Rock Bottom Read online

  That we can be happy again.

  We can stop the fall. Turn it around. Fall back in love instead of out.

  We were happy once. We can be again.

  I turn up the radio, singing along to Tom Petty, and make the fifteen-minute drive from my parents’ farmhouse to our house in the downtown area of Eastwood.

  There’s a car in our driveway, parked right in the middle, blocking me from pulling into my spot. Kara has had a few friends from her master’s class come over lately, but the ones she usually studies with live in Newport, which is a bit of a drive. She didn’t mention having any over tonight, but I don’t mind. It’ll give me time to look up vacation details while she finishes up her schoolwork.

  I park on the street and go in through the garage, stepping into the mud room that’s attached to the kitchen. Two empty glasses of wine are on the counter…along with a pair of pants.

  Men’s pants.

  I set the food on the counter and swallow hard. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know what’s going on.

  But my brain won’t let it come to the surface.

  Blinking, my feet move on their own accord, following the trail of clothing.

  Kara’s shirt is on the stairs.

  Her bra is hanging off the bannister.

  Blue striped boxers are at the stop of the landing.

  Everything echoes around me, and I think the meatloaf and potatoes I had for dinner are going to come up. I mentally check out as I keep walking, going down the hall to the master bedroom.

  The door is cracked, and the closer I get, the sicker I feel. Kara is talking to someone. And that someone is talking back. I’m not fully aware of what I’m doing as I pause in the doorway and push the door open.

  “Dean!” Kara exclaims, pulling the sheets up over her…and him. “It’s…it’s not what you think!”

  The shock wears off and I’m pissed as fuck. All I want to do is pound my fists into that guy’s face, but I know—even through my anger—that won’t solve the issue.

  My wife is in bed with another man.

  In our bed.

  Balling my fingers into a fist, I turn, and punch the wall. My hand goes through the drywall and gets sliced open by a nail. The pain doesn’t even register.

  “Dean!” Kara calls again and starts to get out of the bed. I don’t want to hear whatever fucking excuse she’s going to give me.

  I thought we could fix things.

  Be happy again.

  But we can’t.

  Chapter 2

  Rory

  Present day…

  Everything is fine.

  I grip the steering wheel and squeeze my eyes closed, allowing myself a few seconds to feel—to let it actually sink in.

  And I know it’s not going to be fine.

  My stomach flip-flops with worry, and my mind plays out a record-setting game of worst-case scenario. The car behind me honks, and I jerk my head up, blinking back the tears as I slowly step on the gas, accelerating through the intersection.

  I’ll get another job. As an operating room nurse? Not in Silver Ridge. But there are a few other options here, and I have an impressive resume already for only being twenty-eight.

  Though some employers might see me as flighty and not able to commit to a job, which isn’t the case at all. I love commitment. Commitment and I are best buds.

  If the hospital didn’t get bought out by a big corporation who’s more concerned with making money than actual patient care, I would have stayed at Silver Ridge General until it was time to retire. I had a whole plan: move up to unit manager, then charge nurse, then go for the Director of Nurses position.

  I drive another block and flick on my turn signal, slowing to a stop at another intersection. My phone chimes with a text, and since I’m at a complete stop, I pick it up out of the cupholder and read the message. It’s from Mike, the guy I’ve been dating for the last five or six months, and he wants to know if I can come over—and that he just ordered a pizza.

  I type out a quick reply, saying I can now since I’m on my way home from work, and he replies with a thumbs-up. He’s not the most chatty, and while texting isn’t exactly my ideal way of having a riveting conversation, the stupid thumbs-up annoys me.

  I go around the block, backtracking a bit to get to Mike’s house. He lives downtown, and I’ll be there in just a few minutes. I suck in a breath and blink rapidly, trying to pull it together. I want to enjoy a few minutes of normalcy as I eat my feelings, and I don’t want pity.

