by Jamie Magee
She stepped back and someone bellowed, “Burn” in their direction.
Hunter flipped them off, then just to make a point he pulled her against him. “I want you now…don’t make me wait,” he breathed into her ear.
She stepped back. “Listen to what I have to say tonight, then we’ll talk about your wants.”
A weak smile creased his lips. “Don’t make me wait, baby.”
It was close to three in the A.M. before she left the bar. A good six hours since Hunter’s band had left the stage.
She found her key in her bag and made her way to the second floor room. The lights were out in her and Hunter’s room, but the other band members’ rooms had music blaring from them. It was a wonder they hadn’t been kicked out yet or had the cops called on them.
As she slid the key in and opened the door, a cloud of smoke escaped. She let out a near silent curse. He only smoked when he drank, and sure enough the first thing her foot grazed across was an empty fifth. Fantastic. This was step one into hell, a path she’d been down more times than she cared to recount.
She let her bag drop and reached for the cheap lamp by the door. As soon as she clicked it on to its lowest setting, a sick feeling slammed into her.
He was stark naked, passed out in their bed. Lying across him was the bottle blonde bitch who’d knocked her down earlier. All she was wearing was a black thong, and what was left of her black lipstick was all over Hunter.
Numb, she stood still. Her ice blue stare appraised this girl lying next to the boy she’d given far too many years of her life to.
Clean break, she thought. You wanted it, take it and run, Georgia.
She had no idea where it came from, but a sense of serenity washed over her. “Grace.” The word slipped from her lips for no reason.
In the odd moment, she shook her head as if she were arguing with some guardian angel. She had no idea why she’d said the word or why the room, which was rank with smoke, liquor, and sex, suddenly smelled like lavender.
In a haze, or maybe shock, she walked forward and grabbed her bag from the bathroom. She pulled out the red lipstick that she only used when the mood struck her, and across the mirror she wrote: Goodbye, Hunter. Then she signed her name.
She opened the crappy safe the room had, took out her laptop, grabbed her other bags, and walked out of the room without so much as a backward glance.
Not one breath left her lips as she walked down the street with her bags weighing her down. She had no idea where she was going and must have looked like she’d seen a ghost, or at the very least had crossed trauma’s path. She attracted the attention of an officer on his nightly patrol. As soon as he figured out she was not hurt or tripping on anything, he asked to take her somewhere safe, off the streets.
He ended up taking her to an actual hotel, one of the ones business people could stay in for weeks at a time.
Georgia paid for a week and checked in just shy of dawn. As soon as the bags hit the floor in her own personal room, reality hit her. She was sick to her bones and barely made it to the porcelain god before she lost all the energy drinks she had downed to stay awake through the night.
Right there was where she stayed. Too weak to move. Everything flashing through her mind, every time she’d sat with Hunter as he went through detox.
This was her detox, she told herself. This was her body flushing out the past. Flushing out her stupidity, all the wasted years. The path with no direction. The wasted everything.
Hours later, her phone vibrating against the tile floor of the entryway roused her. She crawled to it. Thinking if it was her brother and she didn’t answer he’d send someone to track her down, if not come looking for her himself.
It wasn’t him. It was Hunter. The coward was sending a text, not calling. It read ‘Babe, where are you. I fucked up. But I didn’t fuck her, even if I did I don’t remember it.’
Like that made it all right. All it really did was send her right back to the bathroom. After a shower, and a few dizzy sways, she made her way back to her phone. There was another text. ‘We had to go, two cities over. I emailed you the directions. I’ll sign up for rehab when the tour is over. It was just one slip. Babe, the last one.’
The last one is right, she thought. This was it.
The smart thing to do would be to go home to her brother. To a town where she at least knew one person she could trust. But she knew right now, being this broken, those old memories in that town would rip her in two—and that was what she told every single thought that popped into her head that told her she needed to be there.
I have to find me first, she thought. Figure out what the hell I want.
A week later, just to make things official, she changed her online relationship status.
She stared at her screen, waiting for the responses, waiting for those to congratulate her, and those to scorn her.
***
Memphis Armstrong was rocking back and forth in his office chair, waiting for his sister to call. Over the last few days, she had only texted. She was avoiding him—which made his skin boil. He wasn’t mad at her; he was just sure the loser of a boyfriend had gone down a dark road once again.
Wyatt Doran was leaning against the wall in the office. “Chill, boss man. You know she keeps late hours. Noon might as well be dawn to her.”
Memphis shot him a hard glare just because he was the only one around.
Wyatt knew this scene his sister was in. Back when he and Easton were on the road, they made it a point to see band after band. It was a wonder the two of them had put any college credits under their belt with all those wild nights, much less a degree. Thankfully it was out of their system now, for the most part, at least. Now they were both on the fire department with Memphis, in the same house.
The only wandering spirit Memphis had left to tame was his kid sister, and she was stubborn enough to make it hard as hell on him.
“The fucker did something,” he growled. “She only avoids me like this when she’s hiding something.”
“Then we’ll deal with him,” Wyatt said in a deep, even tone as his ice blue eyes rose to meet Memphis’s.
