HORIZON MC by Clara Kendrick (29)

 

Rio Seco, which had briefly seemed to be the best and biggest place on the entire planet while I’d let myself love Amy, swiftly became small again. Smothering. Claustrophobic. I was afraid that I would see her anywhere I went, so I tried to avoid going anywhere I didn’t have to. I ordered pizza almost exclusively for my meals, eager to avoid the diner or the grocery store or anywhere else I might see her. I drank down the liquor supply in my house and then stopped drinking, too afraid of running into her at the liquor store. I stayed away from the bar so faithfully, seeing as it was the only watering hole in town, that, one by one, the guys called me.

“You’re not sick, are you?” Brody asked. He’d been the first one to call with the excuse that a bunch of beer was getting ready to go bad and he needed me to help drink it so it wouldn’t be a total loss. “You get sick a lot. Have you seen a doctor about that?”

I frowned. “I do not get sick a lot. The last time I got sick was…sometime in the spring. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you got the shits. Jack wouldn’t shut up about it.”

I groaned. “Sometimes, I don’t know why I’m friends with you guys.”

“It’s because you love us. That’s why. But seriously. Are you sick? Can I bring you anything? Is it chicken-soup kind of sick, or adult-diaper kind of sick?”

“It’s neither. I’m not sick.”

“Okay, now I’m worried. Why haven’t you left your house in days, then?”

“I’ve left my house. Just because I didn’t roll over to the bar doesn’t mean I’m sick or anything.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“I…just haven’t felt like going out much lately,” I said. “That’s all. Are we done with the interrogation? I have somewhere I need to be.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.”

Only I didn’t have anywhere to be. Just people okay, one personto avoid, pizza to order, and television to watch. I was actually pretty up to date on current events thanks to my self-imposed hermitage. I was catching the news every day. Multiple times a day, even. It was strangely comforting to immerse myself in the troubles of perfect strangers. The state of the nation. The various crises going on around the world. It made my own problems seem so much smaller. It gave me perspective. But as soon as I turned the TV off, everything came rushing back to me. The way Amy had been so ready to sell me out and sell herself in the process. I’d taken to keeping the television on at all times, just trying to use the sound to drive the thoughts from my brain.

It didn’t work very well, honestly.

Ace was the next one to call.

“Hey, talked to Brody,” he said by way of greeting. “He said you’re having some kind of breakdown or something.”

“Oh my God.” I covered my eyes with one of my hands. “I am not having a breakdown.”

“I figured. Brody likes to exaggerate. Just wanted to check on you. We miss you at the bar.”

“Yeah, well, more beer for the rest of you.”

“I know! It’s kind of nice. You were drinking us into the red.”

“I was not.”

“Yeah, I was just doing my best Brody impression.” Ace laughed. “So what’s up? What’s going on with you?”

“Same old shit,” I said. “Working a lot.” It was stunning the amount of work I could do if I didn’t care to do anything else. My savings account was really going to like me for this.

“Sure, sure. You’d tell us if anything was really wrong, right? Like if you’re actually having a real breakdown?”

“I would let someone know,” I said, rolling my eyes, “but I’m not having a breakdown.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course not. Call me if you need anything.”

The house grew into some cross between a refuge and a prison. I was thankful for it on the days I wasn’t busy hating it. I let it grow dirty, filled it with trash, just so I would have something to do eventually clean house. I rearranged my furniture, swept and mopped, cleaned the windows inside and out, bought a cactus for the porch, even dusted the window blinds. And when my house gleamed and shone, I was left again with myself, the pain of Amy’s betrayal.

Chuck’s was the next call I took.

“So, spill,” he said, after we exchanged some polite small talk.

“Spill what?” I asked, looking suspiciously at my pristine carpet. I’d steam cleaned it for the first time since I’d lived there.

“I know girl trouble when I see it,” he said. “Tell us what’s going on between you and Amy.”

“Nothing’s going on between us,” I said, rubbing a hand through my hair and trying to sigh away from the mouthpiece of the phone.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Chuck said. “Come on, let it out. You’ll feel better for it.”

“It’s not a fart, Chuck.”

“I didn’t say it was.” He coughed, and it was clear he was trying his best not to chuckle. “And I certainly won’t be the one to tell Amy that.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What was she like? What did she say? How did she look? Did she ask about me?”

“Looks like you want to talk about it after all,” Chuck observed.

