A Season For Hope (A Fairhope Christmas Novella)

by Cannon, Sarra

  My stomach tightens as I think about Preston and the blond mystery chick. What are the odds I might run into him tonight?

  I swallow down the worry and press on, determined to prove to Monica that I’m at least making an effort.

  As we walk, I concentrate on the pretty decorations. Wreaths, silver bells, red ribbons. It’s beautiful out here.

  Christmas has always been my favorite time of year, but I’ve barely even noticed it this year.

  My mother always says that Christmas is a season for hope. As Monica and I walk toward the nightclub near the pier, I send a prayer up toward the stars that hope will somehow find its way back to me.

  Chapter Six

  “Another,” Monica says, motioning to the bartender.

  He nods and pours two more shots.

  I breathe in deep and grab the glass off the counter. I lift it high, turning toward her on my bar-stool. “Here’s to moving forward.”

  “Damn straight,” she says. She clinks her glass against mine and we both throw them back.

  The Jager is both sweet and bitter as it hits my tongue. The licorice flavor puckers the sides of my mouth, and I swallow it down fast. My throat burns for an instant and then my belly warms.

  My head spins with a feeling of sweet surrender. God, I haven’t felt like this is weeks. Maybe months. It’s like the second I decided to have a good time, something inside me switched on. I feel dangerous, like I’m capable of anything tonight.

  Like I’m capable of being anyone.

  Right now, I’m tired of being Bailey. I’m so incredibly tired of being the one constantly doubting where I’m heading or how anyone feels about me. I’m done with it always feeling like I’m not good enough. All of that pain is too damn heavy. I can’t carry it anymore or I’m going to fall so far down inside myself that I’ll never come up again.

  Monica slams her empty glass down on the counter and grabs my hand. “Let’s dance.”

  I hook my feet around the bottom of the bar-stool and try to pull away. Okay, so maybe I don’t feel as free as I thought.

  “Uh-huh. No freaking way,” I say.

  I look toward the dance floor. It’s a mass of sweaty bodies grinding together in the pulsing lights. Mostly couples. I don’t need that kind of pressure right now.

  “You said you were up for anything tonight,” she reminds me. “Stop being so scared to be happy, dammit.”

  I pout. “I’m here, right? Isn’t that a start?”

  “It’s not enough,” she says. “Come on.”

  She offers her hand to me again and I stare down at it, my heart racing. I don’t know why it’s so scary for me. It’s been so long since I was in a place like this without Preston to hold onto.

  I’m so used to sitting alone on nights he didn’t want to go out. I centered my entire life around Preston Wright, and I don’t know how to live it without him.

  I look into Monica’s eyes and I can see she’s almost reached her limit with me.

  She’s fed up, and I get it. I do.

  A nervous ball of energy forms under my ribs. My heart beats against my chest. I bite the inside of my lip. Why is this so hard? Wasn’t I just thinking I felt fearless? How can I go back to being scared a heartbeat later? It’s almost as if there are two versions of myself fighting inside of me. One is scared and clings to the past. The other is desperate to change and find happiness.

  I swallow, then take her hand.

  She screams and throws her free hand over her head. “Yes! Let’s do this,” she shouts.

  I laugh and slip off the stool. We weave our way through the crowd of dancers, the music thumping hard and the lights swirling in my vision.

  We stop somewhere in the middle of all these people. At first, I’m hesitant. Awkward. I move my body to the music, but I’m composed and completely out of my element. I look around at the faces of the people surrounding me. I recognize some of them from classes. A few of them were friends of mine in high school. I wait for them to notice me, half expecting some of them to look at me with that same pity I’ve been seeing from everyone for weeks.

  I’m just the poor dumped ex-girlfriend of the hottest, richest guy in town. I’m no one without him.

  But no one looks. No one even notices me.

