Bourbon on the Rocks (The Barrel House Series Book 2)

by Shari J. Ryan

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been crazy lately,” I say.

  “Mmhm. Maybe just a little caught up?” she repeats.

  What’s the difference? She knows the difference.

  “I made reservations,” Brody says, giving Mom a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Marion. You’re looking lovely as ever.” He smiles and walks toward Marco.

  “What a charmer,” Mom sighs. “Both of the Pearson boys have already won over my heart.” It still feels weird that Melody and I are—whatever it is Brody and I are doing alongside his brother and my sister.

  “I guess he straightened out,” I tell her, trying to avoid looking toward Marco and Brody.

  “Straightened out?” Mom questions.

  “Yeah, he was a big troublemaker back in the day. That’s why he was never at a lot of the family get-togethers.”

  Mom gives me an odd, confusing look. “Sweetie, I don’t know where you heard this information, but Brody wasn’t a troublemaker. He was missing from events for a much different reason.”

  “What reason?” I question.

  “You know what. It’s in the past. Let’s just enjoy our dinner tonight, okay?”

  Of course. Past secrets. My favorite.

  Marco has a waitress take us to our table and I do my best to look in the opposite direction to avoid eye-contact. He wanted to meet me after the edits were complete. I guess he wanted to go over some of the details, but I told him to send me an email with the changes he was requesting. He never responded.

  We’re seated in the far corner of the restaurant, surrounded by dim lighting and a subtle orange glow from dozens of votive candles decorating each table. The waitress welcomes us to the restaurant and hands us our menus. “I’ll give you a few minutes to decide on a drink order,” she says.

  Mom must quickly spot whichever type of wine she has in mind because she places the drink list down and folds her hands down on her menu. “So, are you two dating?” She comes right out with the first intruding question.

  “We have gone on dates,” Brody says, “So, I think it’s safe to answer your question with a yes.” Brody doesn’t look over at me after answering Mom, probably out of fear for whatever look is on my face.

  He’s only missing out on the smile I’m desperately trying to conceal.

  “I’m glad you two have found a friend in one another. I heard you paid Adam a visit too,” Mom says to Brody.

  “I did.”

  “I think it was very sweet of you to do so. How are your parents, Brody? It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve spoken to your mom.”

  “She is out with the girls tonight, seeing a movie. She’s well. I know she’s been busy planning a benefit for one of her former colleagues. I think they have her caught up in the logistics.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right, she mentioned the benefit. Well, good. It’s important for us middle-aged women to stay busy.”

  I can’t help but narrow my eyes in on Mom, wondering what thoughts are bubbling through her head. I get the feeling she has an agenda, but I’m not sure what it could be about. “How are you feeling?” she asks me, keeping her question subtle enough in case I didn’t go into detail about my health issues with Brody.

  “I’m okay. I have a couple appointments next week, so I’m on the right track.”

  Mom places her hand on her chest and exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

  “I know—uh—you know what’s going on, so I will do what I can to help her,” Brody says, seeming nervous as he reveals his understanding to Mom.

  Mom seems to relax even more as she slouches into her seat a bit. “Journey has told no one. You must be doing something to make my little girl happy. Trust me, I know it takes a lot.”

  I smirk because I know Mom is trying to get a rise out of me, but she’s right.

  Someone needs to bring Mom the wine so we can all ease up a little. The tension is thick and there’s no reason for it.

  I spoke too soon.

  “Journey, I’m so glad you finally came to visit,” Marco says as he approaches the table. “Welcome to Chez Tru.” He takes a quick look at Mom and Brody then back at me. “Dinner is on the house. Please, order whatever you would like.”

  I don’t offer my gratitude. I bite my tongue instead.

  Once Marco is out of hearing range, Brody releases a groan. “Ah, we have a Marco,” he mutters.

  “On the house?” Mom questions.

  “It’s a long story,” I say, wishing she wouldn’t say anything more.