“I have to figure out what state they’re in first.”
Wyatt looked at his phone. “Pennsylvania. It’s all good.”
“How do you know?”
Wyatt waved his phone. “Her post at midnight was from there.”
“You’re friends with her online? What did she say?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘friends,’ but yeah. She was promoting a band I follow.” Wyatt chuckled. “If you figured out how to use your phone, you’d be able to keep tabs without looking like an insane fool.”
Memphis let his gaze fall to Wyatt’s phone. “Tracking anyone else on there?”
“Just making sure the bitch is on the run,” he said with snarl.
Memphis smirked, then began clicking to find maps. He could fly to Georgia in under an hour—driving would take him at least five hours. Either way he was going to talk to her or see her today. A second later he heard, “What bitch are you two asses tracking.”
The tension in the room was immediate. Memphis glanced up to see everyone in the fire hall staring at his office door, to see Easton Ballantine standing there, his intense green eyes with gray circles beneath them.
They were tracking a bitch who seemed hell-bent on destroying Easton, but they’d never tell him so. Easton did what he wanted, when he wanted. At least, after Lucas died he did, and when he did he got himself in some serious shit. Which was going to forever mark his life—no going back now.
The only rainbow to this shit storm he was in was the fact it brought back the Easton they all knew and loved before Lucas died. He was still apathetic in general but he was the kind of guy you could count on, who did what had to be done. He was a friend, a brother.
“Bad news?” Memphis asked in a level tone, expecting the worst. Knowing who they were tracking was not really Easton’s focus right now.
When
Easton cracked a wry smile, the tension left. “You miss me?”
Easton had been on leave for weeks, and rightly so. He was needed at home, or rather the hospital. It had been touch-and-go for a while, more go than touch.
“Family first, brother, but yeah. We need you here.”
Easton nodded once as he leaned against the doorframe and pushed his hands into his jean pockets. “I can’t come back the same as I left,” he said in the baritone voice he was known for.
Memphis stood from his chair, walked to the front of his desk, and leaned against it before he leveled a stare on him. Wyatt shifted his glance between the pair of them, not sure where this was going.
Easton looked Memphis right in the eye. “I need off the truck.” Before Memphis could object he went on. “I want the engine. I need to be on the engine.”
The tension elevated once more. Not because of malice, but because none of them ever spoke about their scars, the marks of their past. But every once in a while those scars would surface in moments like this.
Easton’s father was a legend in the town of Willowhaven—a first responder who dominated the truck just as Easton had today. A first responder who gave his life for another.
Truth be told, there was no safe place when it came to fires, on any of the calls this house went on, but Memphis could see Easton’s point. On the engine he would at least have water between him and the flames.
“I doubt your request will be turned down,” Memphis said after a stiff moment. “Everything at home okay?”
If the boys at the house were not on shift, at least one of them had been with Easton at the hospital, giving him support from the brotherhood they all called family. Memphis had heard ‘stable’ over and over when he checked in, but ‘stable’ was not in the clear, not when it came to Easton’s girl. The girl who was making him think twice about rushing into fires.
Easton cracked a smile. It took years off him, made him seem alive for the first time in a long while. He glanced over his shoulder to see how close the others were to him. Seeing they were staying clear of Memphis’s office, he turned back to Memphis. “There was a huge milestone the other night, just before dawn.” He stopped short.
Memphis and Wyatt knew him well enough to know emotion had stopped his words. To anyone else, it would seem like some kind of basic update. “She and I have a deal. We’re going to be just fine. I just have to make a few adjustments.”
“Like moving off the truck,” Memphis stated.
Easton glanced at Wyatt. “And moving out of the apartment.”
Wyatt’s brow lifted. “Oh, daddy-o, don’t do that to me…”
“You know this makes sense. Don’t say I’m wrong because I’m not.”
“Where the hell you gonna go?” Wyatt protested. “The house is almost done. We’ll have plenty of room when it is. Truman has already claimed the apartment as his.”
“I’m going back to mom’s place for a minute. Get straight. Then looking at a building or buying a house.”
“All right, then,” Wyatt said with one nod, knowing if he was in Easton’s spot he might hover near his mom, too. “Mom’s it is.”
“I just need two more weeks,” Easton said to Memphis.
“Got it. Anything you need.”
Easton glanced down at the phone in Memphis’s hand. “You heading on a road trip?” he asked with a ghost of a stare.
“Depends…” Memphis said with a sigh. “I’m looking for Georgia. She’s M.I.A. again.”
Just hearing her name seized every muscle in Easton’s body. The months after he last saw her she was in every single thought, every day. Now he managed to only let her surface late at night as he drifted to sleep.
Easton had convinced himself he and Georgia were bad news, and she deserved better. So years back when he heard Memphis cussing out some guy on the phone one day about a lawsuit and understood what kind of life Georgia had then, he hated himself. He might not have been awesome, but he surely would’ve never gotten Georgia tangled up in some legal battle, or had her moving all over the place.
He asked Memphis why he wasn’t doing anything about it. Memphis’s reply was Georgia said she loved him, and she needed someone to love right then. He said she was broken…more broken than he’d ever known her to be.
