“Then, we’ll leave,” I promise.
“At least I don’t have to worry about Reilly,” she grinds out. I’m still getting used to the brittleness in her tone when she speaks about our best friend. She might think Reilly is to blame now, in all her rage and broken heartedness, but I don’t blame him for stepping in and breaking them up, especially not after learning Mike was cheating on Sam with Bethany. Sam distanced herself from all of us while she was with Mike, so I might not have been completely in the loop, but even I could see he was bad news. The chaos Mike created in his wake will haunt all of us for the rest of our lives, and the son of a bitch could care less about all of it. What asshole doesn’t return your calls after you almost die in a car accident—after your father does?
Mac peers around at the crowd. “This town is getting too big, I don’t think I know everyone here anymore.” She’s only partially joking. “So many people came this year.”
Sam groans. “I already feel sick.”
“Deep breath, Sam,” Mac says.
“Here. I have just the remedy,” I say happily. I pull a beer out of my ice chest and hand it to her. She just needs a little something to loosen her up, we all do after the year we’ve had.
“Hold the bottle tight,” I tell her and pop the cap off with the butt of my lighter. Sam’s face scrunches and my smile widens. “Pretend it’s a wine cooler. Go on, take a big swig.”
Her grimace is very Sam-like, and it makes me happy that there’s still part of her in there somewhere.
“Yo, Turner!” Slinsky shouts. I nod at him and second baseman, Chet Tompkins, as they make their way over from the other side of the bonfire. Although I have nothing against either of them, I don’t want to reminisce with them about baseball tonight, especially when half the team went on to play minor league or coach, one of them was even drafted to the Dodgers. Me, on the other hand, I stayed behind to go back to school, the farthest thing from living my dream, even if I do like architecture.
I meet up with the guys closer to the bonfire, knowing Slinsky is one of Mac’s least favorite people, so I try to spare her. The guys are grinning, their eyes enlivened by firelight and they seem almost giddy to be here tonight.
“Dude, what’s it been—a couple years since I saw you?” Tompkins says as I grab a beer from my handheld ice chest.
“Something like that,” I say and situate my Igloo in the sand. Save for a few waves around town, we haven’t seen each other in a while. It’s definitely not like it used to be.
Tompkins comes in for a side clap on the shoulder.
Then Slinsky. “What’s new man?” he asks.
“Not much. Same shit, different day.” I nod to Slinsky. “You still painting with your dad?”
“Yeah, it’s temporary,” he says and takes a gulp from his plastic cup.
I glance over at Mac and Sam as they wade further and further into the group. Mac is all smiles and flirty laughter as familiar faces surround them, but Sam’s eyes dart around the party, and she really does look like she might puke.
“And you’re at your dad’s firm now, huh?” Tompkins says. “That’s cool.”
I shake my head, taking a swig of my beer. “No, not yet. I’m still working on my degree. What about you? Still coaching?”
He nods. “And getting married this winter,” he adds. “But I have to say, I thought I’d hate it, but surprisingly I don’t.”
“What, getting married?” Slinsky says. “I could’ve told you that.”
“No,” Tompkins chides. “Coaching little league. I actually like coaching the little shits. They remind me of us, only they’re half the size, and I’m pretty sure they’re bigger assholes than we ever were.”
We all laugh, but it feels forced and a little awkward, like time has stolen our comradery, which used to be the most dependable part of our lives.
“So,” Slinsky says, “What’s up with Reilly, is he still deployed?”
I nod and take another swig of my beer. “Yep, I’m not sure where, but I got an email from him a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah, I bet he’s somewhere miserable,” Tompkins mutters. “Does he at least like the Army?”
Reluctantly, I nod. “I don’t know if he’ll be back anytime soon,” I say sadly. Although I get to take the Rumbler out every now and again for a tune-up, I miss my best friend.
“It’s crazy. It’s like we’re all adults now and getting old or something,” Tompkins says with a sigh.
“Hey now, speak for yourself,” Slinsky laughs. “I’m in my prime.” He winks at a young blonde who’s probably still in high school, and I shake my head. Some things never change.
