Sarah
Gerty—my car—is a disaster. Try as I might to start her up so I can get the hell out of Denver and never look back, it’s just not going to happen. Even if it did, there’s no way she’ll drive with the giant-ass dent in the door. Thank goodness the entitled asshole in the Mercedes hit me in the passenger side and not the driver side, otherwise, I’d be in far worse shape than I am now. Which is saying a lot because, while my body is going to be okay, my life has pretty much fallen apart.
And just when I started to think things couldn’t get any worse than they already are, (although part of me thinks I’m finally taking the right steps to make life better) I go and do something stupid like wreck my car. Sure, I was lost, but I know better than to look at my GPS while I’m driving.
In an unfamiliar city.
During traffic.
While medicated.
I grab my bags out of the trunk and watch as they load Gerty up on a truck and take her off to some dealer who’s sure to charge more than I can afford for repairs.
The EMTs try to talk me into going to the hospital, but, as of two weeks ago, I don’t have a job. Hence, I also don’t have health insurance. So, a trip to the ER is a great big no-thank-you wrapped up in a fuck-you-very-much. I do, however, have car insurance, and the asshole who T-boned me is all too happy to take down that information. And by happy, I mean he’s downright gleeful, as if he takes a special kind of pleasure in knowing he’s going to make my life exponentially more difficult in the coming weeks. The afternoon passes in a blur of questions, clipboards, and the fear of dollar signs floating through my head until finally, the show is over and I find myself alone.
So now what?
I’m standing on a sidewalk in a strange city without a car or a place to stay, my entire world stuffed into a couple bags and a suitcase. I have a savings account, but I’ve been hemorrhaging money since I left Ohio two weeks ago. What’s left in there won’t last me very long. Especially now that I have to pay for a hotel in downtown Denver on top of whatever it’ll cost to fix my car.
So, I ask again.
Now what?
I push away a surge of panic strong enough to drop me to my knees by dry swallowing half a pill my doctor prescribed me for anxiety. Shake out my hair. Take a deep breath. Square my shoulders. The way I see it, my choices are limited to feeling sorry for myself or shrugging it off and rolling with the punches.
With the help of the anxiety medication, I choose option B. All the way. No doubt. Why bother wallowing in my misery when I can turn this unscheduled pit stop into something fun? I’ve been looking for adventure and damn if it didn’t drop straight into my lap and make itself at home. I spin in a slow circle, looking for a restaurant or coffee shop or something, and find a bar across the street. The sign overhead reads Derby’s.
“Welcome to Denver,” I mutter to myself as I hitch up the two bags draped over my shoulder and step into the crosswalk, trundling a giant suitcase along behind me, then heave open the door and take a seat at the bar. When the bartender stops in front of me, I order the cheapest beer I can think of while I pull out my phone, dial my brother’s number, and put my head in my hands while it rings.
“No shit.” Colton’s voice is at once soothing in its familiarity and frightening in the distinct lack of warmth. “We thought you were gone for good this time.”
“Yeah…about that…”
“You missed my wedding.”
I grimace. “I know.”
“That was a dick move.”
“I know that, too.” And I do. I really, truly do. I have my reasons, and they’re good reasons, though I doubt Colton is ready to hear them and I know I’m not ready to speak them.
There’s a pause, and then, “Well, now that we have that covered…”
Maybe calling Colton wasn’t the best idea. I’m not ready to tackle the giant fuckup that is me pulling a no-show when my brother married my friend. Not now, sitting in a strange bar, surrounded by strange people. “I’m in Denver.” I grab a pen from my purse and start doodling on a napkin. Long lines and arching curves become the buildings on the other side of the windows.
“You don’t say.” Colton sounds less than thrilled. “The wedding was great, by the way. Thanks for asking.”
“I’m sure it was amazing. You and Tessa are great together.” I want to beg him to be nice to me, but I don’t deserve it. I stood him up on the most important day of his life to date. He has every right to be mad at me. Even as broken as I am, I’m capable of recognizing that.
“So, you’re in Denver…”
“Yeah.”
“Any reason why?”
When I packed my things into the back of my car, I thought I was heading to his wedding. I really did. But the more I thought about what might happen when I got there, about what might happen when I saw my dad, the tighter my chest got. Before I knew what I was doing, I was in Indiana. Then Missouri. Then I veered south and hit Texas because, why not? And now here I am in Colorado.