“Sure,” I said, hesitant again. “There was some trouble. Is some trouble. I don’t know.”

“It’s a little early in the relationship to be having trouble, don’t you think?”

“You don’t understand. There’s not a relationship.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

“And who have you heard from? Brody?”

“He might’ve mentioned something about your feelings for her,” Chuck allowed. “But we allJack excluded, of course saw you kissing her under the fireworks. You hopeless romantic, you.”

“Again, not like that.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it,” he said. “I always knew you had it in you to be at least a little romantic. It’s sweet.”

“So Amy’s been at the bar?” I asked, eager to redirect this line of conversation.

“You should come in and talk about it,” Chuck told me. “Would probably do you good to get out of the house.”

“I get out of the house,” I said, defensive. “That’s why there’s been so much progress on your house.”

“And while Haley and I completely appreciate that, it’s not the same. I’m talking about you socializing. You need people, Sloan. You’re not an island.”

“Just tell me about Amy.”

“Oops, have to go.”

“Chuck, goddammit.”

“Bye, Sloan.”

I knew what they were trying to do, knew they were looking to draw me out of the house. And I knew damn well that I was behaving like some kind of hermit or worse, a slimy creature that hid under rocks. But I didn’t understand why Amy didn’t just leave town. She knew I was pissed at her, knew I would never give her my story, now. Not after what I’d discovered about her, about what she was really doing. And yet in spite of my anger, I was still concerned about her. Still wondering how she was doing. Worrying that she wasn’t doing well even when I was the one suffering the most.

Jack was the final call I received. When the device vibrated, I stupidly wished it was her, wished it was Amy calling me to offer some kind of explanation, something that would make everything better again. It was pathetic, honestly. I was pathetic. Nothing was going to be the same with Amy. If I had really wanted to know why she was so interested in betraying me, I didn’t need to look any further than her own ambition. She wanted to become a writer so badly that she didn’t care who she mowed down in the process. That was the only explanation there was. I was sure of it.

I’d just been foolish enough to be led on by her wiles.

“Hello? Sloan? Are you there?”

“What? Hello?”

I had to hold the phone away from my ear and activate the display to remember Jack had called me.

“Say something, Sloan.”

“Hi.”

“Hi?” he scoffed. “Is that all you have?”

“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to have,” I said. “What’s up?”

“What’s up with you?” he countered. “None of us has seen you in almost two weeks.”

“That’s not that long,” I said, more to myself than to Jack. Honestly, it had seemed like years. Even as I moped in my home, I missed my friends. Going to the bar, going on rides, even attending club business meetings were all things I enjoyed. Chuck had been right. I was a social creature. I needed to be with the rest of the guys.

“It’s long enough,” Jack said. “You can come out of hiding, now. Amy hasn’t been to the bar for a week. I think she’s given up on finding you here.”

That was the thing, though. She knew where I lived. If she had really been looking for me, she would’ve stopped by here. It just didn’t make sense.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll come by the bar a little later today. I just can’t stay for very long.”

“Why?”

“I have things I need to do. That’s why.”

Jack burst out into laughter. “I know for a fact you don’t have anything to do. We are your social life. You don’t have one without us.”

“If you’re supposed to be convincing me to come and hang out with you all, you’re doing a really poor job of it.”

“Come on. You love my banter.”

“I cannot say that I do.”

But I was in the bar later that day all the same, freshly showered to try and convince everybodymyself included that I wasn’t having a gigantic meltdown, and certainly not over Amy. I showed Jack, though, that I wasn’t a fan of his teasing by bypassing the club booth and plopping down directly onto a barstool. Brody was behind the bar, and he raised one eyebrow at me and the other eyebrow at some point behind me the guys sitting at the booth, I was sure.

“What’s this?” Katie asked, scooting over to the barstool next to me. I hadn’t even seen her as I walked in. “Did you get exiled from the booth?”

“No,” I began, but she was too excited to listen.

“Does that mean my ass can fit in the booth, now?” she demanded. “That there’s a vacancy in the club and now they’ll have to vote me in?”

“Is that really what you think?” I asked, whirling around to face her. “That you would take my place if I was out of the club? I’m not out of the club, by the way, but thanks for that assumption. That makes me feel really great about everything.”

“Forget I said anything about it,” Katie said, frowning at me. “You know I was just joking around with you.”