  “Did you date him?” Mom continues.

  “God, no. He’s married. I just did a photoshoot of his entrees before the restaurant opened, and he then tried to woo me. Needless to say, it didn’t work.”

  Brody clears his throat and adjusts his chair. I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable, angry, or jealous. It’s an odd sight to see Brody uncomfortable.

  Our waitress returns with two bottles of high-end wine. “Marco sent this to the table. He thinks you’ll enjoy these,” she says.

  “Tell him, I said, thanks but no thanks. We are perfectly happy to pay for our meals.”

  Neither Brody nor Mom interject my statement. “Of course. I’ll let him know.”

  “Has he called you again?” Brody asks.

  “Just once, two weeks ago, but I told him if he had any further requests to send them through email. That was the last I heard from him.”

  “This will be the last time I spring a dinner surprise on Journey,” Brody jokes to Mom.

  “You know what? Life is a bunch of tests. We can’t avoid them all, right?” Mom says.

  “Good point,” I agree. My life has been made up of final exams. “Sweetie, please remind me to give you something before we leave. I have it in the car for you.”

  “What is it?” I’m not sure what it could be.

  “It’s something I think you’re ready for.” Her explanation is simple, but I have no other thought aside from whatever it is having to do with Dad.

  Mom gives Brody a wink, telling me they spoke more than I assumed they did at the grocery store. “I saw that, Mom.”

  I swat at Brody. “What are you not telling me?”

  “It’s nothing,” Mom says. “Stop it. You’ll see after dinner.”

  Marco returns with the open bottles of wine, making this a dinner that will likely never end. “Is there a problem with my finest wine?”

  “Bud, she said no to your wine. That seems to be the only problem right now,” Brody says.

  “Who turns down a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine? Two for that matter?” Marco continues.

  “Hey, Polo, is that your name? I was going to keep quiet and pretend like you didn’t stalk my girlfriend down the street recently with an inquiry to go out with you, but I know for a fact she said no to you that night too, and if I were you, I would figure out what the word means before I write up a little story about you on Yelp. Are we clear?”

  I’m staring at Mom because I don’t want to look at Brody or Marco for the sake of staying out of the confrontation I don’t have the energy for. However, Mom is blushing and fanning herself with some kind of enjoyment in what is playing out two feet away.

  “I apologize, sir. I had no idea Journey was bothered by me. I assure you, I will not bother her again. However, I might suggest finding another location to dine.”

  “You dick,” I shout. “I had no clue we were coming here tonight, but if I had, I would have warned my mother and—” is he my boyfriend? He just referred to me as his girlfriend. Is this happening right now? Am I committing? Screw this. “My boyfriend is the reason why this restaurant only looks good in the photos displayed in the local dining magazine. I said no. I said no three times, in fact, and you felt the need to continue your pursuit through a phone call to meet you about edited photos you already received and accepted as final. Considering how few restaurants are in this area, I’m aware of what a simple word can do to your business, but by the looks of the dozens of empty tables, i
t appears someone has already beaten me to the gossip line.”

  Brody’s mouth is hanging open with shock and Mom is grinning even prouder than she was when Brody was going at the guy.

  “I—I apologize for whatever you are misconstruing as inappropriate behavior,” he says.

  I raise my brows, giving him a sympathetic look as I grab my phone from my bag. I touch the Yelp app, search for the restaurant and tap the little one-star square to add a review. “I think I’ll use a title like this: ‘Home-Wrecking-French-Cuisine-Wannabee-Owner’.” I tap my finger on my chin before typing anything more. “Oh, andI know … here’s a good review: The only truth about Chez Tru is the desperation to serve more than just food on a plate. The overrated entrees, poor representation, and the plates come with smaller than normal portions, which seem to be a theme well matched to Marco a.k.a. home-wrecking owner. I highly advise against visiting this new cliché hole in the wall that will surely be bankrupt due to the lack of patrons and/or health-code violations.”

