The trip to Belcourt had been bittersweet. I’d made that journey with Logan countless times, but I’d never been sad for the two days to end. Somehow being away from home, away from the routine we’d built over three months living and working together, made everything feel different, like a pixelated image that became clear.
The conversation we’d had the night before haunted me as I paced around the house, feeling like I was going to jump out of my skin. We’d gone to bed, and for the first time since Holden had moved in, it had felt like there was a stranger in my bed.
I fucking hated it, and when he got up the following morning and left for work, it had been a relief. There was a small part of me that hoped him leaving Sawyer’s Ferry would be the same but on a much larger scale, but by the time I’d gotten out of bed and gone downstairs to grab coffee, I’d realized that relief was anything but.
The house—my house—had become ours, and sometime over the last three months, memories of Holden had woven themselves into every surface. I couldn’t look at the sofa in the living room without remembering our first night together or the barstools in the kitchen without remembering all the mornings we’d spent together talking while one of us cooked for the other.
He was everywhere.
A few hours later I wasn’t feeling any less restless, so I threw my coat on and headed into town, needing to get out of the house and out of my own head.
I parked at the end of the waterfront and got out, unsure of where I was headed. The town didn’t hold any fewer pieces of my relationship with Holden. As embedded as he was into my house, he was just as prevalent here. I leaned against my truck and looked out at the ocean.
Time healed everything. One day, the thought of Holden leaving wouldn’t hurt as much.
“Hey.” A voice behind me pulled me out of my teenage-angst moment. I turned to see Barrett unloading some supplies from the back of his truck.
“Oh, hey.”
He squinted at me, and I could feel him trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me. “You okay?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”
He regarded me a moment before tilting his head toward the building. “You wanna come in? I’m pulling a new batch of IPA today. You can be my guinea pig.”
I followed him inside.
From the outside Copper Creek Brewing looked like any other warehouse or industrial building in Sawyer’s Ferry. It was gray and unremarkable, but inside was much more interesting. The place was technically two levels, with a mezzanine cutting halfway through the second level and walkways around the entire perimeter. The lower floor looked to be where the storage and production happened, with machinery at one end.
“You’re the only one here today?”
Barrett nodded. “I try to give everyone the weekend off when I can.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Maybe. Nice to have the place to myself sometimes too.”
We walked past a long line of shiny metal storage tanks to the end of the row where there was a small bar with six leather stools.
“You know, if you wanna compete with J’s, you’re going to need a bigger bar.”
“I don’t,” Barrett replied, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “This isn’t open to the public. It’s just for me and my guys. I figure if we’re going to sample the beers, we should have a proper bar to do it at.” He motioned toward the stools. “Have a seat. I’ll grab you a pint.”
He poured one for each of us, the beer dark amber as it rushed from the spigot into the glass, then slid mine across the wooden surface.
“This the part where you ask me what’s troubling me and I unload all my bullshit personal history onto you?”
Barrett stared forward at his glass and shrugged one shoulder. “It is if you want it to be, I guess.”
I didn’t know what I wanted. I was so fucking torn that I felt like I was being ripped apart. Maybe that was being a bit overly dramatic, but I’d never cared this much about someone else before. I’d never needed to both hold on and let go so desperately, and I couldn’t wrap my head around what the right thing to do was.
We sat in silence for a long time, until the first pint was empty. He grabbed my glass and refilled it. Without hesitation, I drank it down, Barrett watching me the whole time with one eyebrow raised.
“I’m not sure if I should take that to mean the IPA gets your stamp of approval, or if you’re just needing the alcohol content that bad.”
I felt like an idiot. “A little of both, I guess.”
“This about that other doctor?”
“Holden. Yeah.” One of the things about living in a small town was that folks knew your business without you having to tell them, and sometimes they knew shit before you did.
“He’s leaving.” It wasn’t a question.
“I told him to.”
“Why?”
I sighed. “Because there’s this job and if he doesn’t take it, he will end up regretting it. I don’t want him to stay here for me. I don’t want him giving up opportunities in order to stay here.”
“You two are…”
He looked mildly uncomfortable, but I hadn’t pretended to be straight since I was in my twenties and I wasn’t going to avoid talking about it to make someone else more comfortable now, no matter how hospitable he was.
“Together? Yes.”
“And you love him?”
“Yeah.”
Barrett shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Does he know?”
“What?”
“Did you tell him that you love him?”
“No—maybe.” I huffed a breath. “I haven’t said it out loud, but what’s the point in telling him now? He’s leaving in less than two weeks.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the bar. “No regrets, right? Don’t you think that might be something you end up regretting later?”
He might have been right, but I still felt shitty about springing that on Holden right as he was packing up to leave. What was the point? What did I hope he was going to do with that information? All it would do would be make it harder for him to leave. And I didn’t want to do that to him. But what the hell was I supposed to do when the right thing and the thing I wanted most were opposites?
“I mean, I get it, man. Our situations aren’t all that different. My wife moved to LA, and I let her go.”
“What? You were married?” Barrett didn’t look much older than Holden, and I hadn’t been in Sawyer’s Ferry all that long, but it was something I’d thought I would have heard about before now.
“In another lifetime, yeah. She wanted to be a songwriter, and that industry’s not exactly booming around here.”
“How long were you married?”
“A handful of years. High school sweethearts, ended up getting married right after graduation because what else are you gonna do? But she loved music and I loved her, so I saved up and bought her a plane ticket and that was that.”
“Why didn’t you go with her?”
“I don’t belong in LA. Alaska’s in my blood. I was born here, my parents were born here, grandparents. This is my home.” He shrugged. “I think deep down, I thought she’d come back. But one year passed, then five, and now it’s been… God, too many years.”
“Did she make it as a songwriter?”
“Nope, but she always hated the snow. She’s a teacher now. Second grade. Three kids of her own and living near the beach.”
I couldn’t imagine hearing about Holden marrying someone else, making a life with someone else. The thought of that made me feel sick. I took another breath and let it out slowly. “So… does it get easier? Letting them go?”
“Not at first. At first, it hurt like hell, but after a year or two, that faded. I miss her sometimes, randomly, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Everything Barrett had said was a lot to process. I’m not sure if he sensed I needed time to think, or if he just needed a minute, but he excused himself, saying he needed to take care of something, and wandered off. I finished up my drink and found him checking a gauge on one of the tanks as I walked toward the door.
I thanked him for the beer and headed home.
By the time I arrived, I’d formulated a plan.