  Monica is easy and free on the dance floor. I watch her, wanting to be more like her. She’s not tied down by anything. She’s just free to be herself and she’s never really cared what anyone thinks of her.

  Why can’t I be like that?

  She opens her eyes and sees me staring at her. She shakes her head and smiles. She grabs my hands and begins to dance with me. I laugh because she’s making a fool of herself and she doesn’t even care.

  She pulls me toward her and shouts in my ear, “Just let it go, Bailey. Just for one night.”

  Tears well up in my eyes. She makes it sound so easy. As if healing my heart is only a matter of deciding not to hurt. As if it’s just that simple.

  And what if it is?

  I breath in and out and let the music fill me up. I think about all the weeks of sadness and wonder what it would feel like to let it all go. To choose happiness instead. To be free from the burden of it all.

  My body loosens and my movements become more fluid and organic.

  I give in to the moment, concentrating on the thumping bass and the sweat rolling down my spine.

  I close my eyes and forget that anyone else is here. No one is watching me or judging me. No one is telling me I’m not good enough. I don’t have anyone or anything to answer to right now but myself. With every movement, a piece of my shell breaks loose and flakes away.

  A tear slides down my cheek, but this time, it’s different. I’m not crying from sadness or heartbreak. These tears are coming from a place deep inside that has been clinging to this belief that I’m not worthy of love or friendship. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or maybe it’s from seeing Preston flirting with someone new. I don’t know. But for some reason, I feel a new me stirring just under the surface of my skin.

  My tears begin to fall harder and faster.

  The more I break free, the more I begin to sob. I can’t breathe.

  I turn and run, pushing my way through the crowd. I think I hear Monica shout my name, but I don’t look back.

  I run straight toward the back door and bolt out into the alleyway behind the club.

  As soon as the door closes behind me, I double over, clutching my stomach. I lean back against the brick wall, sobs shaking my body.

  I let all those things I haven’t wanted to admit to myself pour through me. I let them come to the surface and I face them, finally understanding that my worst fears have all come true. The whole time I was with Preston, I felt like such a fraud. I never felt that I belonged in that group of friends with their expensive clothes and their privileged lives. I always felt lesser and everything I did—every choice I made along the way—was about pleasing them or trying to be one of them.

  But now I know the truth.

  I never really did belong. If those people had been my real friends, they would have rallied around me when Preston broke things off. Instead, I haven’t heard a single word from Summer or Krystal in weeks. Without Preston, I’m nothing to them.

  And deep down, I always knew it was true.

  I wipe the waterfall of tears from my cheeks and chest, breathing deeply as my sobs begin to calm. I’m sure by now all of the makeup I put on earlier is completely gone. My eyes feel puffy and raw. But I feel different. Purged.

  A tingle spreads through my body, as if something has shifted for me. As if the universe is trying to tell me something big is right around the corner.

  Just then, the back door swings open and someone steps out, a cell phone clutched in his hand.

  I glance up and my breath catches in my throat. It's the sexy med-student with the hazel eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  I stand there like a deer caught in headlights.

  He lifts his cell phone to his
ear, then turns and sees me. His lips part and for a brief moment, we’re two statues. Then, slowly, his lips curl into a smile that makes my heart skip a beat.

  Judd’s hand falls to his side, his call forgotten.

  “Bailey,” he says.

  “Judd.” I raise my hand in a salute, then feel stupid.

  He shakes his head. “Twice in one day,” he says. “Lucky.”

  My hands tingle. “Lucky for you, maybe.” I point to the gash on my head.

  He laughs. “I really am sorry about that,” he says. “Can I buy you a drink to make it up to you?”

  He hitches his thumb back toward the door.

  I am breathless. Is this what the universe had in mind for me all along? “Sure, why not?”

  He puts his phone back in his pocket, then pushes his hair behind his ears. His face is freshly shaved and when he moves, I catch the scent of him on the wind. Instead of the worn jeans he was wearing earlier, he’s changed into a pair of dark jeans that hug the muscles in his thighs. His dark navy button-up shirt is open slightly at the top, showing off the smooth chest beneath.

