The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “Run away?” Brody asks.

  “I ran away.”

  Fourteen months was how long I sat by Adam’s side, day in and day out, without an ounce of hope for improvement. I had plans to leave Vermont, but the more I thought about leaving, the more I realized Mom and Dad would want to keep tabs on me and constantly know where I am. The only way to get a clean break was to leave everything behind, including any form of communication. I had the important numbers with me and could call if needed, but I didn’t want anyone to reach out to me, even if it meant I would hear something positive about Adam. Through every fiber in my being, I felt the need to run away. It hurt. It hurt like hell to do this to Mom and Dad after being the best parents a girl could wish for. This wasn’t about them, though. It was selfish but being selfish was the only answer to my problems.

  I left in the middle of the night with a packed bag, nothing bigger than what I could carry with two hands. It would be enough to get me through a week before needing a laundromat. I had money in savings, enough to get by for a few months, maybe longer. I was saving for something more logical like the education I gave up or a place to live on my own—maybe even a new car but running away didn’t have a price tag. It was my only option.

  A pep talk to my crappy green Neon was the best I could do, begging the hunk of metal to make it to wherever I would end up. My map of the United States rested in the passenger seat, and the music was my companion.

  I thought of Forrest Gump, how he ran around the country and wondered if someone could truly do such a thing. I was feeling the fulfillment by driving. I made it to Chicago before my car died a slow death on the side of Interstate 90. The car overheated, and the temperatures had hardly reached fifty. I had driven through the night, staying alert with copious amounts of caffeine and sugar. The cost to repair the damage was more than I had on me, which meant I had to move onto plan b.

  I stood on the side of the road and hiked my thumb up in the air. My heart pounded, and my throat became dry. I knew how stupid my plan was, but at that moment, I had made peace with the unknown outcome of my life. If I wasn’t meant to live through this trip, I wouldn’t live through anything. If there was anything I learned in the previous year, nothing may work out like you plan for, and life can flip upside down quicker than a blink.

  Having never hitchhiked before, I wasn’t sure how long it would take to find a willing driver. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, concealing the side of my face and my long hair. Maybe I’d have a safer ride if I didn’t look the part of a stupid girl seeking trouble in the middle of nowhere.

  An eighteen-wheeler was the first vehicle to pull over. I wondered if it was common for them to pick up hitchhikers. They’re likely being paid to drive the truck, so it’s no skin off their back, plus they get company.

  “Where are you heading?” The driver was young, maybe just a few years older than me. He looked fairly harmless, but I should have known better than to assume.

  “As far west as I can go,” I told him.

  “Works for me. You don’t like to talk a lot or sing to every song on the radio, do you?” I wanted to laugh as I climbed into the truck. I didn’t think I looked like the type to talk a lot or sing, but he had nothing to worry about.

  “I’m quiet and wouldn’t sing in front of my worst enemy.”

  I closed the heavy door and pulled the shoulder belt across my chest. I doubt people get hurt in an accident if in one of these trucks, but I’d rather not tempt my fate of going through the windshield after seeing the damage broken glass caused Adam.

  “Tucker,” the guy said. “I’m heading to Sacramento.”

  “Journey,” I replied. “Me too.” I didn’t have initial intentions of traveling to Sacramento, but maybe that’s where I was meant to end up.

  “Journey? An ironic name, huh?”

  “We’ll go with that.” It was the last we spoke for a few hours. I was thankful for lack of a need to speak, probably just as much as he was. I was curious about his plans for overnight; if he planned to keep driving or sleep somewhere—if somewhere was in the truck. Though I was exhausted, I kept my eyes open, fighting a much-needed nap. I didn’t know Tucker well enough yet.

  It was nearly midnight when Tucker pulled off at a rest stop. “You hungry?”

  “I could eat,” I told him, trying not to sound needy.

  “Journey, tell me one thing … what are you running away from?”

  I stared at the guy, noticing the bald patches in his beard, wondering if he had a nervous habit of scratching his face. He had a piercing through his eyebrow. I liked it. I was staring at it to avoid his question, wondering how much it hurt when he got it pierced.

  Tucker waved a hand at me, trying to get my attention. “Journey?”

  I refocused my attention on the bigger details of his face, thinking of a response—a response that wasn’t coming easily. “Would you think I’m crazy if I tell you I’m running away from myself?”

  “Why would you run away?” Brody asks.

  “I thought it would solve my problems. So, I drove halfway across the country and hitched a ride for the second half.”

  Brody raises a concerned brow. “You hitched a ride with a random person?”

  “Yup, and I lived to talk about it. Crazy, huh?”

  “I’d say stupid, but we can call it crazy. Did you solve your problems?”

  His question is innocent and one I’d ask if someone said all this to me. “I was the problem, so no.”

  Brody’s forehead creases, and his eyebrows knit together. “Why are you so hard on yourself?”

  “I don’t deserve my life.” It’s the most honest I’ve been with anyone in a long time. “I know what you’re thinking now. You are worried about having a tween daughter and scaring me off, but the punchline is … I just scared you off, right?”

