Shaking off the thoughts, I make my way towards the bar and notice that Joe is the only one behind it. I peer anxiously around the room seeking Hailey out. A pang of nervousness bubbles up within me as I realize she hasn't arrived yet and we're set to open in a few minutes. She's never late...in fact she's usually several minutes early. I'm unable to hide the concern in my voice as I ask Joe, "Where's Hailey? Did she call in sick or anything?"
Joe halted his cleaning of the bar top and glanced up to me timidly as he stammered, "Uh...she didn't say anything to you?"
My concern turned to full blown panic in milliseconds as I barked out, "Tell me what, goddamnit?"
Had she finally had enough and quit without telling me? Did I push her too far this time? Hell, I certainly wouldn't blame her, but there was no denying I still felt something for her, and probably always would. I had become like one of those bug collectors...draining the life from their unsuspecting victims, pinning them down, and keeping them for themselves, to admire whenever they feel like it. The bar was my own personal shadow box, where I had access to her, could see her...watch her. Was I sacrificing her needs for my own wants? I suppose. Was I being obsessive? Probably. But nevertheless, the thought of letting her fly free was unsettling to say the least.
Joe's eyes grew wide as he struggled to explain, "She...last night...I thought you knew, Boss."
Stalking to within a fraction of an inch from him, I exclaimed, "Knew about what?" Joe stared blankly at me as I continued, "Am I speaking Chinese here? These are not difficult questions."
His eyes darted back and forth, as he tried to look anywhere but directly at me, and he began fidgeting with his bar rag. He stuttered, "She wanted to know...well, I mean she asked me...well, no, see first," he looked towards the ceiling as if searching his mind and tapped his finger on the bar as if he were a counting horse. I was quickly losing my patience with him.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Jesus Christ! You been eating retard sandwiches, or what? Get to the fucking point!"
"Yeah, Boss, ok," he nodded, continuing, "She said she needed the afternoon off and asked if I would cover for her." He glanced at me with trepidation as I stared him down, urging him to continue. "So, I mean, I just figured she already asked you, ya know?" he shrugged.
My tone clipped, I asked, "What did she need the afternoon off for?"
Joe shrugged apologetically. "She didn't really say," he stated flatly, leaving me only more frustrated, my gut roiling with barely retained urgency.
Joe certainly wasn't offering up any useful information. I turned on my heel and briskly walked back into my office, closing the door with more force than necessary and deposited myself in the worn out office chair as it wheezed out a protesting squeak, reminding me a good refurbishing of the dank, outdated furniture and decor was in order.
Running my hands through my hair, I propped my elbows on the desk and slumped forward, scrubbing my palms over my face as I contemplated calling her cell. What would I say? Just wondering when you'll be in so I can enjoy the smell of your hair as you walk past me. Your lack of reciprocation of my continual obsessing over you has me feeling insecure...would you mind dropping whatever you're doing to stroke my ego? I was thinking of getting new ceiling fans...I could really use a woman's opinion.
Jesus, I've never felt so desperate in my life, and what's worse, I brought it upon myself and it's completely unwarranted. But that doesn't make it feel any less unwelcome.
******
Hailey
"Come on...I'm dying here. What's the big secret?" Georgia whined as we waited for our food orders to be delivered.
"No big secret," I shrugged. Georgia raised a brow, silently urging me to spill the beans. I sighed audibly, knowing she would most likely blow the whole thing out of proportion. Finally realizing she wasn't going to stop pestering me since I had promised to let her in on what I knew, I relented, saying simply, "I've seen her before...at the university. I mean she wasn't all dolled up like she is when she comes into the bar, but I'm pretty sure it was her." I didn't bother making eye contact with her as I brought my lips to my steaming hot mug of cappuccino.
"Like, she's a student there?" Georgia asked with curiosity lacing her voice.
Shaking my head, I swallowed a large gulp of my frothy drink, answering, "Huh uh...I mean, I don't think she is."
"Well why would she be at the university if she's not a student, or teacher, or something?" Georgia prodded.
I gave her an 'as if' look, rolling my eyes. "She doesn't exactly strike me as the 'college type', if you know what I mean," I said sarcastically.
"Ok, I'm no psychology major, or prodigal genius, or anything, but I get the feeling you're leaving something out," Georgia rebutted.
"I walked in on her and Michael at his office a couple times," I said nonchalantly.
"They were fucking?" she exclaimed.
My eyes went wide as I said, "Jesus, Georgia- no, they weren't fucking! And keep your voice down." I shielded my eyes, my face turning crimson at her lack of propriety. I peeked up, humiliated, and continued in a hushed voice, "They were...I don't know, just talking."
"About what?" Georgia questioned.
"I don't know," I said with irritation. "They would always shut up when I walked in and she'd give me some weird look and scurry away. Michael always jumped straight into greeting me and asking me questions about class or how I was doing...stuff like that." I explained.
"You didn't think it was odd? How he'd suddenly change the subject? Never introduced you to her?"
Pointedly I said, "I didn't think it was any of my business."
She gave me an 'are you serious?' look before bellowing, "Not your business?"