  “Did you need to make a call?” I ask.

  He opens the door and the music spills out into the alley. “It’s not important,” he says. “I was just checking in on a project I've got going in the labs. What were you doing out here, anyway?”

  I laugh, knowing he has to notice my red eyes and tear-stained face. I probably have raccoon eyes from my mascara at this point. If he still wants to buy me a drink after seeing me cry twice in one day, this guy’s insane. “I was having an epiphany,” I say.

  “Oh really?” He gives me that smile again. That half-smile that makes him look like he has a secret. A sexy secret I’m dying to know. “What kind of epiphany?”

  “Buy me that drink and maybe I’ll tell you.”

  Judd leads me toward the bar. We sit down on a corner so that our bar-stools are facing each other instead of just side-by-side. I want to hide my face. I have to look horrible. At least Monica stayed true to her promise and brought me to a dark place.

  “What do you want?” Judd asks. He motions toward the bartender and orders a beer for himself.

  Out of habit, I order a Jack and coke. It’s my go-to drink when I’m with Preston. He made a joke once that I was more fun when I was drinking Jack Daniels, so I started ordering it all the time. I don’t even really like it that much. All I’ve cared about for the past three years is whether Preston wanted me to like something.

  “Wait,” I call out to the bartender. He grabs Judd’s beer from the cooler and walks back toward us.

  “Can I get something else instead?”

  “Of course, you want another shot of Jagermeister?”

  I shake my head. I don’t even know what to order. I just know I don’t care if I never have another Jack and coke in my life. “What can you make that’s Christmas-y? Something strong that tastes good.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Judd raise an eyebrow at the word strong. He takes a quick drink of his beer. “Sounds like you have your work cut out for you, Beau.”

  “I think I have just the thing,” Beau says. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

  “Do you guys know each other?” I ask Judd when the bartender walks away.

  Judd nods. “Yeah, he’s one of my good buddies. I hang out here on the weekends when I’m not working in the lab or studying,” he says. “Sometimes he slips me free drinks. It’s a perk of being friends with a bartender.”

  “Ah,” I say, swiveling on my stool. “So when you said you’d buy me a drink, what you meant was that you’d buy me a free drink?”

  He cuts his eyes toward me and one side of his mouth curls into a smile, that I have to say gets my heart racing a little bit. How did I miss how good looking this guy is?

  “Maybe,” he says. “Dating on a budget 101. Find a bar where you can get free drinks.”

  I laugh. Dating on a budget was never in Preston’s vocabulary. He spent money like it grew on trees. I guess for him it really kind of does.

  Still, the fact that Judd just used the word ‘dating’ sends a funny jolt through my mid-section.

  When Beau comes back, he’s carrying a bright green drink in a martini glass, garnished with a red cherry.

  “Wow, this looks amazing,” I say. “What’s in it?”

  “Vodka and Midori,” Beau says.

  I take a sip and am instantly addicted. “I can’t even taste the alcohol in this.”

  “Exactly the point,” he says. He winks at Judd, then takes off to help a group of girls who just hobbled over from the dance floor.

  “What was that wink about? Are you trying to get me drunk?” I tease.

  Judd throws up his hands. “I didn’t say that,” he says. “It just seems like you’ve had the kind of day where you could really benefit from a couple of drinks.”

  My smile fades and I play with the cherry. “Is it that obvious?”

  “That you’ve had a bad day?” he asks. “Other than the fact that you’ve got a nasty cut on your forehead from some jerk hitting you in the face with a door, you were just standing in the alley of a nightclub crying. I’d say, yeah, it’s pretty obvious.”

