Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3)

by Heather McVea

  Alison handed the bartender, an Asian gentleman in his late thirties with what looked like a barcode tattooed on the right side of his neck, her empty glass. “Would you like another?”

  Bryce refused to make eye contact as she threw back the last of her Bushmill and handed the glass to the amused bartender, who clearly was enjoying the awkward exchange. “Yes, please.”

  “To answer your question, all of my life. Except for college, and when I was ten we lived in Houston for a few years.” Though Bryce’s slip a moment ago tickled Alison, she managed not to laugh because the woman was clearly embarrassed.

  Bryce hesitantly looked up at Alison. “Did you like Houston?”

  “I’ll tell you Houston is a great city to be from.” Alison grinned. “And that’s all I have to say about that.”

  The bartender returned with the drinks. Alison picked up her glass and raised it. “Know any good Irish toasts?”

  Bryce’s eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips as she raised her glass. “May you live to be a hundred years, with one extra year to repent.”

  Alison chuckled as she took a drink. The toast had triggered a question regarding Bryce’s religious background, and though Alison usually considered such topics taboo, particularly when she hardly knew someone, she was getting desperate and couldn’t imagine things going any worse.

  “Repent? Are you Catholic?” Alison watched Bryce’s face carefully for signs the question had offended her.

  “I’m Irish.” Bryce stared intently at Alison, a subtle smile slowly forming on her lips.

  Shaking her head, Alison took another drink. “Nope, I’m not being suckered into another Irish stereotype. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.”

  Bryce laughed, and the melodic sound filled the bar. Alison couldn’t decide how she felt about this woman. Even though she was guarded, and sometimes she seemed uncomfortable in her own skin, she had interested Alison at first sight.

  “I am not Catholic.” Bryce was still smiling as she looked at Alison.

  “Religious at all then?” Alison felt a shift in the conversation, an easing into it that she hoped would continue.

  Shaking her head, Bryce emptied her glass. “No. I’m an atheist.”

  “Hey, like speaks to like.” Alison raised her glass and grinned. “Cheers.”

  “How did you decide?” Bryce asked earnestly.

  “When I was thirteen, I had a friend named Hunter.” Alison was surprised she was telling this story to a practical stranger. “He was a year older than me, but we knew each other from the neighborhood. In fact, he had been one of the first friends I made when we moved back from Houston.” She took a deep breath. “He was sweet, and I liked him. Thinking about it now, I guess he might have been gay.” Her friend’s sexuality hadn’t occurred to her until she was imagining him, in this moment, from an adult’s perspective.

  “Anyway, I came home from school, and there was an ambulance in Hunter’s driveway.” Alison swallowed the lump in her throat. “It would seem Hunter and a friend of his had found his father’s rifle and thought it wasn’t loaded. His friend accidently shot Hunter in the head, and that was it - he was dead.”

  Alison wiped at her eyes, the tears catching her off-guard. “Crap. Sorry. Total downer.” She grabbed her napkin. “I don’t know why that story occurred to me.”

  “Because since then you haven’t been able to reconcile the infinite contradictions of a God who loves you, but punishes you at the slightest provocation.” Bryce unexpectedly laid her cool hand on top of Alison’s warm one. “An omnipotent God who either can’t, or simply doesn’t choose to, stop the death of a child. How can you make sense of that - or worse, condone it?”

  “Exactly.” Alison was acutely aware of Bryce touching her and fought the urge to turn her hand over and entwine their fingers. “Not godlike at all, but more like a sociopathic, bipolar ex-girlfriend who loses her shit, burns all your jeans, and then blames you for making her do it.”

  For the second time Bryce laughed. “I hope you’re not speaking from experience.” She leaned back and took the reassurance of her hand with her, leaving Alison feeling sad again for an altogether different reason.

  “I’m happy to say I am not speaking from experience.” Alison waved the bartender over for another round. Handing the man her and Bryce’s empty glasses, she frowned. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t. What is that, two or three?”

  Bryce shrugged. “I usually keep the glasses. That way I don’t lose count.”

