankfully, this drive is going to be a short one. And good thing this stretch of the road is completely deserted this time of night.
My boy’s fingers travel higher. But when he sli
ps under the edge of my panties, I have to say something. It’s either that or drive off the road.
“Stop,” I murmur. “I can’t concentrate when you do that.”
Chase chuckles, smug that he has this effect on me. He’s exceptionally cocky in this state, I note. I push his hand away. But my effort is half-hearted at best.
I know this is where I should be firm, resolute. Chase has tripped and fallen tonight, and I should refuse his advances. Wait until morning. But I’ve fallen too, just in a different way. So what does it matter? Both of us are messed up, in our own ways. Maybe that’s why my body responds so strongly, urging me to encourage, not discourage. So I quit resisting. But when we reach Cold Springs Lane, Chase sits back of his own accord. He closes his eyes.
I turn into the driveway and cut the ignition. “I screwed up tonight,” Chase says as he scrubs his hand down his gorgeous, but tortured face.
“Why?” I whisper. “Why didn’t you just come home after you found out Will wasn’t coming?”
He glances over at me and shakes his head. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t have a good reason. I felt overwhelmed, I guess.”
I start to think he’s not going to elaborate, but then he sighs and says, “I disappointed Will again. He still wanted to fly out to visit, but he wanted to bring his girl. I said no and he flipped. He said I’m like our mother. He said I may as well still be in prison.”
“Oh, Chase.” I place my hand on his forearm.
Chase pulls at his hair as he rakes his fingers through the strands. “I just keep letting that kid down, Kay. I didn’t tell you my mom told me Will used the money I gave him to buy weed. He lied to me. You were right to be worried.”
I squeeze his forearm and his muscles flex of their own accord beneath my hold. “I’m sorry, Chase.”
“It doesn’t matter. When I left the airport I wanted to forget, forget everything. I wanted to feel numb, like I used to in the past. I felt lost, I guess. It was stupid, I know, but I couldn’t stop. I drove to Kyle’s.”