But I can’t say that to Colton. Instead, I gloss over it all and offer him a bullshit excuse. “I’ve never been west before,” I say. “Thought it was time. I kind of want to sit on a beach in California. You always hear good things about the beaches.” I widen my eyes and take a breath. “In California.” I suck in my lips to stop myself from talking. This is officially the most painful conversation of all time.
“I see.”
I imagine how I must sound to my brother. Sketchy. Flighty. Selfish. “Anyway, I was in an accident today. Car’s a mess. And since I’m jobless…”
Colton makes a choking sound. “Are you really asking for money after disappearing the way you did?”
“I’m fine by the way,” I say with a sigh. “Thank you for asking.”
Without missing a beat, my brother hits me with a reply. “I thought that was just how we did things now. You know, avoided asking questions about things that matter to each other,” Colton says, the vaguest hint of humor lightening the edges of his voice.
I drag my beer closer to me and cross my legs. “I’m going to ignore that statement. And no. I’m not asking for money. I just thought you might like to know where I was, since it was kind of a dick move on my part to disappear without saying anything.”
“Kind of a dick move, she says…” Colton sighs but I can hear the smile in his voice. Despite everything that’s happened between my family and me, he and I manage to stay close. I like to imagine he has a sense of what went wrong, even though I know for certain neither of my brothers knows the truth of what broke me. “Honestly, I’m really glad to hear from you. Believe it or not, people actually care about you around here.” He pauses. “Tessa says hi.”
“Tell her I say hi back.” I clear my throat, the mention of my brother’s new bride planting fresh guilt in my already churning stomach. “Everyone good?”
“You know how it is, things never change in Brookside. People are happy and healthy and living the dream. Mom’s been yelling at Dad because he keeps falling asleep all the time and she wants him—”
I shift in my seat and tune out the rest of his sentence. The last thing I want to talk about is Dad. Not with all the history between us. Or rather, the lack of history, considering we haven’t spoken in years.
I change the subject as soon as I can. “Look. I’m sorry I missed your wedding. It was a douchebag move and I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.” I run a hand into my hair and wince as I graze the cut on my forehead. “I just wanted to let you know where I am, especially now that it looks like I’ll be here awhile.”
“So you’re not asking for money?”
“No. Colton. Damnit. I’m not asking for money. I thought you might want to know I’m alive. Silly me for thinking you might care.” I smile through my words, so he can hear I’m only teasing him in the same way he’s only teasing me.
“Of course I care. That’s what I do. I care so much it hurts sometimes.” He pauses and I imagine the look on my brother’s face, all sarcasm and hilarity. “It’s just…this is you we’re talking about.”
“You tell me the last time I called asking you for money and I’ll buy you a drink.”
“How are you gonna buy me a drink when you’re halfway across the country?”
“I won’t be halfway across the country forever. I’ll buy you a drink when I get home.” I lean in close to study my doodle before crumpling up the napkin and pushing it away. “Now, stop trying to distract me with technicalities. Honestly, when have I ever asked you for money?”
There’s a long sigh on the other end of the line. “Fine. I don’t think you ever have. You might be a hot mess, but you’re a hot mess who can handle her shit.”
“Uhh…thank you?”
“You’re welcome.” Colton laughs and we chat for a few minutes before he has to go take care of something around the house.
We say our goodbyes. I end the call, and then drop my phone on the bar before taking a long swig of my beer. My head throbs, but I ignore it as I wait for the alcohol and medication to hold hands and do their job.
To help my hands stop shaking.
My heart stop hurting.
My soul stop screaming for answers I’ll never find.
I clear my throat and take in my surroundings for the first time since I walked through the doors and sat down, anything to distract myself from the tragedy of thoughts and questions about to hit me in the face. The wooden bar gleams, and the bottles lining the shelf glitter in the lights hanging from the ceiling. The front wall is nothing but windows, and the other three are brick, covered in black and white photographs of people. Some laughing and smiling. Some looking pensive. All of them sitting in this very bar, a drink in hand.
I know I shouldn’t be drinking this beer.
Not with a head injury.
Not after taking a pill.
But I have more important things to worry about than getting a little too inebriated. Namely, Denver is expensive, my car is a mangled disaster, and my savings account isn’t healthy enough to pay for this unscheduled stop. As much as I don’t want to, it looks like I’m gonna have to pause on my journey to California and find a short-term job. Something to tide me over until I’ve built my savings up enough to pay for the repairs to Gerty and any other random emergencies that might pop up along the way.