  Once I’m parked in front of his house, I pull my name badge over my head and hang it on my rearview mirror like I always do, but it’s not like I’m going to need that stupid thing anymore.

  Not only did I get let go, I wasn’t given any notice. I do believe Marissa, my nursing director, genuinely felt bad, as she was just following orders from her own boss, but come fucking on. Can’t you give a girl the proper two weeks? Two days would have been better than this.

  I dig through my oversized purse for my lip gloss, try to fluff up my hair, though it’s no use. Being in the operating room means pulling all my hair back and tucking it under a surgical cap, and my brunette hair is naturally wavy and totally unruly after a day in the OR, sweating from standing under the bright lights.

  It was an eventful day today, with three back-to-back appendectomies and one emergency gallbladder removal. Time flew by, every surgery went without a hitch, and my patients were doing well when my shift ended. It’s the kind of day that reminds me what I love so much about being a nurse.

  My hand gets stuck in a knot in my hair, and I give up and twist my long locks back into a messy bun. Taking another deep breath, I get out of the car and hurry up the snowy sidewalk. It’s late February, but we still have another few months of snow here in Michigan.

  Mike never locks his door when I’m coming over, and I step inside, getting hit with the smell of pizza right away. I didn’t have time to eat lunch today and I’m starving.

  “Hey, babe,” he says, watching me stomp the snow off my shoes before taking them off. I pull off my coat and hang it on the coatrack behind the front door. “You look hot today.”

  “I’m in scrubs,” I laugh.

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “I know.”

  “Please tell me there’s at least half a pizza left.”

  “Half a pizza?” he laughs.

  “I didn’t get a lunch break.” I stop, clamping my jaw shut and pressing my lips together. I’m acting like everything is fine, which isn’t the healthiest thing to do, I know. But all I want is to drown my sorrows in pizza grease and pretend like things are going to be okay. The dread and anxiety will hit me hard tonight, when I’m trying to sleep. So why not deny like a normal person?

  Mike motions for me to follow him into the living room. The pizza box is still closed and on the coffee table. “I haven’t even opened it yet.”

  “Did you check to see if they got your order right?” I laugh as I go into the kitchen to wash my hands. “That time they sent us anchovies and pineapple pizza instead of extra cheese scarred me.”

  “Oh, me too.” He grabs two beers from the fridge, forgetting—again—that I don’t like beer. I don’t drink much in general. I’m not a “look all classy holding a glass of red wine, slowly sipping it throughout the night” kind of girl. I don’t like the taste of alcohol, and when I do have some sort of mixed drink or sweet wine, I tend to overdo it.

  Trading the beer for a water bottle, I join Mike in the living room. He turns on Gold Rush and we dig into the pizza. As soon as I finish my last piece, Mike rests his hand on my thigh, slowly inching it up.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” I start, letting my leg fall to the side, against his. “Sam was able to get off work and come home for the weekend for my parents’ anniversary dinner. Mason’s here too. You haven’t met them yet. Have you met Jacob?” I think back, unable to remember a time I’ve introduced Mike to any of my brothers.

  “Yeah. He’s the vet. I’ve take
n my mom there with Muffin before.”

  “Well in that case, everyone with an animal in Silver Ridge has met him. Everyone is going to be there, and my cousins Lachlan and Lennon will be there too. Lachlan plays hockey for some famous team.” I make a face. “I don’t really follow hockey, though. And Lennon and I grew up together. I used to pretend she was my sister,” I laugh. “Growing up with three older brothers made me desperately want a sister. They’ll all be happy to finally meet you.”

  I look at Mike, waiting for him to say something along the lines of “I’ll be happy to meet them too” but all I get is radio silence.

  “Want to go in the bedroom?” he asks suddenly.

  “Uh, sure. That’s the only reason you wanted me to come over, wasn’t it?” I tease, poking at Mike.

  “I wanted to talk to you too,” he starts and gets to his feet, pulling me up with him. “But I never turn down sex.”

