“Do you want to stay here tonight, or do you want me to bring you back to the bar?”
The shock on her face is quite obvious. She wasn’t expecting my question.
“I figured you’d just call me a cab or something,” she replies.
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it.
“I’m not an asshole.”
“No, I guess you’re not.”
She looks at me. Stares at me, really. It’s slightly unnerving.
“What do you want?”
I shake my head, closing my eyes for a moment. This girl could never give me what I want. No one can. It’s an impossibility.
“Why don’t you stay here? I’ll bring you to get your car in the morning.”
She just nods. I get her a t-shirt out of one of my bags, and grab myself a pair of boxer briefs. She turns her back to me, strips out of her clothes, and pulls the shirt over her head. I slip my boxers on under my towel and drop it to the carpet. I’m not sure what’s prompted her sudden shyness, but I don’t want to upset her.
“Why don’t you get in bed? I’m gonna step outside and smoke. I’ll be back in just a minute.”
Another nasty habit I started again. She would be pissed, but I guess that doesn’t matter anymore. She’s not around to know what I’m doing or not doing. I’m not her concern anymore.
“Can I come?”
I want to say no, but I don’t. I nod, and she follows me out the door.
We sit with our backs against the brick, knees cocked up, staring into the darkness of the parking lot. My companion finally decides to break the heavy silence. I know by the heavy sigh that proceeds her words that she’s going to say something that I probably don’t want to hear.
“I heard you in the bathroom. I don’t mean to pry, but are you alright?”
My head whips around at her statement. Shit. My turn for a heavy sigh.
“I’m fine.”
She leans her head against the brick and looks at me. The look is one of sincerity.
“You can tell me what happened. We’ll probably never see each other after tonight. It might help to let it out.” She stops for a minute, biting her lip and then taking a few drags of her cigarette before continuing. “I’m assuming that what happened with us is how you’ve been dealing with it. I don’t know if that’s working for you.”
I let out a steady stream of smoke. Fuck it. She’s right. I’ll never see her again, so why not?
“I have been in love with the same person literally my entire life. She just crushed me, and I left her.” I close my eyes before I let the next part escape. I don’t want to say it, but I do anyway. “Everything is gone. I have nothing.”
“Did that help? I mean, telling me.”
“No,” I whisper, barely able to get it past the thickness lodged in my throat. Fuck. I can’t cry in front of this girl.
Nothing will ever help this pain go away. I just want it to end.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, the genuineness coming through clear in her small voice.
If things were different, I could like this girl.
“Not as sorry as I am.”
“Do you still want me to stay?” she asks, putting out her cigarette and getting up.
“Yeah, I think I do.”
We head inside and get in bed. Sleep comes easy, but I wake up at some point, crying and clutching onto my bed partner, her shushing me and rubbing my back, telling me that everything will be alright. I should have never asked her to stay. I’m assuming I woke up and thought she was with me, but noticed I was wrong and fell apart at the devastating realization.
The blonde was gone in the morning. I have no idea how she got home. I’m just glad I was saved from the embarrassment of having to face her after my emotional breakdown. Like she said, I’ll probably never see her again, but still, I seemed like a total pussy last night.
I get out the shower and go to grab my phone. A sliver of paper is sticking out from underneath, a phone number and message written in feminine script decorating the hotel’s letterhead.
If you ever need anything at all and are back in town, give me a call.
-Hope
I shake my head at the name.
Hope.
I dress, pack my bags, and get the hell out of whatever town I’m in. Just like every other day since I’ve been on the road, I’ll drive until I find a hotel with a bar nearby to stop.
The slip of paper falls to the floor. At the last minute, I turn around, pick it up, and slip it into my wallet.
Chapter Two
Miller
While I’m driving, I make the obligatory weekly phone call home to my parents. Dread settles in before I even get my phone to my ear. I hate calling them. I hate having to listen to their snide remarks. They are quick to remind me how much I’m tarnishing the Ashby Family’s reputation with the decisions I’m making. Never once since I left have they bothered asking me how I’m doing or if I need anything. That would be too ‘parental’ of them.
I dial the familiar number, hoping like hell they are not home.
No such luck.
“Ashby Residence,” my mother says when she picks up, her fake enthusiasm making me a little nauseous.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Miller,” she snaps, the enthusiasm immediately dropping from her voice when she realizes it’s just me and not one of her colleagues.
“Just checking in,” I say, not even attempting to make small talk. There’s no point, really.
“I hope you’re calling to tell us that you’re done with your foolishness and you’ll be returning home. Word has gotten around at school that you’ve withdrawn. You’re making a mockery of us.”
“Sorry,” I say, even though I don’t mean it.
“Miller, I can pull some strings. We have an abundance of friends on staff and donate an obscene amount of money to that school every year. You don’t just withdraw from law school. You’ll be a laughing stock…the entire family will. So you got your feelings hurt when your little friend didn’t pick you. It happens. Suck it up and come home. You’re making us look bad.”