I finish my beer and order another when someone steps into my peripheral vision. “Hey there,” says a familiar voice, deep and soothing, the raspy timber enough to raise goosebumps down my spine.
I turn to find the man who helped me after the accident. He smiles, helping himself to the stool beside me.
“Wow.” I glance around the crowded bar and draw my eyebrows together. “Are you following me?”
“What? No.” The man laughs and I can’t help but smile. “I’m here with people from work.” He gestures to a group clustered around a table behind him, all expensive suits, bold ties, and high heels. “I saw you walk in and just want to make sure you’re okay.” He glances at the bags propped against my stool but doesn’t say anything else.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Thank you for your help this afternoon.” I offer a weak smile as I study his face. Dark-rimmed glasses cover dark eyes. Add in a pair of thick, dark eyebrows and this man should look heavy, severe, and intimidating as all hell. But the good-natured slant to his smile gives him a welcoming air and I feel oddly comfortable sitting next to him. An expensive suit and expertly styled hair offset the kind of dorky glasses perched on his nose. He has this whole geek chic thing going for him and I think I like it.
He waves my words away. “Of course. Just the decent thing to do. Anyone else would have stopped.”
“But no one else did.” A new song comes over the speakers, one that has me tapping my toe along with the rhythm.
The group behind him erupts in laughter and he glances over his shoulder before folding his arms together and leaning on the bar. He indicates my bags with a flick of his finger. “Were you planning on staying in Denver or were you just passing through? Before the accident, I mean.”
“I don’t really have much of a plan.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and wince as I graze the cut on my forehead. “The ultimate goal is to sit on a beach in California, but I’m taking the scenic route, spending time wherever something catches my attention. I had no plans to stop in Denver, but it looks like fate had a different idea for me.” I hear the tinge of sadness in my voice and hurry on, hopeful Frank didn’t hear it, too. “I set out to have an adventure,” I say with a breezy smile. “Wrecking my car in a strange city definitely counts as an adventure, don’t you think?” I take a drink of my beer, head injuries be damned.
“Is it totaled? Your car?”
“Probably, but I won’t know right away. The mechanic promised to look things over and give me a call, but I’m not holding my breath for good news.”
The man bobs his head. “I’m Frank, by the way. In case you forgot. You were pretty rattled when I introduced myself this afternoon.” He holds out his hand and I take it with a nod. “Frank Wilde. I work in that building across the street.” He points to the giant conglomeration of glass and steel that inspired the doodle hiding in the balled-up napkin. Why do so many people think the second most important thing about who they are is what they do for a living?
“Sarah Carmichael.” I release his hand as a woman from his group levels me with a glare that would reduce most women into quivering piles of apologies. Thankfully, I’m not most women. I lean in to Frank, all seductive smile and sultry voice. “Looks like your girlfriend isn’t happy with you over here talking to me.”
He leans back, his jaw slack. “Who? Violet?”
I laugh as I shake my head. “I don’t know. If that’s Violet—” I point at the angry brunette in the fitted dress “—then sure.”
Frank glances over his shoulder and turns his focus back to me, annoyance flitting across his features. “No way. That is Bree and she is not my girlfriend. And for the record, neither is Violet.”
“Whatever you say.” I give him a look that calls him a liar and take a sip of my beer.
“She was.” Frank pushes his glasses up his nose. “But she’s not anymore.”
“Who? Bree?”
“Again. No way. Not once, not ever, not even a little bit. No matter how hard she tries to make it otherwise.”
I laugh. “I see.”
“I really don’t think you do. At least not the full extent of things.” He taps a finger on the bar in time with the music and another round of laughter catches his attention. “Anyway. I should be getting back. I don’t mean to bother you. Just wanted to stop by and make sure you’re okay. And since it sounds like you’re going to be in Denver for a while, let me give you my number. You call if you need anything.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I hand him my phone and he types in his number. I swipe his and do the same, then lean close and breathe him in. “Want me to kiss you and drive poor Bree crazy?” I ask, while trying to ignore the fact that his cologne might now be my favorite scent in the world.
Frank puts a hand on my knee. “You don’t have to drive her anywhere. She’s already there. Besides. I’d hate to bring the wrath of that woman down on you. Sounds like you have enough on your shoulders as it is.”
He’s right. I do. But something tells me kissing Frank Wilde would be worth whatever wrath Bree has to throw my way.