  “Well then.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Take me into your bedroom, kind sir.”

  I come out of the bathroom and get back into bed, cold from walking through the room naked. Pulling the comforter up to my chin, I snuggle closer to Mike.

  “Can we talk now?” he asks as soon as I’m snugged up and comfy.

  “Talk?” I push up on my elbows. Not again… “Uh, sure. About what?”

  “I’ve really liked the time we’ve spent together, Rory.”

  My throat is suddenly thick and my heart pounds in my chest. He’s breaking up with me? Now? After we just had sex?

  “But I’m not ready for something serious. And I know you…you want more. Meeting your family…I’m just not there yet. I want to travel and devote more time to my music.”

  His words echo in my head.

  Travel?

  He considers that plucking he does on his guitar music?

  All I asked was for him to come to dinner, not give me a promise ring before dessert.

  “You couldn’t have told me this before I got into bed with you?”

  He shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if you’d sleep with me after I told you.”

  The world feels like it’s spinning, and while I can’t say I was in love with Mike, I enjoyed being with him.

  Though now it just feels like a waste of six months. I gave so much to Mike. I watched him play at every shitty bar in the county, staying out late when I had an early shift the next morning. I was supportive. A good girlfriend. Way better than he deserved.

  “You’re a manipulative jerk,” I spit.

  “Don’t be like that, Rory.”

  I get out of bed, angrily shoving a pillow out of the way as I search for my clothes. I force my feet into my underwear and yank them up.

  “And we can still do this. I know you’re not a one-night-stand kind of girl,” he adds quickly. “So think of it more as friends with benefits. Nothing has to change, really.”

  “That would be tempting,” I say, and I angrily pull my scrub top over my head, not bothering with my bra. “If I enjoyed having sex with you.”

  Mike gasps.

  “That’s right. I faked it almost every time just to get it over with.” It’s only half true, though I feel like I had to really work for those few times I did come during sex. I can’t blame him entirely, though, as much as I want to right now. I’m one of those lucky women who needs a bit more stimulation to orgasm. But I’m pissed and my petty side is coming out.

  I grab my pants and my bra, balling them up as I stomp out of the room. Mike calls after me, but I’m too busy pushing my feet into my shoes to give him the time of day. I throw my coat on, grab my purse, and storm out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

  “Ah, hello, Rory, dear,” Mrs. McMillan calls from the sidewalk. She was my high school science teacher, the mother of Amber McMillan who teased me relentlessly in high school, and is now walking down the snow-covered sidewalk, arm linked through Mr. McMillan’s, who’s my banker.

  Their chocolate lab lets out an excited yip, and normally I’d be all over crouching down to pet Godiva, but I’m not wearing any pants.

  Can today get any worse?

  “Mom, wait up!” Amber jogs to catch up, blonde hair flowing behind her, looking like she just jumped off a Northface ad in a magazine.

  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  Snow crunches under Amber’s boots and comes to a stop next to her parents, taking Godiva’s leash from her dad.

  “Rory. Wow, it’s been a while.” She bats her lash extensions and flicks her eyes to my bare legs.

  “Hi,” I say and try to nonchalantly pull my coat closed. Maybe it looks like I’m wearing a dress.

  A short dress.

  And Crocs.

  Dammit.

  “Nice, uh, evening,” I say, feeling my cheeks turn the same cherry red as my nail polish.

  “It’s a little chilly.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder, and I hate her for looking so good in a hat. “How have you been? It’s been, gosh, years.”

  “Really good.”

  Mrs. McMillan looks at my feet. Snow is coming through the little holes in my shoes and my feet are freezing. Please think I’m wearing a dress… She blinks a few times and takes a step forward. “Tell your mother I said hello.”

  “I will.” I force the world’s most awkward smile, closing my eyes in a long blink. I’ll be home soon, and since I don’t have to get up to go to work in the morning, I can start—and finish—that bottle of sangria I’ve been saving for a special occasion.