Peering around the bonfire, I realize Mac’s right. There seem to be fewer people I actually know at these things anymore. I meet Mac’s wide eyes and register her “come save us” look as she nods to the guys standing around her and Sam. With a smirk, I pull out a beer for Mac since she’s bottleless, and plan my escape.
“Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys later.” I nod to Mac and Sam. “Duty calls.”
Slinsky winks at me, which I ignore.
“See ya, Nick,” Tompkins says over the sound of the music. “Let’s grab a beer sometime!”
“I’m working at Lick’s now—stop by anytime!” I shout back.
Jogging up to Mac and Sam, I wonder when, exactly, I became their cock-blocker. It was gradual, but I don’t mind it, especially when Sam is out of sorts and Mac might as well be flying solo.
“Ladies,” I say, stopping beside them. “I hope I didn’t keep you too long.” I look at the two guys talking to them. They give me a once over. “Hey, I’m Nick,” I say, introducing myself with an affable smile.
They nod at me, and I hand Mac a beer. “My lady.”
She smiles, grateful, and looks at the two John Does. “Anyway,” Mac says sweetly. “It was nice meeting you guys. Enjoy the bonfire.” To anyone else it’s a polite smile, but I see it for what it is, painted on and desperate to be unhinged. The guys glance between Mac, Sam, and me, clearly confused before they turn and walk away.
Mac sighs and chugs some of her beer. “Thanks,” she says, letting out a deep exhale. “I don’t even care that this taste horrible. I needed a drink. My wingman is MIA tonight,” Mac says, nudging Sam playfully.
But Sam’s eyes widen before they narrow and a familiar laugh catches my ear. Sam’s face says it all, burning red, even in the darkness. When I turn around, Bethany is lip locked with a guy I’ve never seen before, sucking on his face like she’s rabid.
“Homewrecker’s already moved on, I see?” Mac mutters beside me.
But when Bethany comes up for air and sees me standing there, her expression surprises me. I’m not sure if it’s my frown or the fact that she’s clearly wasted, but for a fleeting moment, I think I see the sad-eyed girl from middle school. Her glassy eyes are fixed on me and her grip on the dude she’s hanging on loosens.
“That was fast—” Bethany’s gaze darts to Mac, like she hadn’t noticed her until now. “Mike too boring for you already, or is this the other guy?” Mac sneers.
“Let’s go,” Sam says, turning for the dunes again. Mac is all too willing and they head toward the pathway. Bethany’s date tugs on her to follow him to the fire, but Bethany’s eyes narrow on Sam and she tugs her arm away from him as she watches the girls walk away.
All I can do is shake my head, and I follow after the girls. When I reach the top of the first dune, I peer back to find Bethany is straddling the guy’s lap at the fire, lips locked on his again. I don’t know what happened to the Bethany I thought I knew, but she’s long gone. The girl I see now is lost.
Fourteen
Nick
“Brady!” I shout above the noise. “I need a margarita on the rocks for the young lady in the pink sweater.” It’s Friday night, which means Lick’s is where it’s at. The city kids come out of the woodwork, teachers let loose, and Saratoga Falls becomes a college town on ‘roids. The locals, well, they come in
for an after-work drink and stay for five.
Taking the ID from Pink Sweater’s friend, I glance between the hottie and her license. She doesn’t look old enough to buy cigarettes, let alone drink, but it’s legit, even if my gaze lingers on her bright blue eyes longer than it needs to. I might even call them mesmerizing, if it weren’t for a pair of smoky gray eyes I haven’t been able to get out of my head all week.
I wink at Pink Sweater and her friend as I return their Oregon IDs, because that’s my thing—I wink and smile and, mostly, the ladies eat it up. Then, I rest a pint glass against the Lagunitas tap to fill ‘er up.
“And . . . what can I get for you, sir?” I ask the man at the end of the bar. With a quick tip, I pour the excess foam from the glass in my hand and slide it over to the woman patiently waiting for it. I take the guy’s order and everything else is automatic.
