Bourbon Nights (The Barrel House Series Book 3)

by Shari J. Ryan

  “I’ll go,” Melody offers.

  “I can go let the dog out if you’d like. It’s no problem,” I say. I’m sure Melody would rather stay here with Harold as long as she can tonight. If I recall, their house is on the way home for me anyway, and it’s no trouble.

  “You are too sweet,” Mrs. Quinn replies, sounding as if she might take me up on the offer.

  “That’s okay, I can rush home and take care of him,” Melody speaks up a little louder than last time.

  “He’s offering,” Mrs. Quinn argues with her daughter.

  “He’s already doing enough,” Melody mutters and stands from her seat.

  The tension in this room is almost unbearable.

  “Brett, don’t forget to bottle up the Quinn Pine next week,” Harold says as if he hasn’t reminded me a dozen times in the past day. By the groggy look on his face, I might assume he’s forgotten the other reminders.

  “I would never forget something so important,” I say to Harold, stepping toward him to say goodbye.

  “I’m running home to let Benji out. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Melody spouts off. She swoops over to Harold’s side and kisses his cheek before nearly knocking me over while rushing by.

  “Do you need a car, maybe?” Journey asks Melody.

  Melody’s cheeks burn her signature hue of rose petal red. “Yeah, uh—” Journey tosses a set of car keys over to Melody. “Thanks.”

  Melody is gone before I can blink again, and I’m standing here with three gawking mouths and six wide eyes, likely wondering why Melody ran out the door as if she were on fire. “She’s not taking this very well,” Mrs. Quinn says. “Plus, she can hardly breathe when you’re around, but don’t tell her I said that.”

  Oh God.

  “Mom,” Journey scolds her. “It’s been ten years. Relax.”

  Ten years and nothing has changed.

  “I remember Harold telling me about your daughter now, how you’re raising her all alone. You’re a wonderful man, Brett. You truly are. No wonder your mother is so proud of you. We just spoke for the first time in years and I can’t seem to recall the reason we ever stopped speaking.” Mrs. Quinn looks lost as she speaks, almost as if she doesn’t know what she’s saying, or she’s just filling the silence with whatever thoughts come to her mind.

  “Life happens, but I’m sure you two have time to catch up,” I say, trying to find a way to ease my way out of this room.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Quinn says.

  “Oh, Brett, Melody is going to need a ride. I gave her the wrong keys. Oops.” I look over at Journey in time to catch a wink and grin, the same wink and grin she used to give me every time Melody ran away from me when we were teenagers.

  “Do you want me to give her the correct keys?” I offer.

  “Nope,” Journey says. “Thanks for helping with the dog and Melody. Have a good night.”

  It’s all coming back to me—the dynamics of this family. Journey and Harold are one of a kind and Melody and Mrs. Quinn share their traits. They were always comedic with the way they carried on.

  “I’ll go rescue her from the parking lot, I guess,” I say, pressing my lips together. “I hope you feel better, Harold. Mrs. Quinn, please let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

  “Thank you, Brett. You’re too kind.”

  With that, I take my opportunity to leave and hurry down the hallway toward the elevator with hope of catching up with Melody before she’s roaming through a dark parking lot trying to unlock a car without a proper key.

  I turn the corner, finding the elevator doors closing. I slip my hand between the doors, triggering the motion detector. As the doors reopen, Melody comes into view, standing in the left corner of the elevator holding her arms tightly around her body. Her beautiful eyes are screaming for help, but her lips are clamped shut, firmly holding in the sob heaving through her chest.

  10

  The elevator seals us inside the confining walls. I have my gaze locked on Melody’s face, but she is staring past me toward the metal doors. “I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I figured you were hungry. I know hospital food isn’t great.”

  Melody’s eyes dance around as if she’s searching for another place to focus on aside from me, but the elevator isn’t moving fast enough to give her the opportunity to avoid me either. “You didn’t overstep,” she says, finally locking eyes with mine. The light color of lime encircled with an olive contrast between the whites of her eyes and her dark lashes. Every look she gives me, is piercing and feels as though she has the power to control my thoughts and feelings with her stare. I can hardly recall the words I was about to speak.

  “Thank you for thinking of us, Brett.”

  Acting much like Melody, I’m forced to look away, feeling as though I’m falling into a daze I can’t snap out of. . I blink for a long second, remembering my thoughts. “I know this isn’t the best time to ask, but did I somehow make you angry? I wouldn’t want to be the source of added stress.”

  I need to know. I can’t think of what I might have done to trigger her mood swings but they are all over the place and I don’t want to be the cause.

  “Nope.”

  Her answer does not add up to the truth, or at least that’s what I’m assuming. “Is it because I know my way around The Barrel House?”

  “Nope.”

  The doors could open at any second. I don’t know what the delay is, but I’m itching to break out of this confinement. “Are you just angry in general?” That’s it. The only other question I can come up with.

