by Mignon Mykel
Of all the freaking weeks for him to go on a bender, why did it have to be this one? I’ve got enough to worry about with Indie Week. The last thing I need is more rumors about his drunken antics making the rounds in town.
He may not hear the whispers anymore, but I do.
Drunk. Disgrace. Trash. Just like his father.
I follow Wes to the Jeep, shame burning my cheeks. I’m sure he knew about my father’s drinking problem before today—everyone in Beaumont does—but that doesn’t mean I want him seeing it firsthand. Not when I’ve worked so hard to prove there’s more to my family—to me—than the ugly whispers that float down Main Street like a summer breeze.
The parking lot is quiet, save the low notes of indie rock drifting from the Daily Grind. The door to the coffee shop is propped open in silent invitation, but there’s no time to stop, even if a shot of caffeine would go a long way to clear my head. When we reach the Jeep, Wes opens the passenger door and I climb in without a word.
The floor mats are dusty and the SUV smells like chalk and pine, but it’s not unpleasant. Maybe because it’s a smell I associate with Wes himself. I peek over my shoulder as he jogs around to the driver’s side. There’s a mountain of climbing gear in the back. Ropes. Sneakers. A giant crash pad. Either Wes was training today or his car is a mobile office.
Probably a little of both.
The driver’s door opens and Wes slides in, jabbing the starter even as he pulls the door shut behind him.
“Where to?” he asks, throwing the SUV in reverse.
“The Watering Hole. Off Highway 40.”
Wes nods. “I know the place.”
“You do?” The Hole is more dump than dive, definitely not the kind of place I imagine Wes throwing back a cold beer after a long day climbing. Not that I’ve given it a lot of thought.
Liar.
Okay, fine. Maybe I’ve given it some thought. But only a teeny, tiny bit.
“I grew up in this town too,” he says, easing the Jeep out onto Main Street. “In case you’ve forgotten.”
“How could I possibly forget?” I shrug, trying not to let him see how much this whole situation is freaking me out. “Just didn’t take you for the kind of guy to hang out in such a shithole.”
“There you go making assumptions about me again.” Wes’s tone is light, but there’s something else there too. Hurt? Frustration? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I latch onto the distraction, happy to have something to focus on other than my own problems, if only for a few minutes. “Most of which, I’d like to point out, are incorrect.”
Is Wes right? Do I have him pegged all wrong? I sneak a sidelong glance at him. His dark eyes are fixed on the road, giving me an opportunity to study his profile, which is backlit by the setting sun, making him look like a freaking angel with his chiseled jaw and bronzed skin. His face is serious for once, no sign of the lazy grin that thrills and annoys me in equal parts. That alone should be enough to prove he’s not the same guy I remember, because when did Wes Kaplan take anything seriously?
That would be never.
We ride the rest of the way in silence. Wes drums his fingers against his thigh while I send up a silent prayer, hoping we can get my father home quickly and quietly. Aside from the panic gripping my chest, it’s a surprisingly comfortable ride.
Right up until the Watering Hole appears. The dilapidated single-story building looks as depressing as ever in the anemic glow of a neon sign advertising cheap beer, hot wings, and live music. I doubt the place has seen a band in a decade, but apparently the promise of cheap beer is enough to keep the lights on. My stomach clenches at the sight.
It’s the kind of place dreams go to die. And every time I step inside, I wonder if mine will be next.
The instant the Jeep crunches over the gravel parking lot, I release my seat belt, prepared to make a mad dash for the door.
“What are you doing?” Wes asks, the words gruff and tinged with disbelief.
“I’m going to get my father.” I lift my chin, channeling what little badassery I can. It’s not much, but at this point, it’s all I’ve got. “It’ll only take a minute. Might as well keep the engine running.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to work for me.” He slides the Jeep into the first empty spot and throws it in park. “I’m coming with you.”
The man is impossible. It’s bad enough he’s got a front row seat to my shame spiral, does he really need to come inside and see just how ugly things can get in the Jones family? The urge to argue strikes hard and fast, the words bubbling up in my chest with the kind of pressure that would give Old Faithful a run for its money, but I clamp my lips shut and throw my door open.
The sooner we get Dad and get the hell out of here, the better.
I’m halfway across the lot when Wes catches up to me, his long stride easily matching my own.
“Thought you might want this,” he says, offering me a navy hoodie with Team Paxl printed across the chest.
Shit. I glance down at my fuchsia sports bra, which is sure to draw attention, and give myself a mental face-palm. In the rush, I forgot my sweater at the yoga studio, so, yeah, I definitely want the sweatshirt.
“Thanks.” I take the hoodie and pull it over my head. The sleeves are way too long, but the fabric is soft and well-worn and it smells deliciously like Wes, all sunshine and pine trees.
When we reach the door, Wes steps in front of me and pulls it open, displaying the kind of chivalry I doubt this place has ever seen. I suck in a deep breath and square my shoulders, fortifying myself for what’s to come. Immediately, I’m hit with the stench of stale beer, sweat, and lingering smoke, despite the fact that Colorado banned indoor smoking ages ago.
