CHAPTER 18
Kyle
I walk into The Lobster Cage, and my eyes take a few moments to adjust to the dimness. There aren’t any windows in this place; half the lights are burned out and the ones that are lit are on their last leg. The best illumination comes from the handful of neon beer signs hanging on the walls around the joint, casting glowing patches of red and blue depending on the brand of beer they advertise.
It’s starting to get crowded as The Lobster Cage actually serves decent bar food. The single fisherman will eat here while pounding a few beers after a hard day’s work.
That’s why I’m here actually.
To get a semi-decent meal and pound a few beers.
Or forty.
It’s been three days since I walked out of Jane’s house and she said she’d think about what type of relationship she could handle with me. In hindsight, I’m probably a stupid motherfucker for even saying anything. What we had that night… what we did together… it was some amazing shit unlike anything I’ve had before. I’m pretty sure it was the same for her. If I’d have kept my mouth shut, I’d probably be with her right now instead of in this dingy bar with twenty men who smell like salt and fish.
I take an empty barstool, and Gus meanders over to me.
“Haven’t seen you around in a while,” he says conversationally.
I don’t respond to his observation because I’m not feeling conversational. “I’ll take a draft beer and some nachos.”
He grunts in acknowledgment, not in the slightest put out by my brush-off. He’s used to dealing with all types of people, including the surly, anti-social types. He quietly pours my beer and sets it in front of me, then heads off to put my order into the back kitchen where I think his wife works the grill.
I watch the muted TV above the bar while I wait for my food. It’s a baseball game, which isn’t really my sport, but I watch it in silence and sip at my beer.
The nachos come and they’re not bad. Much better than the plain ham sandwiches I’d been having. I have a second beer with my meal.
Then I have a third. And a fourth. And a fifth.
By the sixth, Gus takes my keys and I know I’m walking home, but that’s fine by me. It just means I can add shots of bourbon with my beers. I’m feeling lose, relaxed, and completely not on edge when I think about Jane. In fact, one could say that the alcohol is sort of numbing the feelings of desperation that have been slowly mounting the past three days of not hearing from or seeing her. I mean, forget about the sex. I’m a little put out that I just haven’t seen her, and that’s been pissing me off.
I mean, really… what more does she want? I purposely did outside work the last three days around the cottage and lighthouse, giving her ample opportunity to see me and come talk. Yet not a peep out of her. Tonight, I realized I probably had my answer from her.
She wasn’t going to accept my conditions on a relationship, and frankly, I can’t blame her.
I hold my hand up to get Gus’s attention. When he looks at me, I say, “Just keep them coming all night.”
Gus gives a wry smile and nods, then turns his attention back to the customer he’d been talking to.
I stare at my beer, taking periodic sips and wondering when in the hell I’ll be able to get out of Misty Harbor. Not for a few months as the trial wouldn’t start until then, and I consider perhaps asking Joe to move me earlier.
Maybe to Puerto Rico or something.
“Here you go,” I hear a female voice say, and another draft beer slides into my view. I look up and see Jane’s friend, Miranda, standing on the other side of the bar. “Gus said you wanted to keep them coming, so here’s your next one.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. My tongue feels like it’s glued to the top of my mouth. I also note that unless I squint, there are actually two Mirandas in front of me, and because I don’t think she has a twin, I know I’m on my way to getting stinking ass drunk.
“Why are you in here all by yourself getting shitfaced?” she asks as she rests her forearms on the bar and leans in toward me. She’s grinning and cracking bubble gum.
I don’t want to talk to her, and yet I can’t seem to stop myself. “Your friend… Jane…”
She grins even bigger, chews her gum with exaggeration, and waits me out. She makes me deliver more information.
I give a careless wave of my hand toward the direction I suspect is Jane’s house, but I’m not sure. “She’s trying to decide if she wants to have a sexual fling with me or not.”