I rolled my eyes for about the fourteenth time today, expelling a long breath as I said, "What Michael does in his private life is none of my business."
I was now fully aware that Georgia wasn't going to drop the subject until she'd satisfied her curiosity itch. "Well, it's a pretty big fucking coincidence that she and Michael seem to have some sort of relationship, then poof!...Kellan shows up back in town and all of a sudden this chick drops the baby-daddy bomb on him," she said, her voice rising once again.
"Sorry, Georgia, I just don't see the correlation. I mean, who the hell knows? Maybe Michael's her cousin...maybe she was inviting him to a family reunion. Why are you looking for a conspiracy here?"
"I'm trying to look out for you," she emphasized.
"Me?" I leaned in towards her, trying to quell my frustration without letting the entire cafe in on our animated conversation. "Neither of them have done anything to me- save for Leila giving me the skunk eye a few times, which I couldn't care less about."
"See that's what I'm talking about- this could be why Kellan left Chambers! Think about it," she pointed her finger toward me.
Throwing my hands in the air, I blurted, "What? What in the hell are you talking about?" My mind was whirling as Georgia plowed on with her vague witch hunting theories.
"Why is she shooting dirty looks at you if she has no relationship with Michael? If she has no idea you have a relationship with Kellan?" she grilled me.
"I don't have a relationship with Michael! I don't have a relationship with Kellan! Goddamnit, Georgia! Can we please just drop this?" I barked.
She stared intently at the table top, chewing on her newly manicured thumbnail. "Something's not right. Something feels off," she said peering up at me with concern. Georgia did have a tendency to make mountains of molehills; however, the depth of concern I registered in her eyes had my wheels spinning in my head. What was going through her mind? What puzzle pieces was she attempting to put together? I had no idea. But I'd never seen her alarmed, almost to the point of panic.
If for no other reason than to settle Georgia's mind, I relented. "If it will make you feel better, I'll feel him out," I stated flatly.
She gave me a single nod of solidarity, adding, "Great. In the meantime, maybe I can have Eve do some snoop
ing," as the young waitress approached our table.
Her voice quivered as she looked to me, asking, "Light Italian on the side, right?" I gave her a sincere smile as I assisted her in setting our orders down on the table.
Chapter Twenty
Kellan
My heart literally skips a beat each day as I hear Hailey enter the bar and offer up a friendly hello to Joe as she prepares for the workday ahead. It's fucking with my head- big time. I took the staunch attitude that I was doing her a favor...doing the right thing by pushing her away, setting her free to find someone that deserves her, is worthy of her, someone who doesn't have a dump truck full of baggage to contend with.
Now I'm watching her sit with some douchey looking guy dressed in dark jeans, with a crease ironed into them, a pink and green striped golf polo with a breast cancer ribbon decal sewn on it (coincidence?), and a white cardigan tied around his shoulders. It's eighty degrees outside, for Christ's sake! Who the fuck needs a sweater when it’s eighty degrees?
I'm officially freaking out. Jesus, I have the anxiety of a kid watching the neighbor boy ride his brand new Big Wheel because his mother just told him 'You get to ride it anytime you want...be nice and share with Jimmy for a bit'. Yeah...it's the riding and sharing part I'm not so keen on. I internally pray she's taken up tennis and this...this walking Ralph Lauren display is her coach or something. I think for a moment maybe she has some newfound interest in sailing. This guy looks more suited for boating. No one wears jeans to play tennis. Then again, no one wears a fucking sweater when it’s eighty degrees. And I'm sure he wouldn't mind Hailey boarding his 'vessel' while she learns the 'ropes'.
Rifling through my brain as my anger begins to rise, I conclude sailing is unlikely- our sleepy little town is nowhere near a coastline. The closest thing we have is a small local lake. Teenagers dare each other to jump from two stories up ,while they film the inevitable screams and flailing of arms and legs, and the stinging pain of skin slamming against the water's unforgiving surface, only to later be uploaded to You Tube with hopes of getting their fifteen seconds of fame. I get it, I really do- there is no such thing as turning down a Triple Dog Dare.
The shoreline, muddy and overgrown with weeds, is littered with fishing poles, their slack lines attached to bobbers that gently stray as the breeze causes the slightest of ripples through the water. Dads are eagerly showing their children how to worm a hook and accurately cast their rods for optimum distance and placement. More often than not, the hook lands in the nearest tree and the kids end up sitting on the cooler playing with their cell phones while the father stares at the tree for several minutes, pondering the best way to go about retrieving the hook without breaking the line. He eventually ends up getting frustrated enough that he throws caution to the wind and wrestles to free it...hook be damned. Usually the tree wins, the kids whine about going home, and Dad gives up all hope of Little Timmy being the next Bass Master's Champion. He cracks the lid on a beer, plops into his lawn chair, and spends the rest of the afternoon getting a pretty good buzz on while he aimlessly peers out at the water, no doubt trying to push the thoughts of the bills and 'to-do-lists' out of his mind. The kids brood for the remainder of the day, slapping at the elusive horseflies. Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything. Regardless, the fishing pole will probably remain untouched until it's time to pack up and head home.