“God, Mom, I would hate for you or Dad to look bad because my feelings got hurt.”
I have to get off the phone with her before I wreck this damn truck.
“Come home, Miller. This is getting absurd. You ran off to lick your wounds, but it’s done. Get home.”
“Sorry, Mom. I can’t do it yet. Looks like I’ll have to be the laughing stock in your precious circle of friends.”
“I’m giving you a week. If you’re not back, your funds are cut off.”
The line goes dead.
Going home isn’t an option. I have money, but it certainly isn’t unlimited funds. They’ve always given me money, but I’ve always insisted on pulling my own weight. I’ve had a job for as long as I could work. I never used their money to pay my bills when I was living in the apartment with Lucy and Maggie. I’ve dipped into that account since I’ve been on the road, though. There’s no way I can get hotel rooms night after night and not rely on their money. So now, I just need to find a spot to settle down in for a bit, get a job and save up some money, and move on to the next place. Hotels will be a thing of the past, too. I’ll need to find a more reasonable place to stay.
My aimless driving goes on for hours after that phone call. I don’t pay attention to landscape or towns. Hell, I don’t even know what state I’m in half the time. I’m just lost. I can’t believe my life has taken such a drastic turn. I worry about her constantly. I have spent my entire life looking after my best friend’s needs, and now she’s got someone else to do that for her. My purpose in life is gone. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. These empty, meaningless one night stands sure as fuck aren’t the answer.
The dinging of my truck’s fuel light pulls me from my pity party. I’ve burned through yet another tank of gas today. Pulling off at the next exit, I set up the pump and head into the station for a pack of cigarette
s, a coke, and some directions. Maybe the gas station attendant can help me settle my fate.
“Hey, man, I need a place to stop for the night. What’s around here?” I ask the young guy behind the counter.
Without pulling his head up from his phone he mutters, “Fairhope.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He looks up, saying it louder and slower, like I’m an idiot. “Fairhope. You should check it out. It’s pretty cool. Cross over the bay and you’ll be right there.”
He puts down his phone long enough to ring up my stuff. I thank him for the info and I’m back in my truck. I laugh and shake my head as I think about where I’m headed—Fairhope. Maybe my run-in with the fair haired girl named Hope last night was a sign that this town is where I need to be. Maybe I can find what I need in Fairhope.
Only one way to find out.
I cross the Bay like I was directed and make my way to Fairhope. It’s dark when I get here, but I can tell already that this isn’t your typical town. There’s an ‘old’ feel to this place, like I’ve been transported back in time. This is small town USA at its finest. I make my way through the town and find one of the only hotels to book a stay. I decide I’ll give myself a week here. Hopefully in that time I can find a job, maybe even a place to live. If not, I’ll hop back in my truck and head down the coast. Tourist spots always have jobs available. Besides, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.
Too tired to go anywhere, I have my own party with the beer I had in the bed of my truck, drinking myself into oblivion, burning through my fresh pack of cigarettes, and passing out in the clothes I threw on this morning when I left the last hotel.
Same dance, different day.
I wake up with the same pounding in my head, the same empty feeling in my chest. Despite the torture I put myself through every night, though, I can’t give up running. That’s the one piece of my life with her I hang onto with a fierce desperation. It’s what we did, day in and day out until her medical situation got too bad and she couldn’t do it anymore. God, she used to get so pissed when I’d go for a run without her. So, I’d run, and then go back home and get her so she could walk and I could keep her company. Anything I could do to spend time with my girl. I’d go to Hell and back if it’d mean spending time with her.
As the sun beats down on my back, my feet pound harder and harder on the asphalt while I think about the last time she went out for a ‘walk’, even though it turned into more. We had just had a huge fight, one of the first of many regarding her new relationship with Bennett.
I walked out of my room and Goose was sprawled out on the floor, her frail body not even all the way inside the apartment. I checked for a pulse and then ran in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of orange juice. Pulling her into my arms, I rocked her back and forth, silently pleading for her to wake up. When she opened her eyes I lifted the glass to her mouth.
“Please, baby, I need you to drink this for me.”
I stopped rocking her clammy body and helped her take a few small sips of the juice. Fuck, I hate when this happens to her. As soon as she finished the juice I carried her to the couch and took off her jacket, shoes, and socks.
“Can I leave you for a second?”
She gave me a weak, trembling nod.
I ran back to the kitchen and came back with a Gatorade, a bag of pretzels, some peanut butter, and ice packs. I put the ice packs behind her neck and on her wrists and then opened the drink. I dipped the pretzels in peanut butter for her and proceeded to feed her. We’ve done this more times than I care to count. More times than I should have to recall. I watch the color return to her face, her trembling stop.
“There’s my girl. You’re not looking gray anymore. Better, baby?”
She nodded, started to cry, and pushed into my arms. I took her right in. She’s always welcome there. I asked if I need to call the doctor, but she shook her head no.
“Miller, why are we fighting? I hate this. This isn’t us. We don’t do this.”