“Why does every single one of my friends think that teasing me equals a joke?” I asked. “I don’t think it’s very funny.”

“You do the same to everyone else,” she pointed out, sliding off the barstool. “What’s wrong, Sloan? You can dish it but you can’t take it? Sorry.”

She slunk off, and I struggled to find something to say, something to call out to smooth things over again. The last thing I wanted to do was make one of our loved ones feel as alienated as I did at the moment, but there it was. Amy had poisoned me with her betrayal. I supposed everything I touched, every relationship, would crumble into ash, now. Katie was just the first one to fall. It was a mistake to come here. Which friendship would I ruin next?

“You’re so moody these days,” Brody observed, his chin on his fist, elbow resting on the surface of the bar. “What gives?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Uh-huh. I gathered that factwell, we all gathered that fact when you didn’t sit in the club booth. And when you snapped at Katie.”

“I just want some time alone.”

“Okay. The bar’s a strange place to try and achieve that, but you do you.”

They were the ones who’d wanted me to come here in the first place. What they saw was what they got. I wasn’t sure what they’d expected, but here I was.

I shifted around on the barstool. “I can’t get comfortable on this thing.”

“That’s because you’re used to the booth. Your ass has downgraded.”

Grimacing, I stood. “Isn’t one of these supposed to be the VIP barstool? The one that you all got redone at the same time as the booth?”

Brody peered at something just over my shoulder. “Yes, yes, I have heard the legend of such a thing. I wouldn’t know from personal experience, though.” He pointed discreetly at the stool positioned at the other end of the bar, and I wondered why he was being so cagey about it.

“What’s going on here?” Ah. Jack had sidled up to us, looking at Brody suspiciously. That was why the subterfuge was necessary. The VIP seat was something of an open secret, kept away from Jack’s knowledge. Katie and Haley were the ones who used it the most, and they delighted in it. If he knew which one it was, he’d probably pull it over to the booth and use it as a place to put up his feet. “Sloan, why aren’t you sitting with the rest of us?”

“Said he needed some alone time,” Brody said, answering for me. “Let him sulk, if you ask me. We don’t need that kind of energy in the booth.”

“I’m not sulking,” I said.

“Maybe not, but you have been skulking,” Jack pointed out.

Brody nodded thoughtfully. “True, true.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“You’re avoiding everyone,” Jack said. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re making excuses about being at work sites late, but we know that you hate sticking around after sundown. You put in your full day’s worth of work, so you’re usually at the bar.”

“Skulking,” Brody said. “You’re hiding from someone. Is it us? Have we done something to offend you? Did you find that thing in your wallet yet? Is that what this is about?”

“My what?” I blinked at him, thoroughly confused. “What? What thing in my wallet?”

“Never mind, never mind,” he said quickly. “Forget I said anything.”

“So it’s not club business?” Jack prompted me, drawing my attention toward him.

“It’s not anybody’s business,” I said, frowning at Brody in what I hoped was a meaningful way.

“I’ve never seen someone moon over a woman so terribly,” he said, smiling at me in a benignly stupid way, like he was some kind of benevolent idiot. “Not even Chuck was this bad.”

“So this really is about Amy?” Jack asked. “Want me to ban her from the bar?”

“What? No.” God, why was this happening? Didn’t I have enough to deal with without this whole thing becoming a topic of conversation and gossip with the rest of the guys?

“No, it’s not about Amy, or no, I shouldn’t ban her from the bar?”

“I haven’t seen her in a while,” I said. “I don’t even know if she’s still in town.”

Brody and Jack exchanged a bona fide look. “She’s still here,” Brody said. “At least, her rental car’s still parked at the motel.”

I swallowed. “She, uh, hasn’t been in here, has she?” If Chuck had been cagey about it, then maybe one of these fools would be more forthcoming with information.

They simply exchanged another look. This was getting old really fast. “She’s come in a couple of times,” Jack said, “but just for a few drinks before leaving. She’s polite, but she doesn’t really talk to us. None of us have been able to get anything out of her. She just sits up here at the bar.”

Brody mouthed “VIP seat” at me and winked, but my stomach was busy turning somersaults inside of me. So Amy had been in the bar after all? I had been right to stay away from it, in that case, though I hadn’t thought anyone was being honest with me about it. Maybe I needed to make a bar to compete with the Horizon venue just so I could exile myself to it to avoid people and still get a cold beer and a little socialization. That was a pretty good business plan, honestly. The only thing people wanted more than a beer was two beers or more. Maybe I’d even become richer than Jack with a bar of my own, though that wasn’t fair. Jack was rich because he’d survived being blown up.

