One Call Away Page 7

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, setting my fork down. I stand from the patio table Lisa and I are sitting at and start to go over to give my mother a hug. Her eyes bulge when she sees me, and Lisa snickers into her wine glass. “And it’s nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Vander.”

  “What on earth are you wearing?” Mom whispers as she hugs me. “Are you not feeling well? You’re not slipping into—that—again, are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I say, knowing she’s worried I’m becoming depressed again…as if the heavy sadness ever left in the first place. My mind flashes back to what Lisa said not that long ago. How many times have I said, ‘I’m fine’ over the last year? Each time was a lie.

  Mom doesn’t know what else to say, so she goes on autopilot, being the perfect hostess as usual. Lisa and I make small talk with the Vanders before they go. I finish my food, then go inside to use the bathroom. The Vanders are slowly walking through the corridor that leads to the front door, and don’t know I’m behind them.

  “It’s been long enough you’d think she’d be over it by now,” Mrs. Vander says to her husband. “They weren’t even together that long to begin with.”

  “It’s a shame,” Mr. Vander agrees. “She used to be such a lovely girl.”

  Mrs. Vander shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “There’s no coming back once you’ve let yourself go that far.”

  My stomach twists and I take a sharp turn, entering a sitting room. I perch on the edge of an impressive hand-carved replica of a Victorian settee, and close my eyes. Should I be mad? Should I run out there and demand an apology? They are guests in my family’s house and are gossiping about me. Should I be upset, sad, or embarrassed?

  Probably. But right now, all I feel is tired. I inhale as I open my eyes and start to feel something else, something I haven’t felt in a while. It starts deep within, rising from my bones and wrapping its cold, cruel hand around my broken heart.

  Fear.

  8

  Chase

  I pop the top on my can of beer and sit back on the porch swing, pushing off the wooden boards beneath me just enough to sway back and forth through the air. A cool breeze comes from the north, bringing with it the heavy scent of rain.

  The screen door opens and shuts, and the porch vibrates with each step Josh takes.

  “That wasn’t too awkward, was it?” he asks, leaning against the railing.

  I let out a snort of laughter and bring my beer to my lips.

  “I’ll talk with her,” Josh offers.

  “It’s fine. I get it, and I get that the wound is still fresh.” Josh invited me over for a family dinner, one that included his mother, who goes through no trouble to cover up her feelings for me. “Sometimes people need someone to hate. To look at as the bad guy. Life is hard, and making someone be the villain makes you forget that your entire existence is just a crapshoot. Bad things happen to good people. Bad things happen to bad people. It’s random chance. But blaming someone makes it easier.” I take a glance at my brother. “And she needs me to be that person right now. So let her.”

  “That’s wise. I didn’t know you had so much infinite wisdom in you.”

  I shrug. “When you screw up enough, you learn shit.”

  “Screw up and learn shit.” Josh laughs. “That’s a good motto.”

  “It’s been mine for years. Lord knows I’ve screwed up a time or two.”

  “Still, I feel like I should apologize. She’s acting like a child, and honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

  “She is, but don’t worry about it.” For the first hour I was over, Mrs. Henson pretended like I wasn’t there. Didn’t look at me, didn’t acknowledge my presence at all. Even Dakota noticed and said something.

  And I really do get it. Looking at me reminds her that her husband was unfaithful, that he sought comfort elsewhere, essentially making her feel like she wasn’t good enough. I’m not the one to blame for my father’s actions, but now that he’s gone I’m the only one for her to blame.

  Well, besides my mother. But that requires seeing her. Finding her. Knowing what the hell state of mind she’ll be in that day depending on what drugs she pushed into her body.

  The front door opens and a beagle runs out, tail wagging so hard his whole body shakes. I reach down and pet the dog, who jumps into my lap and licks my face.

  “Hey, guys,” Melissa says, coming out after the dog. “I had an idea since it’s not every day I have two strong men in the house.”