  Brody shakes his head with a subtle movement. He pinches my chin between his fingers, still studying me as if there’s more he needs to understand. “No,” he says, kissing me gently. “I want to prove you wrong.” He kisses me again, inhaling through his nose before pulling away. “I don’t know what it is, Journey, but I feel addicted to you, and we’ve hardly spent any time together. I’m fighting the urge to call you all the time and to video chat with you, or just show up at your apartment. I feel like a crazed lunatic, but I know too much too fast is never a good thing, so I’m trying to play my cards right, but I need you to know you won’t scare me off easily. I see some of my past in your present, and it’s a lonely place to be.”

  His words are piercing, and the sensation of warmth behind my eyes warns me to look away from the sincerity written all over his face. Hannah is walking back to our table, and I put some space between Brody and myself and stare up to the ice-covered sky to fight off tears.

  “What did you see over there, kiddo?” Brody asks Hannah.

  “Your ugly butt,” she replies.

  Brody cocks his head to the side. “Hannah, we talked about this. Can you try to keep the potty talk to a minimum tonight?”

  “Potty talk?” Hannah replies with a snicker.

  “Who’s the artist?” I ask Hannah, interrupting their eruption.

  “Peter Hutton. He’s from Norway and has been carving ice sculptures since he was my age,” she explains.

  “That’s incredible,” I tell her.

  “Yeah,” she says, grabbing one of the three menus from the center of the table.

  “Do you like art?”

  “Yeah,” she says, simply.

  “Me too.”

  “Hannah won the art contest at school last year. First prize for her chalk drawing of roses in a vase.”

  Hannah looks mortified as she rolls her eyes and holds her attention on the menu. “She is one talented kid; I’ll tell you that.”

  “Dad, stop,” she snaps. “Why don’t you go stare in a mirror and give yourself some compliments like you enjoy doing.”

  Ouch. My God.

  “Hanna
h, enough,” Brody says, clearing his throat as he lifts his menu. I’m surprised he didn’t scold her more, but I’m sure he’s doing everything he can to avoid further embarrassment.

  “My dad has a big ego because all the moms at school know he’s single and tries to set up playdates with their kids so they can spend time with him. It’s annoying.”

  There’s an interesting fact I didn’t need to know.

  “It doesn’t happen anymore,” Brody says.

  “Then why did I have to have a playdate with Abby a few weeks ago? You know I don’t like her.”

  Brody lowers his head down against his clenched intertwined fists. His cheeks are red, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or mortified. My answer comes out in the form of a fatherly finger pointing at Hannah’s face. “I don’t want to hear another word. Do you understand me? We just drove over an hour to take you here tonight. I think the least you could do is show me a little respect.”

  That’s kind of hot. I shouldn’t be thinking such a thing when he’s scolding his daughter, but the authority isn’t something I’ve seen in that form from him.

  “Why should I?” Hannah responds.

  “I’m your father. That’s why.”

  She’s gritting her teeth, staring at him with squinted eyes. “I’ll have chicken fingers. I need to use the bathroom.” Hannah drops her menu and stands up from her seat and spins around in search of a bathroom. I wonder if there is a bathroom in here or if there are outhouses outside. This restaurant is a temporary building.

  “I’m so sorry,” Brody says.

  “You know what. I have to use the bathroom, too. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.”

  I follow Hannah, leaving some space between us, finding there is a small bathroom toward the entrance, but there’s a line. “I’m almost eleven. I don’t need someone to take me to the bathroom,” she says.

  “I have to use the restroom, too,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Why are you so angry, Hannah?”

  She spins around and presses her lips together, glaring at me with anger. I’m not sure what to expect next, but I’m ready for whatever it is. “I was supposed to be here with my mom—not you. Not my dad. There was a mom’s and daughter’s night last week, and she promised, but promises don’t matter to her. Instead, she’s missing out on this place, and it’s stupid.”

  I can’t tell her I understand because I don’t know what it feels like to have a parent who lets me down. It’s always been my job to let them down. “Well, in my opinion, a moms’ and daughters’ event sounds like a drama-filled whiny time. It’s cold in here and I can imagine it was colder than any of the moms and daughters were expecting. On top of that, your mom is the one who missed out because you still got to come to the restaurant. Sometimes in life, you need to put your happiness before others’. It’s a crap lesson I’m still trying to learn.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did. I should have minded my business.

  “You’re still learning?” She’s asking with true curiosity, maybe wondering how an adult could still have something left to learn at my age.

  “Absolutely. It’s the hardest lesson I’ve had to deal with in life.”

  “I take back what I said about you,” she says.

  I look around, confused, trying to piece together what she’s saying. “What did you say about me?”

  “I said you were just like all the others.” The bathroom door opens, and Hannah is next in line, leaving our conversation with a clear end.

  I’m not sure what happened between the time Hannah went back to the table, and I used the restroom, but their moods were better when I returned. Brody ordered a sampling of all their specials and three metal cups of hot cocoa.

  “There were only four items on the menu. I figured we could try some of each.” I like that he isn’t afraid to be forward or make assumptions. I’m not a fan of the timid, let me put my jacket down on this muddy puddle, type of guy.