  Part of me wants to get up and walk away. What kind of guy tells you straight out that you look like hell and could use a drink? Then again, other than Monica, not many people in my life are willing to tell it like it is. Most of the people I know have been tiptoeing around me like I was a ticking time-bomb ever since Preston broke up with me. No one wants to push me or really talk to me about what I’ve been going through.

  This guy doesn’t seem to have any trouble just cutting through the bullshit and talking about the obvious.

  He’s very different from Preston, and right now, that’s exactly what I’m looking for.

  One glance at the dance floor tells me Monica’s going to be here for a while. She’s dancing with some guy I don’t recognize. And calling what they’re doing dancing is really a stretch, considering they’re mostly just grinding each other.

  I may as well sit here and enjoy myself. What could a few more drinks hurt?

  “So, Judd, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you since this afternoon,” I say.

  He takes another drink and my eyes drift to his mouth as it touches the glass. My stomach flips and I force my eyes away.

  “Ask me anything,” he says.

  I look down at the napkin and fiddle with a small plastic straw. It’s been years since I looked at anyone and felt that first flutter of excitement and attraction. Either this is the greatest drink ever invented or there might really be something here.

  I almost lose my train of thought in my nervousness.

  “Why do I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before?” I ask. “You look familiar, but I can’t remember ever meeting you before.”

  He laughs. “The Cup,” he says. “I come in there a lot to study.”

  My eyes widen and I study him. “Caramel mocha,” I say, snapping my fingers. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

  How in the heck did I not notice how amazing and sexy he is before now? Was I really so blinded by Preston that I missed something that was right in front of my eyes?

  Or is the alcohol going straight to my crotch?

  Judd downs the rest of his beer and taps the bar top twice. Beau sets another down a few seconds later, like this is something they do all the time.

  “You don’t strike me as a med student,” I say, taking another sip of this magical green cocktail.

  “Why?” He chuckles.

  I shrug. “Long, impossible hours. No time for fun,” I say. “Plus, you don’t look the type.”

  I honestly don’t know why I’m saying all this. The alcohol is making my head spin and there doesn’t seem to be a filter between my brain and my mouth at the moment.

  He leans closer. “It’s the hair right?”

  I nod and look him over. “Yeah,
maybe a little,” I say. “And the shoes.”

  He cocks his head toward me. “Shoes?”

  “I know it’s stupid, but I’ve always thought a person’s shoes said a lot about their character. Their ambitions, if you will. And you’re wearing those beat-up tennis shoes with a hole in them,” I say. “I would have guessed you were more of an anthropology major or something. Maybe psych. Something more liberal arts than science.”

  “Oh really?” he says. “I never considered guessing someone’s major by their shoes, but I’ll have to try it some time.”

  He looks down and I realize he’s looking at my shoes. I giggle and turn, holding my legs out straight so he can see my shoes clearly.

  “What’s your best guess?”

  I’m wearing a pair of red heels that are just barely covered by the cuff of my dark blue jeans. I almost always wear heels when I go out. Otherwise, I’m super short compared to everyone else around me. Besides, Preston is tall and he always liked for me to wear heels, so I always did. I have a closet full of them.

  Judd brings a hand to his face, rubbing his chin and looking serious. I can’t help but laugh at his intense study of my red heels.

  “Red shoes are very complex,” he says. His eyes travel all the way up my legs and he takes his time. My body heats up at his intense look. “They say you’re daring and not afraid to be yourself. Red heels definitely say confident and classy, but with a touch of rebel.”

  I laugh, but not because he’s right. I laugh because he’s so far off, he’s not even in the right zip code. I may act confident, but the truth is that I’m terrified of being myself. I’ve spent the majority of my life in a constant state of worry about what other people will think of me.

  “Education or maybe something like Communication,” he says finally.

  “Which one?” I say. “You can only choose one.”

  “Definitely Education, then,” he says. “You’ve got that sexy teacher vibe about you.”

  Warmth spreads up my neck and cheeks. He thinks I’m sexy? I can’t even remember the last time someone called me that.