  Josh gives her a look, but can’t hold the fake anger for long. His face breaks into a smile, and I can’t help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy to see the way he’s looking at her. Not because I have the hots for Melissa, that’s not it at all. And I’m not jealous of Josh per se, but of this whole situation.

  A wife.

  A family.

  A stable home full of people who love you.

  Living in the same town, surrounded by the same people day after day.

  And being happy with it.

  Maybe unsettled is a better term to use than jealous. Because seeing him like this is making me want something similar too.

  “What do you have in mind?” Josh asks.

  “We should switch Dakota’s bed to her big-girl bed before the twins arrive, so it’s not a bunch of change at once. We’ve had that new bedroom set for over a month now and haven’t put it together.”

  “That is a good idea.” Josh looks at me. “The set was delivered into the barn, so we’ll have to carry it up, assemble it, and take her old furniture out. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” I take a long drink of my beer and get up.

  “You sure? Saying it out loud makes me realize how awful it’s going to be.”

  I laugh. “I have nothing else to do. And you’re family. It’s what we do, right?”

  It’s nearing ten o’clock when I finally leave Josh’s house. We ran into a bit of trouble putting the new bed together since several small parts were missing and we had to improvise. Mrs. Henson left not long after we started moving furniture, and Melissa stayed downstairs with Dakota, leaving just Josh and me to do the heavy lifting. It might sound weird to say I enjoyed it, but I did. Having that time to just hang out with my brother, helping him with something as mundane as a new bedroom set for his daughter was nice. Normal. Maybe I can get used to this after all.

  The bar parking lot is full, and I slowly drive through the uneven rows of parked cars and trucks—mostly trucks—and park around back near the rear entrance to the place. I shut off the car and grab my phone, hesitating for a moment before getting out.

  I haven’t listened to a single message since I found out Sierra was the mystery woman. Moral dilemmas aren’t things I typically waste time with, but this time I don’t know what’s right. On one hand, I’ve already listened to a handful of messages. What’s the harm in listening to more? But on the other, the messages are intimate. Not meant for anyone to hear, especially not me.

  I open my voicemail and look at the display, noticing that the next message to listen to was left exactly a year ago today. I don’t believe in fate, but come on…this is a pretty big coincidence. With no hesitation, I press play.

  “Happy birthday,” Sierra whispers. “I just…I wanted to tell…” She starts crying and the phone goes dead.

  There are few things in life that I regret. That’s not to say I’ve never made a bad decision—I do those almost daily—but I deal with it and move on.

  Right now, I’m regretting listening to that message. Because now I know today is Sierra’s dead boyfriend’s birthday, and the hurt is still there. Hearing her cry, even when it was a year ago, upsets me for some reason, and I can’t get the ball of dread to leave my stomach. The sick feeling rises, tightening my chest.

  I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.

  I get out of the car and exhale. A shining blanket of stars covers the night sky. Around the back of The Mill House, the sounds of the bar are muted, like distant memories escaping with the
breeze. The woods are alive with a chorus of bugs, and the steady sound of rushing water from the river soothes my soul.

  And I still can’t get Sierra out of my head.

  Instead of going right up the stairs to my apartment, I go into the bar with the intention of making myself a Jack and Coke before trying my best to pass out and not think of her.

  Turns out, going into the bar was the second stupid mistake of the night.

  She’s there.

  Alone.

  Sitting in a corner booth with two empty glasses in front of her. Her eyes are glossy. She’s sad. And I know why.

  Dammit.

  Corey, a large man with small, dark eyes and a friendly smile, brings her another drink. I watch Sierra slide it in front of her and gulp a fourth down before taking a breath. She needs to slow down. Drinking away your problems—your feelings—isn’t the way to go. Trust me. Been there, done that.

  I cross the room and go behind the bar, finding Corey working on another drink order.

  “Hey, Chase!” He gives a wave. “I thought you were off tonight.”