  “Journey, I apologized. Please don’t take it out on the restaurant. I’ve invested so much into starting this business. Honestly, I would be heartbroken to see my hard work go to waste.”

  I stare at Marco, debating my choices: the high road or the I’m not letting him do this to any other poor girl road. I click submit on my review and place my phone down. “I will have the duck confit,” I say. “And water, please.”

  “Same,” Brody says, covering his mouth.

  “That sounds lovely,” Mom follows.

  Marco’s nostrils flare and he walks off with his hands behind his back. “How was this woman still available?” Brody asks Mom. “You have done a fine job raising this girl.”

  “Well, thank you, Brody. I tried to get Journey to filter her thoughts for quite some time, but her father constantly reminded me, the world needs more honesty and that’s what you get with her. I sometimes wish I had the nerve to be as outspoken, but thankful she can be that person for me when needed.”

  “Every day, you surprise me a little more. That’s what I like the most about you,” Brody tells me, taking my hand and holding it between his on top of the table, in front of Mom, displaying the truth we both feel.

  Dinner was no longer awkward, nor did we see Marco again before leaving. The food was actually fairly decent, but no one should support a pig like him so the review will stay.

  The three of us left the restaurant, cheerful and satisfied with a night that turned out better than expected. “Oh, one-second, Journey. I need to give you something.”

  I almost forgot.

  Mom unlocks her SUV and takes a brown paper bag out, handing it to me. “Your father wanted you to have this on a special date, and your birthday is still too far away, but I realize tonight is a special date because I get to see my daughter happy for the first time in far too long. This sentiment is the first of many you will receive throughout your lifetime, so follow the message Dad left for you.”

  24

  I am holding the paper bag safely in my hands. As I stare out the windshield of Brody’s truck, I realize my mom didn’t seem interested in watching me find whatever is inside. I’ve noticed this more lately since Dad passed away. Some things she avoids at all costs. She knows what will set her off, and she fights the pain like she’s in a solo war against the world.

  “You have to open it,” Brody says. He has zero intentions of moving the vehicle before I remove the contents of the bag.

  “What if I want to open it alone?” It’s something I would normally do, but Brody has been slowly changing my normal tendencies into unchartered behaviors.

  “What if it’s something you’ll want company for?” he presses.

  “Didn’t you just fight the good fight about taking a “no” from someone?”

  Brody laughs and shakes his head at me. “First, you didn’t say no. Second, I’m feeling a little emasculated after that beautiful showdown, but I’ve never been prouder to say, ‘that girl’s mine … I think.’”

  “You think?”

  “Is this real? You and I?” he asks.

  “You and me?” I correct him with a snicker.

  “Me and you. Us. We—just like this.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Brody.”

  “Good, now open the bag.”

  I close my eyes and pull in a sharp breath before reaching into the bag, feeling the cool glass of a bourbon bottle slide across my fingertips. “I should have figured,” I say.

  “What is it?”

  I pull the bottle out, and Brody turns the overhead lights on. I study the bottle—the unfamiliar with the name of the bourbon. I know every type Dad ever made, but never a type called Bourbon on the Rocks. It’s a good drink. I know that, but it isn’t the name of a bourbon—not our bourbon. I twist the bottle around, finding a description typed onto the label. I read it out loud:

  * * *

  My Journey - this brand of Quinn Bourbon is all yours. It’s the gift to set you free, the gift to give you hope, a gift to celebrate the start of a new beginning. This bottle isn’t meant for consumption. This bottle is intended to let you release your pain without creating more. Go to where it hurts the most and set the bourbon free. When this bottle is empty, you will be able to refill it with stories of new adventures, memories, and moments worth saving in words. The bourbon will seep into the cracks and crevices of this world and forever be the reminder of the anguish you set free. Continue to love, continue to give, continue to hold onto what’s important, but there’s plenty of room for more because your journey has barely begun, sweetheart. Move forward and keep going. I promise you there are enough bottles with your name on it. The bottles are covered with enough words of wisdom to last you the life you have to live without me.