  Embarrassment burns on my face, bringing hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I angrily wipe them away and I step in a snowbank. My shoe fills with snow and I clench my jaw. It’s the icing on this shitty-ass cake I call my life, that’s for sure.

  I’m trembling by the time I get to my car, and intend to sit here a minute and let it warm up. But when I see Mike open the front door, I tear out of my spot. I’ve never been more thankful for my four-wheel drive in my life.

  The McMillans look at me as I speed away, and I can already see Mrs. McMillan clucking her tongue and shaking her head as she gossips about me to her neighbors. And God knows what Amber is going to say to her “besties” from high school she still hangs out with.

  Who still call me Weird Rory because they never fucking grew up.

  Curse of a small town, I know.

  I speed the whole way home, crossing all the way through town. I live in a large, old house that was divided into three apartments fifty or so years ago. Everything is terribly dated, but I say it’s part of the charm.

  Parking in front of the big house, I pull my scrub pants on, fighting a bit to get them over my shoes, and then get out.

  Missy Davis, who lives in the apartment above me, comes out with her two Yorkies in her arms as I walk toward the house. Each dog is wearing a jacket, a scarf, and boots on all four feet.

  “Hey, Rory,” she says, fussing over one of the dogs, who keeps flicking the boots off her paws. “Did you hear the news?”

  “News? What news?”

  She motions to a For Sale sign front and center of the yard.

  “What is that?” It’s perfectly clear what that is. Mr. Thomas, who owns the building, has been talking about selling for years. Maybe I was naive to assume I’d be out before that happened, but obviously I was wrong.

  And I…I can’t.

  My job.

  My boyfriend.

  They say things come in threes.

  Might as well add my apartment to that list.

  Nothing is going to be okay.

  Chapter 3

  Dean

  “Motherfucker.”

  “What?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the glowing TV screen in front of us. Archer and I are sitting in the theater room in the finished basement of his house.

  Archer trades his Playstation controller for his phone, holding it up with a frown on his face. I glance away from our game just long enough to see it’s the hospital calling.

  “Sucks to be you,” I say and kill hi
s character. Archer takes his headset off and answers the phone. He’s on call tonight, which is the only reason the hospital is calling at half-past eleven. “You gotta go in?” I ask when he hangs up.

  “Yeah. I have a stab-wound to fix.”

  “You sound way too excited about that.”

  “By the smell, the nurse thinks it might have perforated the bowel.”

  “Sick,” I laugh and start to shut down the game. “Sounds bad.”

  “Oh, it is. They’re prepping the guy for surgery now and I’ll be assisting another surgeon on the procedure.”

  We put our controllers and headsets away and go upstairs and into the kitchen. Archer grabs something to eat on the way to the hospital and goes up to the second level to tell Quinn he’s leaving. I rummage through the fridge, finding yesterday’s leftovers behind jars of homemade baby food.

  I stick it in the microwave and sit at the large island counter, looking at my phone while I wait for the food to heat up. My finger hovers above the little blue Facebook icon. I hesitate and then put my phone done at the last second.

  “You wanna stay for a while?” Archer asks, coming down the back stairs that empty right into the kitchen. “I don’t like leaving Quinn and the kids alone at night.”

  “I can.” The microwave beeps and I get up to grab the glass container of pot roast.

  “Thanks, man. And Quinn will appreciate it. She’s convinced the house is haunted.”

  “Again? Are you sure it’s not more cats living on your back porch?”

  “I’d rather it be ghosts this time.” He rolls his eyes. “And she and Scarlet found a Ouija board at an antique store and Quinn bought it. Now she’s convinced she summoned something.”

  “I don’t get how someone can be so smart and logical like she is, yet she’s terrified of ghosts.”

  Archer laughs and grabs a water bottle from the pantry. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with all of her brothers tormenting her about her childhood home being haunted.”