Further out, boats whiz past, water skiers trailing behind them. Some lean left, then right, showing off their near flawless ability to skim the water's surface with confidence and poise. Most, though, get a few seconds in to the ride and falter, left to absorb their humiliation, their bright orange life vests shining a spotlight onto them as they bob along in the wake of the boat until it can come back around and retrieve them.
Many lake goers simply drift along the water in pontoon boats; a bevy of buddies getting together for the weekend to drink themselves silly while the designated driver plasters on a happy smile so his friends won't think he's a dick and not invite him for the next outing.
Younger women clad in bikinis lay out on boat tops, soaking up the sun, occasionally oiling themselves down, and completely ignoring the data that this method of sun exposure will ultimately lead to premature aging. Older women, women who are now noticing the forgotten warnings of said premature aging, are lathering up their bodies in SPF kajillion, wearing large brimmed hats and opaque cover ups, in a futile attempt to save the last remnants of youth they are grasping at. These are the same women now heeding the advice of professionals as they hope to stave off the chance of their children getting skin cancer by basically bathing them in sunscreen every forty-five minutes. Still older women, clothed in one piece bathing suits with frilly skirts attached and peppered with large exotic flower prints, determine it is clearly too late for them, they simply don't care anymore; their skin nearly the color of rust, leathery. Dad is scoping out the oily bikini clad blonds from the shore, trying to remain inconspicuous.
The laughter pouring from the table that Hailey and The Skipper are occupying breaks me out of my wandering thoughts and has my animalistic hackles standing on end. Fuck! This is irritating as shit. Still, inquiring minds want to know, so I search my mind for a reason to butt into their conversation. I remind myself she's not mine...this was my idiotic idea in the first place, and as I make my way towards their table, I repeat the mantra over and over again in my head: act normal, act normal, cool as a cucumber, while internally, I feel anything but.
I step into their space; they are impervious to my presence, so I clear my throat to get their attention. The Skipper snaps his head up quickly, but gives me nothing other than a blank stare. I hold his gaze for a moment, only allowing myself to break away when Hailey says formally, "Michael, this is Kellan. He recently became the new owner of the bar."
The Skipper partially stands, extends his hand, and says, "Ahh, yes, I've heard a lot about you."
I snap my eyes to Hailey as she stares at me, unblinking. Not bothering to return The Skipper's handshake, I fix an impassive glare onto Hailey as I reply, "Is that so?" I pause a beat, then face The Skipper as I continue, "She hasn't told me a thing about you." Crickets... Skip is clearly taken aback as he retreats to his seat, but manages a small smile. An immense satisfaction builds inside of me; I've wounded his pride.
"Michael is my psychology professor," Hailey states, more insistent than informative. PROFESSOR Skipper...how artsy fartsy, my inner smart-ass trills in a British accent, lifting an invisible cup of tea and raising a pinky. Hailey is all pissy and fluffing up the Skipper's feathers for him. How very valiant of her to try to rescue the sad sap from impending domination.
My lips twist into a devilish quirk as I continue to eyeball him. Shrugging, I say with a bit of malice, "Well, you know what they say...those that can't do, teach." Boom bitch! I just threw the motherfucking gauntlet in your face!
The Skipper is nearly horror stricken, and shifts uncomfortably in his chair, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Hailey interjects, "Kellan!"
"What?" I half laugh; chagrined. Turning to face her, I continue, "It was a joke. He knows I was kidding, right Doc?" I clap my hand hard against his back just as he begins to sip his water. The water sloshes over the sides of the glass, spilling onto the tabletop, as a coughing fit emanates from The Skipper. You just can't buy this kind of entertainment.
"Jesus, Kellan, we're trying to have lunch here! Do you mind?" Hailey exclaims.
Of course, I mind. Some fucker with a degree in head cases is trying to get into her panties. She may as well post an ad on Craig's List: Vulnerable, naive female eager to be used as a doormat. Serious inquiries only. Christ almighty- how fucking stupid can she be? Evidently pretty fucking stupid, so it's obvious I need to step in here...I mean, it's like my civic duty, right?
"Mind if I have a quick chat with my manager, here, Doc?" I say as I motion my head in her direction.
"Manager? Since when?" Hailey asks, clearly annoyed that I'm still here.
I shrug and thumb towards my office, replying, "I was gonna tell you earlier, but..."
Hailey cuts in, stressing, "I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"Why?"
Hailey leans casually back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of herself and peers up at me through her lashes. She says in a reasoning tone, "Well that's an awful lot of responsibility. I mean I'd hate to put myself into a position where I would clearly need to be held accountable for my actions, not to mention accept any consequences that might arise from those actions." She bats her lashes and smiles innocently.
Stiffening, I retort, "Um...yeah, well you pretty much already do most of this stuff, so..."
"So I don't need some sort of title if I'm already doing it then, do I?" she argued.
She was pissing me off, but I hadn't accomplished my objective, yet. The Skipper couldn't seem to get the hint and take a fucking hike. Grasping at straws, I said, "Well there's a little more to it than that." I quickly sweetened the pot, "And you'll get a pay raise."
Fire and Ice: Rekindled (The Fire and Ice Series Book 2) Page 12