My hands move swiftly, wiping wet spots from the bar, and my eyes scan the other patrons’ drinks. I check on the man at the end who’s been sipping his beer for what feels like an hour, and then on the guy with an empty tequila shot, hitting on a girl who’s clearly not into him.
The girl he’s with leans over the bar when she catches my eye. “I’ll have a whiskey this time,” she says. “A double.” At the rate this date of theirs is going, I’d say she’s going to need it.
I nod. “We talking top shelf or—”
“JD, please,” she says, checking her watch.
“A woman after my own heart.” I flash her a smile. “Coming right up.”
I flip a highball in my hand and clank it down on the bar top, pouring two shots for her before she can even get her wallet out.
“Seven-fifty,” I say, sliding her shot over on a black, square napkin. I glare at the guy next to her who hasn’t moved for his wallet once tonight. He’s clueless.
The woman slides me a twenty. “Keep the change and keep them coming,” she says. It’s getting late, and at the pace the night is going, it’s going to end one of two ways. Either a bar fight is going to break out and/or someone is going to puke. I’m hoping it’s only the latter.
“You’re it,” I tell Brady, cashing Miss Jack Daniel’s out. I give him “the look” and nod at her as she downs her double shot.
Brady glances down the bar at her, sweat beaded on his brow, much like mine. He shakes his head. “Not a chance.”
“Dude, I’m not on barf duty tonight,” I say, stepping closer.
“Dude,” he says, mocking me. “I’m your boss. You’ll do whatever I say.”
I smirk at him and wring out a wet towel. “Whatever you say, boss.” I make a mental note to keep my eye on Miss JD tonight as I scoot her another shot and a bowl of pretzels.
If I hadn’t been a fixture in this place for the last few years, I wouldn’t push my luck with Brady, but we go way back, and I know he would never fire me. Not unless he closed this place down, which would be a true-life sob story.
With a whistle at Brady, I nod to the floor and head out from behind the bar to make the rounds. Peanut shells and half-full, forgotten beers litter the room and tables. A damn waste and shame. Shaking my head, I glance over at the jukebox in the back corner where Mac, Sam, and Reilly are hanging out. I notice Bobby and Anna Marie standing by the dartboard, separate from the group, but I don’t see Bethany anywhere. I try not to think about her as I clear off the tables, but that doesn’t last long.
I’m gathering discarded pint glasses, when a vision of tussled blonde hair, long legs, and a black fuck-me dress consumes every ounce of my attention. Bethany saunters into the bar, wearing those goddamn pink heels I can never get out of my head, with her arms wrapped around some guy I’ve never seen before.
Bethany’s all smiles, her eyes are glassy, and her lipstick is smeared a little, and I know she’s feeling good. She’s a temptress tonight. By the look of her now, you’d never know how angry she got in class on Wednesday.
I walk back to the bar with the dirties and submerge them in the suds tub. I do a quick drink check around the bar, pour Miss Jack Daniel’s a single shot, and ask Brady to get another line of margaritas going for Pink Sweater and her friend.
“How did I get stuck on margarita duty?” Brady asks.
“You want to play bus boy?” I’m more than happy to switch with him.
Brady shakes his head. “You missed some glasses over there,” he says happily, and pours a line of tequila shots for one of the groups at a cocktail table. I head back around the bar for another load and try to steer clear of Bethany when she sees me.
“Oh, Nick!” she calls over the noise.
“That’s my name,” I drawl and grab an empty glass before finally looking at her.
“Can you get us a drink?” Her date nuzzles the side of her face, like he can’t take his grubby hands or eyes off of her. I’m not a jealous guy by nature, but I don’t like the way her date stares at her lips, like he’s a predator and hungry.
“Uh . . .” I hesitate. She’s pretty drunk.
“I’ll take a whiskey sour,” she says, oblivious, and her friend with the bad hair asks for two shots of tequila. “Top shelf,” he clarifies.
“How about some water,” I tell her, ignoring her date’s request completely.
“What? No, that’s not fun.”
I laugh. “It looks like you’ve had plenty of fun tonight already.”