After hearing the explanation, Easton had gotten so drunk he forgot his name. He did so a few more times for good measure. It didn’t help, though. He still thought about her as he closed his eyes at night, her dark purple hair, and those blue eyes. How fragile she felt as she slept against him—the hunger and peace she brought forth.
The deal was, right now, drinking was out of the question. Any and all bad vices were out of the question. He didn’t have time to wonder what might have been. He had to center his thoughts on what mattered.
“I think she’s at Sawyer’s bar—or was last night,” Wyatt said, stealing Easton from his twisted thoughts.
Doing his best not to reveal any secrets better left alone to Memphis, he asked Wyatt, “Anyone else we know ‘round there.”
Knowing of every indiscretion Easton had in his past, Wyatt clenched his jaw before he spoke. “A few nights ago, not now.”
Easton clenched his fist, then met Memphis’s dark stare. “Sawyer Wright’s venue is legit. If she’s there, she’s fine. He has four daughters, keeps a close eye on anyone ‘round their age out of instinct. And he doesn’t tolerate losers in his bar—ever.”
Curiously, Memphis shifted his gaze between Wyatt and Easton.
“I’m out,” Easton said before Memphis could ask what the hell was up. “When you post the shifts, text me, ok?”
Memphis nodded stiffly.
“That girl slaughtered our boy,” Memphis bit out once Easton was gone.
“Trish is a twisted bitch. No one will argue with you there, boss man, not even our old crowd.”
“So I should blame you for letting that trash in our town?”
“Me? Hell no. I told him to shut her down the second she started hitting him up again. Bad news.” Wyatt let out a breath. “Don’t worry, boss man. I’m going to give him some time to level out, then I’m going to get him out and about again. Make damn sure he knows he’s too good for Trish. We’ll get him back.”
Memphis swallowed a curse as he went back to his desk.
“Ha! This will make your day, boss. Georgia left her boy.”
Memphis jerked his head in Wyatt’s direction to see him with a wide grin strapped across his face as he read his screen.
“Relationship status has been changed.”
“Could be a fight,” Memphis said, not daring to get his hopes up.
“No, man, if you see a post like this, then it’s done. The real deal. She has never changed it before.”
Memphis took the phone just to read it for himself. He didn’t get social networking at all. It seemed like a sham to him; considering the image of Georgia was three years old told him as much.
“At least you know why she hasn’t called you,” Wyatt said.
Memphis smirked. “Now to figure out how to get her back—she hides when she’s wounded.”
Wyatt slowly glanced up from his phone, then over his shoulder, watching Easton say goodbye to the other guys. “Yeah, I know the type.”
Chapter Five
Nearly a year later…
Georgia was sitting behind Sawyer’s desk, clicking away on his keyboard, locking in the dates she’d booked. Working a few nights in the bar built her business. If she wasn’t meeting new clients, she was meeting people she could use as models. She was making a name for herself, online anyway.
Sawyer walked in and slouched in the seat before her. “Two weeks off, huh?”
“Yep, a family wedding.”
She squinted, not caring for the semi half-truth…her brother’s best friend was getting married, so it wasn’t a ‘family’ wedding.
Wyatt, not Easton, was getting married. If it were Easton, Georgia would have jumped a plane to any oth
er country just to outrun the thought. Even after what Hunter did to her, Easton was still the biggest heartbreak she’d ever had—the boy never called her after the funeral, their night together. She knew it was best, but still, it burned.
Georgia was asked to be the photographer at the wedding, which shocked her. The girl Wyatt was marrying, not to mention the Dorans in general, were in a different world from what Georgia usually worked with.
She was looking forward to seeing Memphis. He was a lieutenant with the fire department, so he rarely traveled anymore—Georgia never really stopped traveling.
She broke his heart last Christmas when she told him, again, she couldn’t get away. Instead, she spent the holiday with Sawyer’s family. Memphis showed up at the bar on New Year’s, claimed he had to hand deliver her gift, which was a lie. He could have shipped the new camera to her, a tradition of their father’s he’d kept up; somehow, doing so made the holidays easier.
The second Memphis figured out she was staying in a week-by-week hotel, all his efforts to get her home doubled.
“Dad told you to buy a house, buy one,” he argued. It didn’t matter that their dad had been gone for years, Memphis still spoke as if what he said had to happen.
She agreed, deep down she did. But still, she was waiting for that ‘moment.’ The one her father, the dreamer—the passionate one—swore to her would always tell what was right and wrong.
Unfortunately, Georgia had a far too realistic view of the word. She knew people were broken and people left. They changed and they grew.
Memphis may have thought she was letting her father down by living in a motel and not in a safe home like he wanted, a landing spot. But in all truth she felt like she was honoring him more so by waiting for the rush he told her to look for before she laid down what he left for her. Until then, she was living off what she made, saving what she could.
Georgia didn’t really know what her deal was with the particular hotel she kept going back to. Over the last ten months, she’d left the state she was in at least six times. She went to promote other bands, but she only stayed away for a week or so and would make her way back to Sawyer.