  The bartender chuckled. “That was round three, ladies.”

  Alison felt relaxed and didn’t want the outing to end. “No fair, you keep a tab.” She laughed at her own joke and thought she might be getting drunk.

  “Maybe you should eat something?” Bryce suggested, an amused look on her face. “May we have a menu, please?”

  “Sure.” The bartender smirked as he left the table.

  “Are you going to eat?” Alison looked worried.

  “I ate earlier.” Bryce shifted in the booth.

  “Let’s share an appetizer then. I’m not really that hungry.” Alison was starting to get the tunnel vision she knew proceeded her being full on drunk, and Bryce looked like she was at the farthest end, but the idea of food made her stomach sour.

  “I’m a vegan, so I’m not sure there’s anything for me to eat here.” Bryce took the menu from the bartender and began looking over it.

  “Really? Vegan?” Alison was intrigued. “Was that a moral decision for you, or something to do with your health?”

  Without looking up from the menu, Bryce answered matter-of-factly. “Both.”

  Alison sat back and realized she was practically lying down in the booth. Forcing herself upright, she leaned her elbows on the table to help steady herself. “I can’t believe this.”

  Bryce put the menu down. “Believe what?”

  “I’m drunk and you’re - well, you’re fine.” Alison opened her eyes wide in an effort to focus them.

  “So much for you being my designated driver.” Bryce spun the menu around and slid it over to Alison. “What do you feel like?”

  The rectangular shaped, laminated menu was a blur of words and pictures to Alison, but she managed to focus long enough to read the first item on the appetizer list. “Fried pickles, please.” She turned to hand the menu back to the bartender, pleased with her order, but confused where the man went.

  “He’ll be back, and then you place your order.” Bryce was clearly trying not to laugh at her friend.

  “Of course, that’s how it works.” Alison rubbed her face.

  Bryce frowned. “Hawareya doing?”

  Alison grinned. “I love your accent. Very sexy.” A twinge of embarrassment washed over her. Was that out loud?

  “Thanks.” Bryce bit her lower lip nervously as the bartender returned.

  “Ladies, have we decided?”

  Realizing Alison wasn’t going to answer, Bryce handed the bartender the menu. “Fried pickles, and water - no ice.”

  Turning her head side to side, Alison took several deep breaths. “Christ, how did this sneak up on me so fast?”

  “You weigh what, one thirty, you’re maybe 5’6”?” Bryce glanced down and then back up at Alison. “Three whiskies in the span of an hour - and you get what we’ve got here.”

  “A failure to communicate.” Alison randomly rattled off the famous line from the film Cool Hand Luke.

  Resting her chin on her hand, Bryce looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

  Alison waved her hand dismissively. “Movie reference, and I know - you don’t watch a lot of movies.”

  A broad smile spread across Bryce’s lips. “No, I don’t, but look.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled a black iPhone out. “I purchased a phone.”

  Alison clapped, got up, pulled her phone out of her back pocket and quickly slid into the booth next to Bryce. Their thighs touching, Alison leaned in to look at the shocked redhead’s phone.
“What’s your number, so I can put you in my contacts?”

  When Bryce didn’t answer, Alison looked up from the phone. In her drunken state, she couldn’t interpret the expression on her friend’s face. Bryce was sitting perfectly still, her jaw set, and her eyes seemed to be glowing in the dim light of the bar.

  “What?” Alison asked. “Don’t you know the number?” After several seconds, Bryce cleared her throat, and quickly spoke the nine digit number. Alison’s fingers weren’t working properly. “Hold on. One more time.”

  Bryce repeated the numbers, her voice strained and flat. Alison smiled. “Okay, I’ll text you and then you can add me to your contacts.”

  Alison was concentrating on her phone and didn’t realize the bartender had brought the fried pickles and water until she had a small plate slid in front of her by Bryce. “Here, eat this.”

  Looking at the food, Alison winced. “I don’t know if I should. My stomach.”

  “Then please drink the water.” Bryce slid the pint glass in front of her inebriated friend.