Her easiness vanishes, and her hands fall away from her date and to her sides. “I’d like a drink, Nick,” she bites out. Her posture stiffens and she takes an unsteady step closer to me.
“I’m not serving you tonight, Bethany. You’re already lit.”
She looks shocked. “Are you screwing with me?”
I grab a few more empty glasses from the wall bar beside them, winking at a chick who bumps into me and giggles with apology. Bethany’s date steps closer, his greased black hair slipping into his even darker eyes. “What the hell is your problem, man?” he growls.
“I don’t have a problem, but she’s cut off.” I glare at her friend. “And if you keep pushing me, so are you.”
“Nick, stop it,” Bethany says, glancing wild-eyed between us.
“Stop what? I’m the bartender. It’s illegal for me to over-serve someone.”
Bethany grabs hold of my arm and pulls me toward the door. She wobbles on her feet, but she’s too determined and angry with me to trip and fall. When we get into an empty pocket of the bar, she grills me. “What the hell is your problem? Why are you being an asshole?”
“I’m not being an asshole,” I say coolly, even if I’m not sure that’s entirely true. “I’m doing my job.”
“I’ve had a few drinks, so what? It’s not like I’m belligerent or something.”
“Or something,” I mutter. “Just have some water for a bit, Bethany, it wouldn’t kill you.” I turn to leave.
“Wait,” she demands and reaches for me again, her fingers tight around my forearm this time. “Is this some joke to you—are you getting back at me for walking out of class the other day?”
“No.” I take a step closer to her. “But what the hell are you doing? Why are you out with this creep and acting like—”
“Like what?” she asks sharply. Her eyes narrow on me. When I don’t say anything, she takes a step closer to me. “Go ahead, Nick. Say it. I know you and your friends have been stewing in resentment toward me for years now.” She flings her hand in my direction. “Why don’t you just get it out of the way. A slut? Trash? Homewrecker? I couldn’t possibly just want to have a fun night out and act my age like everyone else, right?” Her eyes glisten and her face reddens even more.
I’m not sure how to respond as I register the hurt in her eyes. When I don’t say anything, she peers around the bar, like she’s suddenly worried she’s making a scene.
“Thanks for ruining it,” she says, and without another word, she pushes through the door and disappears outside, the door swinging open and shut in her wake.
Bad Hair comes up behind me and
glares. “Hey, dip shit, you just cost me my date.”
I stare at the door settling back into place. The look on her face confuses me, but the offense in her voice was real. I turn back for the bar. “Tell someone who cares.”
Fifteen
Bethany’s Journal
April 13th
So, I’ve been staring at my ceiling for a couple hours, trying to sort out what happened at Lick’s tonight. My night out was was supposed to be fun. I supposed was supposed to go out with a flirty guy I met at the coffee shop and live with wild abandon. That’s how it is for most people my age, right? They go to parties and going go dancing and live like they’ll never be twenty-something again. What makes me so different? Is it Nick and Lick’s? Is it this town and the past it holds? Is it a deep-seated shame I will never be able to shake because of my parents? Why is it so impossible to be happy for one fucking minute? -B
Sixteen
Nick
My head’s fuzzy, but the sheets feel like melted butter around me, and I don’t want to move. It takes me a moment to realize I’m only half asleep and someone’s pounding on the front door.
Peeling my eyes open, I force myself to sit up in bed. I’m tired and drained, and whoever is knocking on a Saturday morning is going to get a knee in the scrotum. I told Reilly I was sleeping in today, and, according to my alarm clock, it’s only nine. It might as well be 5AM after going to sleep around four.
More pounding scatters what remains of my haze, and with a curse, I climb out of bed. My apartment is dark, the drapes drawn and only a few slivers of morning sunlight filter in, illuminating a path to the door.
Reilly knocks again as I reach for the handle. “Yeah, I’m awake,” I growl and fling the door open. The sun’s like acid on the backs of my eyes, and I stagger back. “Jesus, could you—”
Told You So_A Saratoga Falls Love Story Page 10