Miranda raises an eyebrow, but she’s still amused. This means she knows what happened between Jane and me. It also means she knows Jane hasn’t given me her decision, and by that inaction, I’m choosing to believe I know what her decision is. So I just bend my head over the bar and sullenly stare into my beer.
“She doesn’t know what to do,” Miranda offers me, and my head snaps up. A rush of dizziness hits me, and my hands slap to the bar to keep my balance on the stool.
“She tell you that?” I ask… well, maybe slur. I hope to God I remember this conversation tomorrow.
“Well, of course she told me that,” Miranda says, then blows a bubble with her gum. I watch as she sucks it back in and says, “She tells me everything.”
“Everything?”
Miranda leans in closer to me and nods her head. “Everything.”
My mind races. She clearly knows I’ve put out some boundaries with Jane, but does she know about that amazing, hot, beautiful, and mind-blowing sex we had? And if she does, does that help or hurt me? Would Miranda help Jane make the decision to stick with me while I’m here?
You’re such a selfish fuck, my conscience screams at me. Because I’m trying to be a good guy where Jane is concerned, and make sure that I do everything in my power not to hurt her, I bend my head back over my beer and decide to ignore Miranda. It’s not going to do any good to get her involved, and besides that… I’m drunk. I have no business doing anything but getting my ass home and into bed.
Except, I do need to finish this beer.
“Want my advice?” Miranda asks.
“Nope,” I say without looking up at her, because if she gives me that knowing smirk like she’s privy to Jane’s innermost secrets, I might continue to engage her.
“Suit yourself,” she says as she pushes away from the bar. “I’ll keep an eye on your beer.”
I watch her walk away, telling myself not to call her back so I can pick her brain about Jane. She heads out from behind the bar and starts clearing a table, and I turn back to my mug, taking a huge sip. Yeah… I think I need Joe to get me out of here. My testimony is important enough and my acts of service for my government should easily get me relocated. I’ll call him in the morning, he’ll get me transferred somewhere far away, and I can put Jane Cresson out of my mind.
Someone bumps into me before I feel them slide into an empty stool on my right. I don’t bother to look, preferring instead to finish off my beer and perhaps order another, but my hand freezes halfway to my mug when I hear Jane say very softly, “Hey, Kyle.”
Her voice is gentle and her eyes are knowing. I hate she’s seeing me like this. This makes me pissy. “What do you want?”
She nods her head slightly, as if she’s not surprised by my attitude. But then, she nudges my shoulder with her own and says, “You’re supposed to say, ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine’.”
I blink at her, my brain feeling like sludge. “What?”
“Casablanca,” she murmurs. “1942.”
“Never saw it,” I mutter and pick my beer up.
It’s stopped by her hand on my wrist with a gentle pressure. I turn to look at her, and she leans in to whisper in a voice so low I can barely hear her, “Come on. Why don’t you let me take you home? You’ve had enough to drink.”
“Why are you whispering?” I ask her with narrowed eyes.
She pulls back from me quickly, dropping her hand from my wrist. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to make a scene.”
“A scene?” I ask, confused. “Why would I do that?”
“Well, you’re drunk,” she points out. “And Miranda called me when she first came on shift to tell me you were here and drunk, and figured you could use a lift home.”
“Yes, I am drunk, but I’m sure I can walk out of here just fine without falling on my ass,” I tell her, pleased that actually came out sounding semi-coherent. “And I can walk home just fine too, so no worries I’d ’cause a scene’.”
“I’m not worried about that type of scene,” she says in exasperation. “I didn’t know if you’d be pissed I came or that I asked you to leave.”
I give her a sardonic smile and lean toward her. “Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m not pissed you asked me to leave.”
She gives me a relieved look. “Alright. Then let’s go.”
“Not leaving either,” I tell her adamantly. “I’m enjoying myself right here.”
“Kyle,” she says hesitantly. “Let me take you home, get you to bed. Sleep it off, and then we can talk about this tomorrow.”