  The doors finally open and grant us our freedom. Melody walks past me, speeding up to make a point of wanting some distance. She has no way to get home, I remember. “Melody, wait up,” I call out. She doesn’t acknowledge hearing me, but the hallway leading to the front exit is fairly empty and my voice echoes off the walls. I catch up with her just before she steps outside onto the curb. “Will you stop,” I say, reaching for her arm.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be touching her or stopping her from going where she wants to go, but I must. I tighten my grip and pull her back. The loose strands of her hair spill to my hand and feel like feathers skating across tattered skin.

  Damnit.

  Ten years, and I still feel the exact same way.

  I don’t understand how it’s possible.

  I don’t know this version of Melody, and she doesn’t know the man I’ve become.

  “What do you need?” she asks, annoyance filling her voice.

  What do I need … other than to tell her about the key mix-up she’s about to figure out? Her jaw clenches, and her eyes drift toward the star-lit sky. “You’re not okay.”

  Melody swallows what seems to be a lump in her throat, then allows her gaze to fall back to mine. “No sh—obviously, I’m not okay. My dad is dying up in that hospital room.”

  I’m in over my head. I’ve never been good at supporting someone else's emotions. I understand the pain, but I don’t know how to give comfort. “I know,” I reply. “I know we haven’t talked or seen each other in years, but I want to help. My dad is distraught too; he’s been a mess since he found out. I know he’s planning to visit him tomorrow.” A bunch of gibberish spills from my mouth rather than anything sensical but the more I try to talk, the more I realize we have little to talk about.

  “My dad will enjoy his company, I’m sure.”

  Civilians don’t know how to accept bad news. We aren’t wired that way. Instead, emotions appear in the form of tears, few words, and sometimes nervous laughter when our minds are confused. I was trained to stare beyond pain and shut it down. I’m supposed to tell myself things don’t matter, and they don’t affect me, but when she stares at me, waiting for a human reaction—like a civilian and not like a trained machine, I feel helpless. “It’s hard for me to watch people suffering. If I’m not trying to help, it eats me up. I’m not the kind of person who can sit around when I know there’s something I can do, even if it’s j
ust bringing food.” I’m supposed to protect and catch the falling, take bullets for those more important than myself, and shield the truth. If someone is still suffering then I haven’t done my job.

  “You were a soldier, weren’t you?” My inhuman way of staring into nothing while holding my head up squaring my shoulders into a straight line speaks words of I am.

  “Marine, yes. Was. I’ve been out for a couple years now. It was too hard with Parker.”

  “What about Parker’s mom?” I wasn’t expecting this conversation to resurface now of all times, not with how distraught she seems. The story isn’t a good one and I wouldn’t feel right delving into the past when she’s in a fragile state.

  “I’d rather not talk about her if you don’t mind.” I’m sure she is assuming a million different scenarios by my lack of a response, but it’s not the time.

  “Bad divorce?” She might disagree with the timing, though. Maybe she’s seeking a distraction.

  “Never married,” I reply. “Anyway, I want you to know I’m here and I want to help you and your family. Honestly.”

  Melody slips her hands into her pockets and twists around to step into the parking lot. “Thank you,” she offers.

  I don’t want her to know that I saw what Journey did with the keys, so I need to play this out. “Let me walk you to your car. The parking lot is not lit too well at night.”

  Melody spins around, holding her hand up. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I insist,” I continue, trying to keep the distance she’s asking for.

  Giving up the battle for a moment, Melody turns toward the row of cars, searching from one side to the other. “Oh, crap. The car is back there,” she says. “God, I’m not thinking straight.”

  Melody walks past me, and into the direction where Journey’s car must be. “It happens when there’s too much to think about.” I sound like an infomercial following her. I should stop talking and wait for her to realize she has the wrong keys to Journey’s car.

  I watch and wait, like a creep in a dark parking lot. She fumbles through the keys for a minute before muttering to herself, “She didn’t give me the car key.”

  “Let me take you home, and I’ll bring you right back. My truck is right there,” I say. Maybe I spoke up too fast. She might realize I knew Journey was messing with her.

  Melody stares at the keys in her hand, either wondering if she missed the key, if she should take me up on my offer, or go back upstairs to retrieve the correct key from her sister. “Fine.” I’m shocked beyond belief to hear an agreement form from her lips.

  “My truck is just—” I point down the row and head toward it, assuming she’ll follow.

  The footsteps behind me confirm she hasn’t changed her mind, so I stop at the passenger side and open the door.

  “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and meek. I close the door once she’s seated and walk around the front to slide into the driver’s seat. I turn on the ignition and hit the buttons for the seat warmers.

  How is it I’ve known the Quinn family my entire life and I have no clue how to get to her house? I’ve been there, but not since I was a kid and I was probably busy playing with my Gameboy in the backseat. “Where is your house?”

  “Do you know where Parka Street is?” I guess she doesn’t seem surprised that I don’t know which direction to head in.

  “The GPS will,” I say with a chuckle, wishing I knew my way around this town a little better. It borders my town, so I should be more familiar with the ins and outs, but I was only a licensed driver for a year before I left for the Marines. Other than working and toting Parker around, I haven’t ventured off too far since I’ve been back home these last two years.

  “House number twenty-four,” she adds.