  Taking several long drinks, Alison felt her stomach begin to settle. “I don’t think I should drive home.”

  Bryce had shifted, so their legs were no longer touching, and now sat turned, facing Alison. “Should we get you a cab then?”

  Alison considered her options. “I don’t want to leave my car downtown, and then I have to get a way back to the car tomorrow.”

  Bryce frowned and tapped the index finger of her right hand nervously on the table. “I - I could drive you home. I guess that would be okay.”

  Oblivious to the obvious discomfort Bryce was in, Alison nodded. “Perfect. Wait - how will you get from my house back to yours?”

  “I can call a cab.” Bryce’s shoulders slouched and the grimace on her face made clear her displeasure with the arrangement.

  Alison reached for Bryce’s hand, taking it between both of hers. “I really appreciate it, and I promise this is not a normal thing for me.”

  Bryce pulled her hand back. “I understand. Happens to the best of us.” She signaled for the check from the bartender.

  “Let me get this. It sort of makes up for the cab. And the inconvenience.” Alison got up and returning to her side of the booth, began digging around in her purse for her credit card.

  “Excuse me a minute, I need to use the loo.” Bryce got up and walked toward the back of the restaurant.

  The bartender took Alison’s credit card and a few minutes later, returned with her copy of the receipt to sign. “I hope you have a good afternoon. You and your friend.” The man grinned and left Alison to attempt to calculate the gratuity with only half her brain working.

  “Ready?” Bryce was standing next to the booth with an expectant look on her face.

  Alison slid out of the booth, and handed Bryce her keys. “I am.” Without thinking, and because she was feeling a little unsteady on her feet, Alison looped her arm through Bryce’s and leaned on the woman as they exited the bar.

  “Good god, it’s bright out here.” Alison shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun. The clouds from earlier in the day had disappeared.

  Bryce had already put her sunglasses on and was maneuvering Alison in the direction of the car. “My father used to say there’s nothing like an afternoon drunk. Makes for one hell of a midday and a bitch of a night.”

  Alison laid her head on Bryce’s shoulder. She felt the woman tense, but feared lifting it back up too quickly would give her an even worse case of the spins. “I think I would like your father. Is he still alive?”

  Bryce gently shifted Alison away from her and slid her arm around the blonde woman’s waist. “No.”

  “Do you know you have a habit of answering questions with a very nondescript yes or no?” Alison charged.

  Shaking her head, Bryce leaned Alison against the passenger side of the car. “Do you know you have a habit of asking closed-ended questions?” Bryce took a deep breath in through her nose, and even with the sunglasses on, she was standing close enough that Alison thought her eyes flashed an intense green.

  “Something is rarely black or white.” Bryce’s voice was low and intimate.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Alison willed herself not to step back even though the nearness of Bryce was making her even more lightheaded. “True. Lots of gray out there.” Why am I using my bedroom voice in the middle of a parking lot?

  The coolness of Bryce’s lips pressed to Alison’s cheek and too quickly disappeared as the woman stepped back. Opening the door, Bryce moved to the side so Alison could get in the car. Closing the door, she walked around to the driver’s side.

  Alison laid her head back against the head rest and even though her eyes wanted to slam shut, she forced them to stay open for fear she would get motion sickness from the spinning. Reaching across the center console, she put her hand on Bryce’s firm thigh. “Drive slow and try to avoid any sharp turns.” She pulled her hand back and leaned against the door.

  Without a word, Bryce started the car and put it in drive. “Are you going to be able to direct me to your house or should I figure out how to use the GPS on my phone?”

  “I can get us there.” Looking at the woman next to her, Alison felt a surge of tenderness, but had sobered enough to know a hug was completely inappropriate. “I really want to hug you right now.”

  Bryce didn’t flinch as she pulled the car forward. “You’re drunk; otherwise, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

  Alison turned to face Bryce. “Not true. I’ve liked you from the start.”

  Bryce glanced in the rear view mirror, but still wouldn’t look at Alison. “Impossible.”