“So she hasn’t said anything?” I asked haltingly, hating myself for wantingneeding to know.

“Nope,” Jack said. “Just ‘hi’ and ‘thanks’ and ‘bye.’”

“So you all are having a tiff,” Brody said. “So what? You’ll get over it.”

“Yeah, you’re really good together,” Jack said. “What’s the fight about? I bet it’s not anything you can’t work through. She could’ve left town, you know, if she was really pissed.”

My stomach was so upset I pushed my beer away. “It’s…a lot more serious than that. A lot more than a tiff.”

“So tell us,” Brody urged.

“You just want something to gossip about.”

“Seriously, we’re all worried about you,” Jack said. “Even those assholes still sitting in the booth are worried.”

“I know,” I said, sagging a little. “You all called me.”

“So just get it off your chest, whatever it is,” Brody said. “Nothing can be that bad.”

“It’s pretty bad,” I said. “I wouldn’t want you to think any less of her.”

“If it’s that bad, I wouldn’t feel like a good friend unless I thought less of her,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, we’re going to be in the booth, then, if you change your mind,” Jack said, pushing himself away from the bar. “Or if you feel like being social for a change.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks, uh, for the talk.”

Brody leaned conspiratorially close. “Is it a sexual problem?”

I recoiled from him. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Brody gave a coy little shrug. “Just wondering.”

“You are so sick.”

“Thought it was worth asking,” he said, sidling out from around the bar and going to join the rest of the guys at the booth.

I sat there for a few moments, dumbfounded, before remembering to pull my wallet out of the back pocket of my jeans and opening it. Nothing was missing my ID was there, along with my credit cards, some cash, a handful of business cards I picked up here and there along the way, and…oh.

I withdrew a condom and squinted to read the permanent marker message that had been scrawled over the foil packaging.

“Warning: For teeny tiny penises only,” it stated.

I heaved a sigh as the rest of the guys guffawed over in the booth.

“I really regret leaving my house today,” I called over to them. “I mean, sincerely regret it.”

“You need to bring a little laughter into your life, bud,” Ace shouted back. “Just laugh a little. See how much better you’ll feel.”

I drained my beer and dismounted from the barstool, ignoring the catcalls coming from the booth, intent on leaving and perhaps never coming back for as long as I lived, and ran directly into Amy coming in the door as I tried to walk out of it.

The laughter behind me faded, and I knew the club was holding its collective breath at this interaction. I wasn’t sure what came over me in that moment. It might’ve been exasperation at my friends, and just how much they’d been poking at me that day. And it might’ve been the shock of seeing Amy so suddenly like this, after I’d studiously avoided her for so long. It almost felt like both Rio Seco and the Horizon guys had conspired against me to make me see Amy again, and, goddammit it, I was about done with being conspired against.

“You know what?” I gave Amy a tight smile. “Do you want a fucking story? I will give you a fucking story.”

“Sloan, I”

“Do you have your recorder on you this time?” I asked her. “Your notebook? A pen? I could find you a pen, probably. We have a pretty big supply of napkins here at the bar, if you don’t have your notepad. Phones are pretty good these days, right? Do you have an app for that? Is there an app for that, for recording my story?”

“Please, let me”

“I’m tired of dancing around this,” I told her, interrupting her again. “Let’s just get this thing over with so you can get on with your life. Then I can get on with my life. Sound good?”

Amy looked stricken, her dark eyes wide. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, Sloan.”

“Oh, but I want to do this. I really, really want to do this.” Something truly ugly was uncoiling inside of me, and it hurt so fucking badly.

There was something hard in her eyes. Hard and infinitely sad. “Okay. Let’s do this thing, then. Get it over with.”

“Excellent.”

“All my equipment is in the motel,” she said. “Would you like to follow me there?”

“As you wish.”

And just like that, not ten minutes later, we were sitting across from each other at a cheap, particle-board table in Amy’s room, a notebook and recorder between us.

“Sloan, can I say something?” she asked me, fidgeting with her pen, but I smashed my finger against the record button of her device in response.

“Better not waste any more time,” I told her, and began my terrible story.