  Brody remained nervous, seemingly on the edge of his icy seat all night. “Did you know your Dad and I used to be friends way back when we were kids?” I ask Hannah.

  Hannah gives me a long look and perks a crooked smile. “Yeah,” she says. “He told me all about you. Something about being the girl he didn’t realize would make for a great best friend.”

  Brody inconspicuously reaches for my knee, and he squeezes. “Your dad was a troublemaker, and so was I. It’s probably better off we waited until now to be friends,” I tell her.

  “My dad could use a friend,” she says. “Maybe if he had one, he’d stop asking me about all the gossip between my friends and me.”

  “Hey, hey, this is a father’s right to know when Suzie steals Miley’s hairbrush and then shoves it into a pile of insulation, which then caused a rumor of lice. If I didn’t know about the insulation, I would believe lice was going around. Which is why I ask questions, Hannah.”

  “Who are Suzie and Miley?” Hannah asks, holding her hands out.

  “It was a good story, right?” Brody asks me.

  “It was hardly thought out, yet, amusing. You must be an excellent storyteller, Brody Pearson.”

  A good storyteller can always point out another.

  15

  “She likes you,” Brody says. “I never thought I’d see the day.” He peers in the rearview mirror, likely making sure she’s still asleep and can’t hear what he’s saying. Hannah has her headphones on anyway, and she is still sleeping, so I think he’s safe.

  “I’m sure everything you went through with your ex was tough on her too.”

  “It was,” Brody says. “I feel guilty, but it isn’t the life I want for either of us.”

  “You’re doing a good job,” I tell him. Coming from me, it probably doesn’t mean much since I have no experience, but I’m not sure I’d be handling the life of a single parent as well as he.

  “With that said, is this something you’d want to do again?”

  In other words, do we want to build this foundation a little more?

  “Before I say what I need to, please know I would love to spend more time with you and Hannah.”

  Brody glances at me for a quick second before returning his focus to the road. “I feel like I should ask you if I have something to be worried about, but I have a strong suspicion, I do.”

  “I don’t feel like it would be fair for me to continue spending time with you without being honest about a couple of things.”

  “Should I pull over?” He’s kidding, or at least I’m assuming he is by the slight smirk pinching against his cheek.

  “You know how I told you about the accident, how it was my ex-boyfriend, Adam?”

  “Yeah,” Brody responds simply.

  “Did you hear about the accident on the night of the party or the next day?” I lock my gaze on the black road in front of us, watching dust particles of snowfall gently against the windshield.

  “The next day, there was talk about a teenager who drove off the side of the road the night before.”

  “Did you hear any details about the injuries or details?”

  Brody shakes his head, his brows furrowing. “Not that I can recall. Just that the accident was so bad, he didn’t make it. I only heard bits and pieces from overhearing my parents talk about some kid in your town.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I had no idea you were going through so much afterward.”

  “Brody, Adam is still alive.”

  I’m not sure if my statement is jarring or not. In any other normal circumstance, an ex-boyfriend would likely still be around, and it would be normal to move forward without thinking of the past, but this circumstance is different.

  “Oh,” he says, sounding perplexed. “I guess I assumed incorrectly, but—” He might wonder why I’m still so deeply affected by the accident if he’s alive. “Why do you still have so much guilt? Or, why does this still have such a deep effect on your life?”

  “He lives in a nur
sing facility, paralyzed, and unable to speak. He’s awake but can’t communicate or do much of anything aside from watching television.”

  Brody’s head presses into the back of his seat as if his neck became too heavy to hold up. “He’s still suffering?”

  “I wouldn’t say suffering, but he doesn’t have any quality of life. He was in a coma for almost two years after the accident.”

  “Holy crap,” Brody says, exhaling a lungful.

  “Do you like—do you visit him and stuff, or is it too hard?”

  His question comes at the same moment we pull into the parking lot of my apartment and park. I twist in my seat to look at Brody. “I see him every Friday. I have since he came out of his coma.”

  Brody blinks a few times before coming up with something to say in response. “Are you—I don’t know what the right thing to ask or say is …”

  “No matter what happens in my life, I will continue to visit him on Fridays and be truthful to him about my life. I’m not sure if everyone would do the same, but it’s something I need to and want to do.”

  “I understand, and I find it noble and incredible that you didn’t walk away—because it would be the easier thing to do.”

  “I struggle with the direction to take my life, knowing he’s aware of what he’ll never have and what I can have. There’s a lot of guilt.”

  “I’m so sorry your life ended up this way,” he says.

  “There’s no reason to feel sorry for me, knowing how much worse life can end up.”

  “Right,” he says.

  “Anyway, I’m saying all this because if we continue moving in this direction, we’re heading, I don’t want to do so without you knowing the truth, and I feel like I owe Adam the truth, too, which weighs heavily on me.”

  Brody seems out of sorts. His eyes can’t seem to focus as he looks around the parking lot sprawled out in front of us. “What kind of television does he watch?”

  The question takes me by surprise. “Um, mostly DVD’s I guess, and if there’s something on one of the few channels in the facility.”