I stop inside the door, giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the dim lighting. Classic rock plays quietly in the background and the tiny TV above the bar is tuned to a Rockies game. The place is crowded for a weeknight, the bar lined with dark, hunched shadows, one of which is surely my father. Wes rests a hand lightly on the small of my back, his touch warming my skin through the thick fabric of the hoodie. And even though I wish he weren’t witnessing this depressing scene, I can’t deny it’s a comfort.
The bartender looks up and meets my eyes. Then he jerks his chin toward a man slumped at the far end of the bar with his head down. My sneakers stick to the floor as I cross the room, but I block it out. I block out everything except my dad and the way his shoulders rise and fall steadily. It’s impossible to tell if he’s passed out, but from the looks of it, the odds aren’t in my favor tonight.
I might actually need Wes’s help after all.
Better Wes than Billy.
“Dad?” I drop a hand on his shoulder and give a gentle shake as the bartender approaches, a dingy towel slung over his shoulder. “Thanks for calling, Billy.”
“Sure,” he says, flicking his greasy hair out of his eyes. “But it’d be nice if you stopped in for a drink yourself.”
Not this again.
“I wish I had the time,” I say noncommittally—because there’s no way in hell I’m having drinks with Billy—as I give my father a more rousing shake. “Work’s keeping me pretty busy.”
“I’ll bet.” His eyes crawl over me and I give silent thanks for Wes’s sweatshirt. “You want some help getting him out to the truck?”
My whole body stiffens at the offer. Billy’s always willing to help, which I might appreciate if he didn’t constantly find ways to subtly cop a feel in the process.
“No worries, man. I’ve got it covered,” Wes says smoothly, stepping up on the other side of my father’s stool.
Billy straightens, as if noticing Wes for the first time. “Didn’t realize you brought a friend.”
I ignore him under the guise of attempting to rouse my father. “Come on, Dad. Time to go.”
He mutters something unintelligible and lifts his head. When he looks at me, his eyes are unfocused and bloodshot. Not exactly alert, but better than out cold. “Last call
already?” he mumbles.
“Yeah, Dad.” I tuck myself under his arm, knowing there’s no way he’s going to be able to walk to the car on his own. “Can you stand?”
He slides off the stool and stumbles forward, nearly sending us both to the floor. Then Wes is there, one arm sliding easily around my dad’s waist, holding him upright and taking the brunt of his weight. My dad’s not a big guy, but Wes handles the dead weight easily, proving his sinewy arms are every bit as strong as they look.
“Who’re you?” Dad asks, turning his bleary gaze to Wes. “Do I know you?”
“Wes Kaplan, sir.”
“Kaplan, eh?” Dad narrows his eyes, but given his current state, it’s hardly intimidating. “I think I know your mama.”
Wes gives him a conspiratorial grin. “I hope you won’t hold that against me, sir.”
And just like that, my dad’s laughing, slapping his thigh with his free hand like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in ages. Hell, maybe it is. I can’t remember the last time I heard him laugh like that and the sight cracks my heart wide open, reminding me of better days.
Tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall, but I blink them back.
My life may be a goddamn Greek tragedy, but I will not cry. Not in front of Wes.
“Come on, Dad,” I say, trying to mask the bone-deep weariness. “Let’s get you home.”
Dad nods slowly, his attention shifting from Wes to me. “All right, but I wanna hear all about you and this Kaplan boy on the way.”
“That makes two of us,” Wes says, chuckling just loud enough to mask my groan.
Is he serious? Where to even start?
Wes
Sky’s dad is snoring loudly in the back seat when I pull up to the house. Lucky for her, he passed out before he had a chance to press her about our…friendship? Flirtationship? Hell, I don’t even know what to call it, but right now, that’s hardly the point.
Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed seeing her squirm as she explained it to her father—under different circumstances.
The Jones residence is a cozy-looking bungalow that’s seen better days and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Sky’s uncomfortable with me being at her place. Just like she’s uncomfortable with me seeing her father in his current state. The thing is, I would never judge her for any of it. She didn’t choose this life and whatever his shortcomings, it’s obvious she loves her father.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says, toying with the strings on her hoodie. My hoodie. Warmth floods my chest. It looks damn good on her. Maybe even better than the sports bra. “And for your help at the bar.”
“It’s all good.” I appreciate her gratitude, but it’s not like I did anything special. It’s what any decent person would do and I don’t want her feeling like she owes me anything. “Why don’t I help you get him to bed?”
She nods and for once, there’s no argument.
Ten minutes later, her father’s crashed out and I’m standing on the front porch trying to think of a way to salvage the evening. We have chemistry—Trivia Night proved it—and I don’t want to go back to square one because Sky’s embarrassed of her family situation. I may not have her brains, but even I can see we’re on shaky ground.
So find a way to fix it.
Sky joins me on the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. A few tendrils have come loose from her ponytail, but her eyes are bright and I’ll be damned if she doesn’t look even more beautiful when she gives up a bit of that tightly held control. She wraps her arms across her belly and opens her mouth—probably to thank me again—but I step forward and press a finger gently to her lips before she can get the words out.
I don’t need another apology. I need Sky.
