Deliciously Smooth (Naked Brews #1)
Page 17
Getting sloppy drunk probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but neither was falling in love when I knew the ruin my baggage would cause. No more lying to myself. I had determined my future with the bad choices I’d made long before this. I was meant for a life alone. I had to accept that.
I raised my full glass in a mock toast toward Sawyer. “To freedom.”
I just had to ignore the sick feeling in my gut at what those words meant. That and ignore the piece of jewelry weighing down the inside of my jeans pocket.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lake
My tires spun on the wet gravel in front of Naked Brews. The snow came down hard and fast, in big wet sloppy clumps shimmering through the evening air. This was the exact opposite of the white, fluffy snow that everyone thought was so magical. This was the stuff that turned everything into a soggy mess. It worked for my mood.
I couldn’t go back to my condo. Walsh had been there, on my couch, in my bed, sprawled across the dining room table. I made a mental note to hire a cleaning service to go in and deep clean the place until every tiny trace of Walsh was completely gone.
The front door of the brewery was locked, but I dug keys out of my bag. It was good to be the owner. Even if everything else in my life sucked giant donkey balls, there was nothing stopping me from heading straight to the bar and getting drunk enough to forget why I came here. I slid my master key into the lock, and a slice of ice and packed snow slid off the roof right onto my head.
“Son of a mother fucking asshole.” I pushed inside and flung my soaked jacket at a table along with my bag and kicked my shoes into the corner.
Flipping on switches to light the way, I headed straight behind the bar and poured a tall glass of our strongest beer, Blurred Vision. With an eighteen percent ABV, we had a strict pub rule of two of these bad boys per customer. No exceptions. Not even for regulars.
I lifted the glass to my lips and took a long draught, ignoring the churning of my stomach, ignoring the tears filling my eyes. I continued to drink. The bitter liquid fit my mood perfectly and the alcohol levels would have me numb in no time. Just what I needed.
I drained the last inch of precious liquid and chuckled under my breath as I refilled my glass. Two wasn’t going to cut it. I took a long sip of my second serving, emptying a third of the glass in record speed. Leaning on the bar, I sipped down the rest of my beer and fantasized about kneeing Walsh in the groin again. It would be a while before he could use his dick to con another girl.
A sharp pain stabbed at my chest with the thought of Walsh touching someone else. I chugged the rest of my beer and shook my head a few times to dislodge the image. It didn’t matter who Walsh fucked anymore. He was a liar, and if he had half a brain cell, he was already on his way out of town.
I stood, and the room swayed just a bit. Two glasses of Blurred Vision was a lot, but it was maybe not a great idea to pound them both down on an empty stomach. The light in the kitchen was off, but that could be changed. I paused to refill my glass and stumbled over to the kitchen doors.
A big white sign boldly declared No Beer in the Kitchen. I took another sip and pushed through the door, smiling. I wasn’t playing by any rules. I had done that, and all it had gotten me was a broken heart. Screw the rules.
I set my beer on the counter and pulled open the double-wide stainless steel doors of the fridge/freezer combo. We had plenty of deli meat for sandwiches, but this was a party, not a ladies luncheon. I grabbed a bag from the freezer and slammed the doors. Jalapeno poppers were party food. I deserved party food. I deserved a celebration for dodging the bullet that was the lying sack of shit named Walsh...or Damian. Who gave a fuck?
I pushed buttons until the fryers came to life and then dumped some poppers into the wire basket. A few fell right into the grease. Oh well, I liked them extra crispy. I shook the basket because that’s what Barb always did when she made the poppers. God, Barb made the best poppers. Even Walsh gave them two thumbs up. Damn him.
I scanned the bag to see how long they needed to cook, but there weren’t any directions. How hard could it be? I drained the rest of my beer and dropped the basket into the hot oil. They should probably cook for as long as it took me to have another beer. By then, maybe I’d stop thinking about the lying douche bag every few minutes.
Pushing back out of the kitchen, I turned to head behind the bar, but too much Blurred Vision got in my way. Only half my body turned fast enough, and I slammed my toe into the corner of the bar.
“Son of a bitch!” I screamed into the empty pub. Slamming my empty glass on the bar, I grabbed my foot and hopped over to a chair. Only I wasn’t coordinated enough for hopping on one foot and ended up stumbling into the table, knocking three chairs over. At least there was still one upright to sit on.
I massaged my toe and wished I had another beer.
“Lake?”
I turned in my chair, and when my vision caught up with me, I found Melissa standing at the bottom of the stairs in her bathrobe with a baseball bat held over her shoulder.
“Melissa!” I held my foot up in the air. “I stubbed my toe, and now I need another beer. Can you get one for me?”
“Jesus, Lake.” Melissa set the bat against the wall and walked over to me, picking up chairs. “What the hell are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. I thought the place was getting robbed.”
“Nope, just me. Having some beers. Speaking of...” I cupped my hand over an imaginary glass and tipped it toward my mouth. “Do you mind?”
Melissa eyed me hesitantly. “How many have you had?”
“Just a few.” I pulled my hands together in a plea and batted my eyelashes at her. “Please Melly Bean, I’ll love you forever and ever and ever.”