  * * *

  My heart aches—the raw pain of knowing what it is I have to do. Dad knows the place that hurts me the most. He knows forgiveness for myself is not something I can accomplish alone. He always called me his strong girl—his warrior, but this is my weakness. Letting go and accepting fate is extremely hard. He wouldn’t want to see the tears, so I try my hardest not to cry. But, the burn is there. I feel the need to fall to pieces and scream into oblivion until the core of my body feels hollow. I’ve kept it all inside like a shaken carbonated liquid, ready to explode.

  I exhale through pursed lips, calming myself from the truthful words.

  Brody gives me the time I need to compose myself. “It’s okay to be mad and to feel the pain of what you’ve lived through, but he’s right.”

  “The road I told you not to go down,” I say, my words barely forming a whisper. “It’s where I need to be.” Brody locks his gaze to my face, waiting for me to say never mind or take me home. “Please.”

  “All you have to do is say the word, and I will pull over and turn around, okay?”

  I nod, agreeing to his offer.

  The ride takes about fifteen minutes until we pull off the exit I avoid. “It’s a mile ahead on the right.” The truck is quiet, and I can hardly hear the engine above the heavy beats of my heart. My eyes are closed when the truck comes to a stop. The dirt on the side of the road crushes sharply beneath the tires, and bile threatens to rise in my throat. “I feel sick.”

  “You will be okay. Try pouring out the bottle instead this time,” Brody says. He’s out of the truck before I have found the handle. Brody opens my door and offers me his hand. I never take a hand. I do things the hard way. This feels better. He squeezes his hand around mine and walks me toward the ledge. “You don’t have to look.”

  My breaths grow heavier and faster. “I have to.”

  I slowly open my eyes, finding the same pile of rocks that have survived damage, debris, cold, hot, floods, and tears. My hand is shaking furiously, so Brody wraps his hand around the neck of the bottle and loosens the top. “Come on. You’re strong enough to do this.”

  I remove the cap and place it in my pocket, then hold my arm out in front of me and slowly tip the bo
ttle, feeling the contents spill out. The sound of a trickle becomes a splash, then droplets, one after another. The bottle is empty, light in my hand, free of the burning substance that has been waiting to be released.

  I swallow hard and take a few deep breaths, feeling the sensation of nausea pass. I stare up at the stars and speak out loud, “Okay, it’s empty.”

  My foot slips on the rock I’m standing on and tumble down the hill a couple of feet. I land on my butt, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

  “Journey!” Brody shouts, making his way down after me.

  “I’m okay.” I press my hands into the rocks on both sides of me and stare down into the dark cavern.

  “Are you sure?” Brody sits down beside me and places his hand on my knee.

  “Yeah,” I say, twisting my head to look at him. As my gaze scans across the rocks, something glistening catches my eye. It’s a few more feet down. “Do you see that?”

  “What?” Brody asks, looking around.

  “Hold this,” I say, handing Brody the empty Bourbon bottle. I carefully lower myself a couple more feet, careful not to go too close to the ledge. I see the glistening object again and reach into the crevice, feeling metal touch my fingertips. I press my hand in farther, feeling the scrape of the sharp edges against my hands. “There’s something here.”

  “Journey, you’re going to slip,” Brody says, reaching for my arm.

  I pry the object out from between the rocks, staring down at the dirt-covered metal. It’s a keychain, attached to another keychain in the shape of a G-Clef. These are Adams. “Oh, my God.”

  “What does it say?” Brody asks, still trying to pull me up from where I’m crouched.

  I rub my thumb over the circular metal keychain, revealing etched letters. After cleaning the dirt off, I hold the metal under the light of the moon and read the words:

  “It’s better to have loved,