“Let’s go for a ride.” It’s probably a long shot, just like Sky and me, but what the hell. I’ve always been a long shot. It’s never stopped me from going after what I want before, so why start now? “There’s something I want to show you.”
She bites her full bottom lip and a bolt of white-hot desire goes straight to my cock. How is it possible this woman is completely oblivious to the effect she has on me? It’s maddening.
Then again, maybe she’s not so oblivious. She did catch me staring at her ass during yoga.
“I don’t know…” She sighs. “I probably shouldn’t. I have a meeting with your mother at ten to discuss Indie Week.”
“Forget about work for just one night.” Sky’s dedicated, but would it be so bad to take one night off from worrying about the COC? Even I can tell she’s been busting her ass to make Indie Week a success and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that, but one night off isn’t going to undo all her hard work. “You deserve a night off.”
And not just because the situation with her father is intense.
Sky straightens and there’s an honest to God spark in her eye. “You know what? You’re right,” she says, not waiting for a response. “I’m as prepared as I’m going to be for the meeting tomorrow and I could use a freaking break. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” I sling my arm across her shoulders—to lighten the mood, not because the need to touch her is so damn strong it’s driving me crazy—and guide her toward the Jeep.
Sky laughs and rolls her eyes. “It’s always a surprise with you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I tease as I open the door for her. I may not have much experience when it comes to dating, but my manners are wicked sharp thanks to my mother, who runs our family the same way she runs the COC.
Once we’re both settled in, I fire up the engine and head out of town.
We drive with the windows down, the cool night air whipping around us. Not great for conversation, but it’s a comfortable silence.
I glance over at Sky. She’s staring out the window, taking in the view. It’s a full moon and the mountains around us are bathed in soft white light, their peaks illuminated against the dark skyline. If she notices me watching her, she doesn’t comment.
I turn my attention back to the road, but I steal glances at Sky every couple of minutes just to make sure this whole thing isn’t some gnarly dream. I still can’t believe Sky Jones is in my car. That I’m taking her to my favorite spot. If someone had told me a week ago this was how I’d be spending my Wednesday night, I would’ve called bullshit.
And yet, here we are.
I spot the turnoff and reduce my speed to a crawl. The Jeep rocks on the uneven terrain as I make the turn, venturing off-road. Sky yelps and grabs the oh shit handle. She doesn’t let go until I throw the Jeep in park.
The Flatirons dominate the horizon before us, all sandstone and sharp angles jutting up from the earth. The stars twinkle overhead, shining far brighter than they ever do in Beaumont. It’s quiet tonight, though I can hear crickets chirping in the distance, their song carrying across the open terrain. I’ve lost track of how many nights I’ve spent up here, staring out at the Flatirons, but the sight of those sleek rocks still takes my breath away.
“Come on.” I throw my door open and climb out. “It’s a killer view and we didn’t come all this way just to sit in the car.”
Sky hops out and I grab a crash pad and blanket from the back. I lay them out in front of the Jeep and gesture for Sky to sit. She lowers herself to the pad and pulls her knees up to her chest, looping her arms around them. I drop down next to her. Our shoulders brush lightly, but she doesn’t move away.
“This is one of my favorite places to clear my head and think. Everyone knows about the Flatirons, but not a lot of people know about this overlook,” I tell her. “I always come up here before a tough climb or before I travel.” I rake a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my forehead. “Hell, sometimes I come up here just to get away from the world for a while.”
“I can see that,” she says, chin bobbing as she nods her head. “It’s so peaceful. And the view is incredible.” She’s silent for a moment, then adds, “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
&nb
sp; “Anytime you want to come back, just say the word.”
“Careful, Wes,” she says, a teasing lilt to her words. “You go making promises like that and a girl might get the wrong idea.”
I turn to face her. At first, I think she’ll turn away, but she meets my stare head-on. “Or maybe she’ll get the right idea.”
Shit. I don’t know what I’m saying. What does that even mean?
“Oh?” The corner of her lips twist in a sardonic smile. “Never took you for the knight-in-shining-armor type. I suppose after tonight, I shouldn’t be surprised you want to play the hero and rescue me.”
I snort. “We both know you don’t need saving, Sky, and I wouldn’t insult you by pretending you do.”
She arches a brow, but there’s no challenge in it. “Smart man. Things with my dad aren’t easy, but I can handle it.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that just because she can handle it, doesn’t mean she should have to—certainly not alone—but I doubt my opinion on the matter would be welcome. Still, it feels like her walls are coming down and it would be a mistake to let the moment pass. If she wants to talk about it, I want to listen. “How long have things been like this?”
Sky tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tilts her chin toward the sky, looking up at the stars. “It started when I was ten. My mom left in search of bigger, better things and my dad started drinking. I was so angry at my mom. I figured if she didn’t love us enough to stay, we were better off without her. Little did I know that when she left, she took my dad with her. All the best parts, anyway.”
As a climber, I’ve taken some bad spills, but Sky’s revelation hits hard, the wind punching out of my lungs. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for her to lose both her parents that way. One physically and one emotionally. My parents are demanding as hell, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