“We’re not fighting, Goose. This is just new for us. You’ve always been mine. I’ve never had to share you. I don’t know how to act.”
“Try not acting like an overbearing ass.”
I grabbed her face, my expression changed from tender and loving to hard.
“I don’t know how I feel about seeing you dressing up for someone else. Someone else keeping you out all night, putting their hands on you, putting their Goddamn lips on yours.”
She tried to talk, but I didn’t want to hear her excuses. I knew she’d just try to brush off our relationship. Her dismissals of our relationship have gotten really old, really fast.
“I don’t want to hear your ‘just friends’ bullshit anymore. Yes, we are friends, but when you let me in your bed and share your body with me, that line isn’t so clear. It’s really fucking blurred and I’m trying to sort shit out. You gotta give me time.”
The front door opened and Maggie came strolling in. Perfect timing.
“What’s up?” she asked, oblivious to what was playing out on the couch.
“Nothing,” Lucy said, at the same time I told her, “Your sister just had one of her episodes, but I got her all straightened out. Right, Goose?” I never took my eyes off her.
“Yep. I’m just peachy. I think I’ll go shower,” she said.
I should have given up hope for us then. Maybe I wouldn’t be having such a hard time if I would have just listened to her in the first place. That was only one of the many times we fought over Bennett Strickland. And she continued to pick him, every single time.
Lost in the memory of that day, I wind up in front of a park, children and their parents littered about, playing on the huge wooden pieces of equipment. I’m winded, sweaty, and pissed off. Every time I think about one of those fights we had because of him, I get upset, that empty and hollow feeling settling deep in the pit of my gut. Wanting to run it off, I walk through the park, intent on hitting the street on the opposite side of it, but the music streaming through my ear buds is interrupted with the chime of an incoming text. Stopping once again, I glance down at the screen of my phone.
Fuck. It’s Maggie. As much as I want to ignore it, I can’t. Something could be wrong. Maggie wouldn’t hesitate to call or text me if something was up with her sister. Her transplant was a success, but that’s not to say that she can’t have complications later down the line. My erratic heartbeat has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve been running for miles and miles this morning. I swipe my finger along the screen and brace myself for the message that’s about to pop up before my eyes.
Maggie: Ready to come home yet?
Really? I love Maggie, but she almost gave me a heart attack to ask me that? Typical Maggie.
Miller: I can’t
Maggie: Just thought I’d try. Guess I’m movin home
Miller: Sorry Mags
Maggie: Not as sorry as I am :(
She should be sorry. Sorry for putting me through the onslaught of emotions that I’m experiencing right now. Panic, dread, fear, fuck, I even felt a tiny bit of hope in the dark corners of my heart that she would be texting to say that they were done, and that I needed to get home so that I could console my girl.
Leaning over, clutching my thighs, and breathing deeply isn’t helping the feelings subside. I keep looking at the messages, keep thinking about the scene that I was reminiscing about earlier, and I just can’t take it anymore. I yank the earbuds out of their resting place, let out a guttural moan from the pit of my stomach, and hurl my phone across the park and into the trunk of the nearest tree. I resume my former position of my hands on my thighs, my breaths coming out much heavier than before. I don’t feel any better, and now I have a shattered phone screen to add to my ever growing list of problems.
“Not having a very good day, are you, son?” a rough, gravelly voice says behind me.
“That seems to be the norm lately,” I reply, not bothering to turn around. I’m not really in the mood to make small talk wi
th strangers in the park.
I hear heavy footsteps walking away from me. A towering man comes to stand in front of me a few minutes later, my phone dangling from his outstretched hand. I straighten up and take it from him, looking at his face for the first time.
It’s like I’m looking at Lucy’s father. A slightly older, more commanding version of Thomas Brennan. I stand a little straighter. This man seems to demand that kind of respect and attention.
“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around.” he asks.
“I just got in last night.”
“Are you here visiting someone, or just passing through?” he asks. He’s eyeing me, trying to get a read on me.
“Just passing through, but I might be staying for a while. A, uuh, friend suggested this was a good place to visit. I need some time to sort through some personal things,” I say.
God, why am I telling him all of this? It must be the fact that he reminds me of the only man I ever considered to be a father to me.
“I take it those personal things are the reason you just shattered your phone,” he says.
I give him a tiny nod.
“Come on, son, I’ll buy you a beer and tell you about our fair city.” He pats me on the back a few times and starts walking, not giving me the chance to respond to his invitation.
‘Why the hell not?’ I think, and start following behind.
“Name’s Captain Dave Bankston. You can call me Cappy.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head as the name leave his mouth. “That damn Celeste. I was the Commanding Officer on an aircraft carrier for over twenty-five years, and she’s got this entire town calling me Cappy. I’m not even sure anyone knows my name’s Dave.”
“Miller Ashby.”
“Well, Miller Ashby, welcome to Fairhope.”
The Promise of More: The Home Series, Book Three Page 2