  “I am. Just passing through. How many drinks has Sierra had?” I ask, cutting right to the chase.

  “Uh,” Corey looks up as he thinks. He’s one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet but is definitely not the smartest. “Three.”

  “What is she drinking?”

  “The first was a Long Island. Second was a mint Julep. And I just brought her another Long Island.”

  “Jesus. Why didn’t you cut her off?”

  Corey gives me a blank stare. “She ordered them.”

  “That’s a lot of alcohol for anyone, let alone someone Sierra’s size.” I shake my head. Now’s not the time to scold Corey. Rayne, the head cocktail waitress, was supposed to be helping him with stuff like this tonight anyway.

  I fill a glass with water and grab a plate of French fries from the kitchen, and weave my way through the crowd to the back of the bar. Sierra is gone. Her drink is still on the table, half empty. Panic rises inside of me, knowing what she’s going through and how drinking alone is the worst thing for her. I whirl around, sloshing the water down my hand, and find her standing with some random couple, who just ordered a tray of tequila shots.

  “Sierra!” I call over the music. A song about a red Solo cup comes on and everyone goes crazy. My voice is lost in the cheers. I shove past someone and call her name again.

  Sierra turns, lowering the shot from her lips. “Chase.”

  “I brought you food,” I offer, able to tell right away that she’s wasted. She’s wearing another interesting outfit, though I’d be lying if I said the tight pink skirt didn’t look good on her. The tank top she has on hugs her curves as well and shows off her large breasts perfectly. It’s the big screen-print of a cat on the front that throws me.

  “I’m not hungry,” she says and turns away. I set the food down and take her arm. She looks back, eyes going to my fingers gently wrapped around her skin.

  “I thought you said you were here alone,” the guy from the couple says gruffly. He has his arm draped around his girlfriend, and is eyeing Sierra with obvious lust…and so is the girlfriend. I don’t like the look of either of them and know their intentions with Sierra aren’t noble.

  “I am. Alone. Very alone,” Sierra slurs. “Chase works here and brought me food. But,” she starts and holds up her hand, closing one eye as she tries to look closely at me. “He doesn’t know I like to dip my fries in cheese and not ketchup.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t know. Let’s go get you some.”

  Sierra shakes her head. “Nah. My friends bought me shots.”

  “I don’t think you should take that,” I say quietly. “You’ve had enough.”

  “Pshhh,” she waves her hand in the air. “We’re celebrating tonight. It’s their anniversary. Isn’t that amazing? People…people…” She closes her eyes for a moment then shakes her head. Fuck. I need to get her out of here. “She’s giving him a surprise present. Isn’t that so romantic?”

  “Very,” I say when it dawns on me that the surprise is a threesome. That’s why they’re shoving shots in Sierra’s face and both looking at her like she’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. Physically speaking, they made a good choice, but no one is taking Sierra home when she’s drunk like this. I won’t fucking allow it.

  “Want to know what else is romantic?” I blurt.

  “Yeah,” Sierra says eagerly.

  “I, uh, have to show you.” What the hell is wrong with me? I’m usually a good bullshitter and an even better liar. There’s something about Sierra that’s causing me to panic in a way I never have before.

  Because I care about her.

  The guy steps forward and puts his hand on Sierra’s shoulder. She shies away, moving closer to me for comfort.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he says, voice thick like gravel. “We ain’t got all night.”

  “Right.” Sierra smiles and nods, then brings the shot glass to her mouth and downs the tequila with a shudder. Not even a minute later she looks at me, eyes wide. “I think you were right. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Let’s get some air.” I take her arm, grab the water, and look at the couple. “Good luck finding somebody else.”

  The girl looks shocked, and the guy is pissed. Sierra wobbles on her heels, holding onto me for balance. We leave out the back and I offer Sierra the water. She takes a small sip and lets out a breath.

  “I want to feel normal and not be sad,” she breathes. “For one night. Is that terrible?”