She rolled her eyes but got up to fill my glass. “What do you want?”
“Blurred Vision.”
Melissa froze in front of the taps. “Is that what you’ve had a few of?” She glanced uneasily around the bar. “Where’s Walsh?”
I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. “Do I look like someone who gives a flying fuck where that rat bastard is?”
“What happened?” Melissa set the glass on the bar and gave me the pity look that drove me crazy.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I pointed at her and then at the empty glass. “More beer and I’ll tell you.”
She poured another beer, though she didn’t fill it all the way. I shrugged. I guess some beer was better than no beer. Melissa came back to the table, set the glass down, and waited for me to get another good long drink before she started with the questions.
“Okay, spill.”
“There’s not much to tell. Turns out Walshy boy was lying about his identity since the day he walked through the door. He’s no more the president of a successful charity than I am the queen of England.”
“God save the Queen,” Melissa muttered under her breath. “So who is he?”
“Walsh Davidson, con artist.” I took another drink and told her everything Alex and I found out online about Walsh and his shady past.
“Look, I get that you have this thing about people telling you the truth.”
“It’s not a thing, Melissa.” I gulped down another big mouthful of beer. “You make it sound like a fetish. I just demand that the people I surround myself with tell me the truth. That’s just being a decent human being.”
“Okay.” Melissa held her hands up in surrender. “But what if Walsh had a really good reason for lying to you?”
“A good reason?” I finished my beer and set the glass down hard on the table. “This isn’t one of your romance novels. He’s not in the witness protection agency.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying he lied as part of some secret conspiracy to bring down the mob. What did he say when you confronted him about it?”
“Nothing. I didn’t really give him a chance to offer any lame excuses, and it was probably difficult to talk with his balls lodged in his throat.”
“It’s over.” I flung my hand into the air and waved it like it didn’t matter. “Whatever. I’m going to sit here and drink until you have to carry me to the office, and then I’ll move on. I’m fine with that.”
“What if he goes in for the grand gesture?”
I picked up my glass but set it down when I remembered it was empty. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The grand gesture. It’s John Cusack with a boom box under your bedroom window.”
“This isn’t the eighties, that’s kinda creepy, and Walsh will have a hard time making it to my bedroom window since I told him to get the hell out of Aspenridge before I cut off his ball sack and mailed it back to whatever rock he climbed out from underneath.”
“Jesus, Lake. You’re such a romantic.” Melissa wrinkled her nose and then sniffed at the air. “Is something burning?”
“It’s popper time.” I jumped up and sprinted to the door of the kitchen, my busted toe feeling just fine. “Now pour us some more beers. You’re going to get stupid drunk with me, and just for tonight, I don’t want to hear anything else about romance novels and falling in love. Deal?”
Melissa sighed but nodded her head. “Deal.”
I pushed into the kitchen to rescue my extra crispy poppers. Pulling the basket out of the oil, I unearthed the almost-black nuggets of goodness. They were definitely burned, but that was okay. So was I.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Walsh
The next morning, I stumbled to the old yellow truck, trying to move as slowly and smoothly as I possibly could. Every single little jarring step sent a shard of glass into my skull and out through my eyeballs.
I had no idea how much of that Scotch we’d demolished last night, but it felt like a lot. At some point, Sawyer had left with the bottle, saying something about reporting to a second job early this morning. Since it was ten o’clock in the morning and I still felt this rough, I couldn’t imagine that work had gone very well for him.
I’d started the morning grappling for my phone, hoping and praying I’d missed a call or text from Lake, but it was blank. Since then, I’d concentrated solely on putting one step in front of the other and trying not to puke all over my shoes.
I wasn’t going to quit...not her or our relationship.
I got into the truck, threw my bags into the passenger seat, and then sat there.
She’d told me to leave. In fact, I still had the bruises on my face and nads proving how much she wanted me to do just that. I’d hurt her, and the things that she was upset about were still issues in my life. I had to fix that.
I still had to work in Damian’s stead because he wouldn’t leave his home in Denver. His cover was blown when it came to the brewery, but that didn’t mean I would leave GSC or him high and dry.
And my parents’ parole hearing was still set to unleash a media storm into my world again. I’d managed to fly under the radar for the last ten years thanks to a name change, but if I spoke at their hearing, the media would find me again. How did my parents still have this power to ruin my life when I’d done everything I could to cut them out of it?
I shifted the truck into drive and headed toward Otto’s Auto.
Driving across town, I noticed they’d managed to clear the roads from the latest snowfall. These mountain towns were on top of snow removal, but after a few weeks here, I was driving just as well as a local. Hell, I wanted to be a local.
My heartbeat sped up as I approached the turn that would take me to Lake’s condo. I wanted to take that road with every fiber in my being, but that would be cruel. I remembered the pain in Lake’s eyes. I loved her, and because of that, I refused to hurt her again. She deserved a guy who had his life more together than I did. I had to sort my world out; then, I could come back, and we could hash things out when she wasn’t so hurt and angry.