  “What’s impossible?” Alison’s seatbelt was digging into her neck, and she pulled on it nervously. She hadn’t intended to have this conversation - ever - much less when she had been drinking, but now she couldn’t see a way out of it.

  “You’re a nice woman, Alison. More importantly, you’re a good person.” Bryce’s tone was hard to read, but Alison felt the dreaded I’m just not attracted to you like that speech beginning, and she suddenly wished she had taken that cab.

  “Forget I said anything. It’s nothing.” Alison moved as far away from Bryce as she could without opening the car door and flinging herself out, though the thought crossed her mind.

  After nearly a minute of uncomfortable silence, Bryce finally spoke. “Where am I going?”

  Forcing herself to sit up in the seat, and not slump against the door like a pouty child, Alison gave Bryce general directions to her neighborhood. “Once we exit Huebner, I’ll give you the cross street.”

  The remainder of the ride home was silent except for Alison giving Bryce the last of the directions to her house. “This is a nice neighborhood.” Bryce commented as they pulled up in front of Alison’s three bedroom garden home.

  “I like it. It’s quiet and not too far from the university once I get on the highway.” Alison unhooked her seatbelt and opened the door. “Come inside while you wait for your cab.”

  Bryce turned the car off, grabbed her backpack from the back seat, and followed Alison into the house. “I should be out of your hair in no time.” The woman stood awkwardly in Alison’s tiled entryway, refusing to come any further into the house.

  “It’s no trouble. You did me the favor. Come in and sit while you wait.” Alison had walked toward the back of the house where her kitchen was for a glass of water. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you.” Bryce’s voice was still coming from the entryway.

  Alison was starting to feel more like herself as she held her glass under the kitchen faucet. She was mortified by her behavior over the past hour, and Bryce’s unexpected visit to her home was also making her uneasy. Returning to the front of the house, Alison didn’t want to be pushy, but she also didn’t want the awkwardness of having Bryce hovering in her walkway. “Let’s wait in the living room.”

  Without a word, Bryce followed her. Alison had always been fond of t
his room in particular. She had decorated her house in tans and olive tones as they were her favorite, and this room was accented nicely by the walnut wood floors and the chocolate colored sofa and love seat.

  Alison sat on the sofa. Bryce sat on the farthest end of the love seat, put her bag down on the floor, and leaned back, resting her hands on her thighs.

  Is she going to say something? Alison took a sip of her water as she looked at the woman across from her. “You seem tense?” Clearly I’m still drunk.

  Bryce’s eyes widened. “Not at all. I just don’t want to be a bother.”

  Alison felt a surge of irritation and before she could think better of it, her mouth was moving. “I wish you would stop that. That’s not the first time you’ve implied that somehow I’m doing you a favor by associating with you.” Alison leaned forward and put the glass of water down on the oak coffee table. “Because you should know, I don’t spend time with people I don’t like.”

  Bryce crossed her legs, her back perfectly straight. “Would you like to go bowling with me sometime?”

  Blinking several times in an attempt to clear her head, and try to figure out what direction the conversation was now taking, Alison stammered. “What? Oh, yeah - that would be - good.” Confused at how what she thought was going to be a discussion about their relationship had turned into a bowling night invite, Alison nodded. “Let me know when and where.”

  Bryce rested her elbow on the arm of the love seat. “Friday night. You can pick me up at my apartment, around seven?”

  Alison’s breath caught. “Your apartment?”

  Frowning, Bryce’s posture stiffened again. “Or - I mean, we don’t have to.”

  Alison’s mouth felt dry and she couldn’t tell if it was dehydration from drinking or nerves. “Your place is great. I’m just surprised is all.”

  Bryce looked down at her hands. “Is that not what people do?”

  Cocking her head to the side, Alison was perplexed by the question. “I - well, yes. That is what people do.”

  Grinning, Bryce leaned forward. “Good. I live at 67 Cadence Street, number three.” Patting at her pockets, Bryce pursed her lips. “Should I text it to you? Because I can do that now.”