  “No,” I tell her. “It’s not.”

  I take her hand and lead her down to the river. We sit on a rock, and Sierra rests her head on my shoulder, eyes falling shut. We stay like that for a few minutes.

  “Do you want me to take you home?” I ask.

  “Not yet. I like listening to the water.”

  “I do too.”

  She shivers and inches closer.

  “Do you want a jacket?”

  “That’d be nice,” she slurs.

  “I can get you one. Don’t fall into the water and drown while I’m gone, okay?”

  She slowly moves her head up and down. I stand, take a step, and decide leaving her drunk on a riverbank is a terrible idea. “Come with me.”

  I extend my hand to help her up. She takes a few paces, then stops, doubles over, and throws up. I spring forward, pulling her hair back just in time. She retches again and the smell of tequila and stomach bile permeates the night air.

  “Better out than in.” I try to comfort her.

  “I’m sorry,” she tells me, wiping her mouth.

  “Hey,” I say and look into her eyes. There’s a good chance she won’t remember a thing in the morning. But I don’t leave things to chance. She has no idea I know about her past, and it needs to stay that way. “It’s okay. Don’t feel bad. Come inside and get some water and lay down.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t want to go back into the bar. The smell of smoke…”

  “We won’t go into the bar.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  On shaky legs, she comes up the stairs to my apartment with me. I turn on the lights and take her to a kitchen chair. She puts her head down on the table, groaning. I get her water and a damp rag to wipe her face.

  Sitting next to her, I gingerly lift her head up and run the rag over her chin. She takes another small drink of water and looks around the apartment, tears filling her eyes.

  “Is there someone you want me to call?” I ask.

  “No. Lisa is at a concert tonight. I’m just tired.”

  “You can lay down here if you want.”

  She takes in an unsteady breath and nods. “Okay.”

  I help her up and lead her to the bathroom, then take her into my room, tossing a T-shirt and boxers onto the unmade bed in case she wants to change.

  “I’ll, uh, come in and check on you.”

  She nods and starts to pull her shirt ov
er her head. My dick tells me to stay and watch because seeing Sierra strip would be one of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed. Then another part of me speaks up, a part that usually keeps its mouth shut.

  My heart.

  It tells me that Sierra deserves respect, that she’s unlike anyone I’ve met before, I know the real reason she drank herself into oblivion tonight. Before I catch a glimpse of her perfect tits, I turn and shut the door.

  Realizing that Sierra didn’t have a purse on her when she left the bar, I hurry down the stairs to look for it, knowing that it’s already too late.

  “Chase,” Rayne calls, seeing me look under the booth Sierra had previously occupied. “Looking for this?” She holds up a little pink purse.

  “I think so. Is it Sierra’s?”

  “Yeah. I grabbed it the first time she dropped it. I haven’t seen her though.” Rayne gives me a worried look. “Have you?”

  “Yeah. I took her home,” I say.

  “Thank God. Want me to put this in the safe?”

  “I’ll take it to her. Thanks, Rayne.”

  She gives me a smile. “No problem.”

  I rush back upstairs and look in on Sierra. Her skirt and shirt are on the floor, and she’s in my bed, curled up under the blankets, fast asleep. I leave the room again, keeping the door cracked in case she wakes up sick or something.

  I sit on the couch with a weird feeling growing in my chest. I’ve never taken care of anyone before. And I don’t know if this weird feeling is stemming from doing a good deed—another thing I’m not used to—or something else.

  Something I don’t want to admit to myself.

  That I’m starting to have feelings for this woman, a woman I’ve only talked to a handful of times.

  But there’s so much more to Sierra than that. Her messages spoke to me before I could put a face to the voice. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to them.

  Screw up and learn, right? What the hell am I going to learn from this?

  9

  Sierra

  I wake with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. If it weren’t for the need to use the bathroom, I could go back to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. Slowly, I blink open my eyes, squinting from the bright sun shining through the large window.