I kept driving, pushing forward, but my stomach clenched when I saw the hospital. I had been on my way out of town the last time, and I’d ended up there where Lake had rescued me. What kind of guy needed the girl to come rescue him? I wanted to make Lake’s world a better place. I wanted to be her hero, the strong one she could lean on, not the other way around.
I had to fix my life first, so I could be the man she needed. She might not ever forgive me for what I’d done, and I’d never blame her for that. But I had to try something to win her back. I wasn’t a quitter. I just needed to regroup and take care of business...all of it. That meant heading back to Denver, even if I had to buy David’s truck to do it.
As I drove up to the garage, David came out from one of the service bays, wiping a hand on his rag. I looked behind him, but I didn’t see the distinctive yellow paint that belonged to Desiree.
“I was gonna call you at lunchtime,” David said.
“Does that mean you have news about the part?”
David grinned. “Not only did my guy come through for me, but your baby is fixed and ready to go. You’ve probably become attached”—he nodded to the truck—“but are you ready to switch back to your sexier ride?”
No, I wasn’t, and that surprised me. Since I’d arrived in Aspenridge, something had changed. I didn’t need the flash of Desiree anymore. I’d gotten kind of attached to the rust-bucket truck. She was reliable and hella good at handling slick roads. Plus, if I had Desiree back, I had no more excuses to keep me in town. I would have to leave behind all the things I’d gotten attached to—Lake, Aspenridge, and the truck.
Was this a sign? “That sounds fine.” My voice cracked on the lie.
David squinted his eyes and examined my face. “Are you okay, man?” He nodded toward the new bruise shadowing my jawline. “That looks like it hurts.”
“More than you could ever imagine,” I mumbled. “But it’s fine. Let’s settle up. I need to get back to Denver.” There was no sense putting it off any longer, no matter how much my head and heart screamed at me to stop, to not leave.
I’d put off something else long enough, too. While David went to get the Vette out of his back lot, I dialed the DA handling my parents’ case.
“District Attorney Holliver here.”
“This is Walsh...” I choked on what to use for my last name. “Walsh Davidson.” I’d done everything I could to run from that last name, and it had still caught up to me. I couldn’t escape my legacy. “I understand you’ve been trying to reach me?”
“Yes, Mr. Davidson. Is that what you want me to call you?”
I shook my head as I watched the snowflakes fall and chuckled out a harsh bark of a laugh. “It doesn’t fucking matter anymore. I’ll be at the parole hearing. You can call me whatever you want. Just tell me when and where and how best to present my story so they don’t get out until the other fifteen years of their sentences are served.”
I listened with half an ear as the DA gave me the details. I got the basics. It so didn’t matter.
Once again, my parents had fucked up my life. I had to do my part to make sure they didn’t screw up anyone else’s.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lake
Two-weeks later
I cranked up the heat in my Bronco and turned off the radio. I could only take so many sappy love songs before my head exploded. I squinted out the windshield, the late afternoon sun creating a glare off the bright white snow that covered the fields alongside the road. Only another hour and I’d be in Denver. I tried to ignore the little voice in the back of my head reminding me that Walsh lived in Denver. If he had been telling the truth about that.
I needed to focus on the brewing competition.
This was everything. I still didn’t have any idea how I was going to pay for the brewery. Melissa had worked out a loan document that I could send to Emily, outlining how I could pay her for Naked Brews over time. I wasn’t a huge fan of being in debt to the Birth Pod, but it was better than nothing. Of course, none of it mattered if I didn’t win.
Which is exactly why I had told the girls to stay in Aspenridge. They both had offered to come with me, but I had declined. I made up a story about needing them to stay at Naked Brews and keep an eye on everything while I was gone. But the truth was I didn’t want them with me if we lost. I couldn’t take one more look of pity.
I shook my head and shoved that thought of losing deep down with the little voice trying to make me think about Walsh. We had to win. Hops on Top had been our bestseller for years, and it was a favorite with the tourists over at the Astonian. This would work. I would get to keep Naked Brews. Emily could go back to ignoring me, and everything would be exactly like it should be.
Without Walsh.
Damn him.
At least he had kept his word about one thing. I had almost fallen out of my chair when Emily called last week to inform me that GSC had withdrawn its bid to buy Naked Brews. They told her it wasn’t a wise financial decision based on the current net worth of the business. It was true, except we both knew with the changes Walsh proposed that Naked Brews could be turning a pretty penny with some smart investments. Of course, without Walsh’s bankroll, those investments would have to wait.
But I could be patient. So long as I kept the brewery and Dad’s dream alive, I could make changes a little at a time until it was something we could both be proud of.
My phone rang through the Bluetooth in the speaker. I reached over to turn up the volume and answer the call. “Hello.”
“Hello, may I speak to Lake O’Brien, please.”
“You got her.” I checked my side view mirror and changed lanes to pass a semi. Only a little bit farther now.
“Ms. O’Brien. This is Colin Ranier from Rocky Mountain Brewer’s Choice.”
“Oh, hi. I’m heading my way to you right now.”
“Ms. O’Brien.” He paused long enough that I glanced at the stereo display to see if the call was still connected. “There’s been a problem with your final submission for the IPA category.”
My heart stopped and then took off on a wild goose chase around my chest. “What kind of problem?”