  Twenty-four. D.O.A. eighteen-hundred-hours and twenty-four minutes, just twenty four years old on October 24th. Sometimes, numbers intrigue me, other times, they keep me awake at night, wondering if there’s a deeper meaning I should understand. The silence must be bothering Melody as she clears her throat. “I find it odd we were on the same flight the other day. Why were you in South Carolina?”

  Odd, yes, coincidental, not so much. “I was at an exhibition for my dad’s business, but he called and told me I needed to leave a day early and get on a flight the next morning to head back because your dad needed help in the shop. That’s when I found out what was going on.”

  “Oh,” she says as if she’s fitting pieces together that didn’t quite match up a few minutes ago. “There was only one flight going out of Charleston to Burlington that day.”

  We still ended up sitting beside each other, which seems like more than a coincidence on a large plane with only two empty seats on the whole carrier. Odds are a couple flying together had to cancel their tickets, leaving the two seats open for last-minute passengers.

  I pull into Melody’s driveway, lined with hedged bushes and small lights buried in mulch. The house looks well maintained with a sense of warmth from the glow of lights. “What kind of dog do you have?”

  “A wild killer beast. He attacks people he doesn’t like.” In other words, she’d prefer it if I stayed in the truck and waited for her, but what’s the use in that. She’s exhausted. I can help with the dog. Mrs. Quinn was clearly okay with the idea.

  “Wild killer beasts are my favorite,” I reply, hopping out of the truck the same time she does, following closely behind her as she makes her way up the front steps.

  There’s a familiarity about her house. I remember bits and pieces from the times I was here, and it looks very much the same; the foyer walls covered with family portraits and decorative furniture perfectly placed.

  Benji, I hear her call out. He must be a husky; he looks just like Brody’s old dog. She’s getting hooked up on the leash, wrestling with him to calm down from the excitement of seeing people for the first time in hours. He looks like a big goof. Once Melody has the leash secured, I take it from her hand. “Take a breather.”

  Surprisingly, she doesn’t argue and allows me to take Benji outside. I wonder if she knew he would take me for a ride down the street. He’s got to be at least seventy pounds and I’m almost positive he must have incredible night vision for small animals. There isn’t a doubt in my mind he’s chasing something as he drags me along. Thankfully, we’re just outside the woods and after the creature he was watching disappeared beyond the line of trees, he remembers his purpose for being outside.

  He’s quick to do his business and head back to the house, leading the way up the stairs and in through the front door. “He’s such a good boy,” I call out, assuming Melody is in the kitchen or adjacent family room. “Where do you keep the treats?”

  Melody peeks around the corner and whispers, “One sec.” She’s holding her hand against her phone, blocking out the sound to whoever is on the other line.

  “Oh, sorry. I’ll look in the kitchen,” I whisper.

  I hear the soft mutters from the other side of the wall where Melody is conversing, but I can’t make out anything she’s saying, nor should I since it’s none of my business. She seems a bit frazzled again, though. Although this seems to be a common trait of hers.

  My name is mentioned. I hear it clearly, making me wonder who she’s talking to. It could be Mrs. Quinn or Journey, I suppose, but I don’t think Melody would take the phone into another room if it was either of them.

  Melody seems to have ended her call as I hear footsteps walking around the corner toward where I’m standing. “Is everything okay?” It’s still none of my business, but I can’t help wondering.

  Melody leans forward to give Benji a scratch between the ears, smiling at him as if he’s all she needs right now. “My ex is in denial,” she says.

  The guy in her pictures on Facebook. I guess he is her ex as her profile stated she was single, but I wonder how long he’s been an ex. “Your ex?” There was a time I thought she had gotten married, but I must have misunderstood whatever story I was overhearing. I only kn
ew she was living in South Carolina and assume it was with a man from the story I conjured up in my mind.

  “Yeah, it’s a long story. To sum it up: he’d rather not commit but would love to have a wife around to do her wifely duties.”

  Jesus. What kind of asspot is this guy? How does someone so timid and sweet find a man like that?

  “I’ve seen the type. Good for you, doing what will make you happy. It’s not always an easy decision to make.” I’ve seen the type but usually on the opposite side. Women love military men and everything that comes along with them, but the second they leave for a deployment, it’s party time.

  “I take it you know from experience?” Melody asks, her eyebrow perched with curiosity

  Unfortunately, I found Parker’s biological father and came to understand that there are a special species of shitheads who roam this earth.

  11

  Five Years Ago

  Each morning is the same in our apartment, if it can be referred to as morning. It feels more like the middle of the night, which doesn’t do wonders for a three-year-old trying to develop a healthy sleep pattern. Abby doesn’t ask for help with Parker, but I do everything I can to assist without stepping on her toes. There were nights early on when Abby was so exhausted, she didn’t hear Parker wake up in the middle of the night. I changed those diapers and fed her bottles to get her back to sleep for the few hours more we had before PT (physical training). We’re away from the midnight bottle feedings now, but there are still times when she wakes up in the middle of the night screaming.

  Most families in the military have one parent enlisted and the other is a civilian, making childcare more manageable. I know there are some co-parents who are both enlisted but from what I’ve seen, most of them have consistent childcare help from family members.