Oh, now she wants to talk?
“Nothing to talk about,” I say stubbornly, ignoring the small cramp in my chest when I see her face fall in disappointment.
“There’s not?” she asks softly.
“Nope. Nothing to talk about at all,” I confirm, ignoring the cramp as it gets more painful. I know I’m being a dick, but really… it’s best to cut this off right here and right now. Jane will never be able to handle all the ways in which I can break her. I don’t consider for a second that she could break me.
Liar.
Jane’s eyes search mine, trying to reveal my true feelings. I hold her gaze and remain silent.
Her shoulders slump and she gives a small nod before sliding off the stool. “Alright. Take care, Kyle.”
My chest feels like it’s caving inward as I watch her walk away from me. She heads over to Miranda, who is standing near the door, and they talk quietly. Miranda looks over at me once and glares, then turns back to whatever Jane is telling her.
A hand slides up my spine, startling me, and fingers curve around the back of my neck. Lips touch my ear and a sexy voice says, “Kyle… baby. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in. Want to have a little fun tonight?”
Leaning to the right to pull away from her, I give her a brush-off. “Not interested, Barb.”
She pouts at me and hops on the barstool Jane had vacated, putting her hand on my thigh and sliding it upward to my crotch. “Come on, sugar. You know I got what you want.”
My hand clamps on her wrist, stops its ascent up my leg, and my gaze cuts over her shoulder to Jane. And fuck… she’s staring right at us, eyes wide and face pale. Then she shoots me that look… the one that says I’m an unbelievable asshole, right before she turns around and jets out the door.
“Christ,” I mutter as I throw Barb’s hand off me and lurch off the barstool. I almost careen into a small table where two patrons sit closely together, but gain my balance for a fraction of a second before I stumble toward the door.
Miranda meets me there, and I growl at her. “Don’t even think about trying to stop me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says with a wink as she opens the door for me. She gives me a hearty pat on my shoulder before shoving me forward. “Go get her, tiger.”
Fuck, I’m drunk. I practically fall through the door, immediately going down to one knee on the concrete, which hurts like a son of a bitch. I manage to catch a glimpse of Jane as she walks quickly toward her car.
“Jane,” I call out to her as I push myself up. “Wait.”
She walks faster so I take off after her, intent on running her down.
Except… I’m really fucking drunk. I stumble and crash right back down to the sidewalk again.
“Fuck,” I yell at the top of my lungs as I roll to my back and stare at the sky and stars above me. It might be my imagination, but I think the moon is mocking me.
And then Jane’s face is pushing into my field of view above me. She looks down at me with guarded concern.
She came back for me.
“Are you alright?” she asks hesitantly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assure her as I roll to my side.
“Well, okay… good,” she says as she turns away and starts walking back to her car.
“Wait,” I call out, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as pathetic as I feel. She stops, and I manage to get up on one knee. “Jane… I could actually use a little help.”
Slowly, she turns to face me, her face closed off and filled with distaste.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her… well, slur. What can I say? I’m drunk. “But I’d gladly take that ride to my house now if you still wouldn’t mind.”
She takes a few steps back toward me. “I’m sure Barb would give you a lift.”
“I don’t want Barb to give me a lift,” I grit out as I stand up. I sway to the left, then to the right, and finally seem to steady myself for a bit. “I want you to take me home.”
Jane just stares at me. I can see the war going on within those eyes that I dream about practically every night. Finally, she gives a resigned sigh and jerks her head toward the car. “Can you manage to get in by yourself?”
If the way I managed to get where I’m at is any indication, probably not, but I tell her, “Yeah. Sure.”
She nods and turns away, walking to her car without a backward glance. I manage to somehow make it there and, after two attempts, I get the passenger door open. I sort of fall into the seat, pull my legs in with great effort, and shut the door.
Laying my head back against the headrest, I give a long-suffering sigh, close my eyes, and pass the fuck out.