by Locklyn Marx
When she got inside, the place was empty. The bartender was wiping down the bar, his back to her.
“Hey,” he said, flashing an easy smile. He set a coaster down in front of her.
“What can I get you?”
She ordered a glass of red wine and sipped it slowly.
The bartender puttered around behind the bar, wiping glasses and filling bowls with peanuts.
“You new around here?” he asked after a few minutes.
“How’d you know?”
He shrugged. “I know pretty much everyone who comes in here.”
“It’s that small of a town?”
He nodded. “Plus, I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ve gotten used to seeing the same people.”
“Wow,” she said. “Doesn’t that get boring?”
“Nah, I kind of like it. No surprises, you know?”
“Makes sense.” She liked this guy. He had a nice smile, and he seemed content for her to sit here, nursing her wine. She got the impression he didn’t care if she talked or not. He was happy to make conversation, but if he got the idea she wanted to be by herself, he would back off.
“So where’d you move into?” He launched himself up onto the shelf on the other side of the bar, sitting so that he was facing her across the open space.
“The little house on Granby Road? The one that’s in the middle of nowhere?”
“Oh, really?” he asked, sounding excited. “My best friend Chace lives there, in the bigger house.”
The warm feeling she’d started to get suddenly evaporated. Was Chace Davenport everywhere? How was she going to escape him? She stared down into her wine, then took a slow sip, wondering what to say.
The man must have sensed her uncomfortableness, because he said, “Oh, shit.
What has he done to you? Did he.. did he sleep with you already? Shit, I’m sorry.
Chace, he’s… he’s fucked up because of this… thing that happened. He’d kind of…”
He put a hand up to his head and twirled a finger around by his ear, making the universal sign for crazy. “Don’t worry, he does it to everyone.”
That was the last straw. Lindsay burst into tears.
“Oh, man,” the bartender said, shaking his head. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Lindsay said. She picked a napkin up off the bar and wiped her tears. “It’s not your fault, it’s just…I’m kind of a mess right now.”
“I’m sorry for bringing him up. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s not your fault.” She took another sip of her wine. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Yeah, well, I should have.” He sighed. “Listen, if it makes you feel any better, Chace isn’t a bad person. He’s just been going through a really rough time. He lost his dad last year, and there was a girl…a girl he really cared about who broke his heart.”
“Who was she?” Lindsay asked, having a hard time believing that anyone could break Chace Davenport’s heart.
“He met her on the internet,” the bartender said, and shrugged.
Great. She knew he’d been lying when he said she was the first one.
“It was right before the accident. He’d left her in Boston and come down to the Cape for his dad’s anniversary party. Chace was driving his dad, his stepmother, and his stepsister home when it happened.”
Lindsay couldn’t breathe.
“What was her name?” she whispered.
“His stepmother? Jane, I think.”
“No.” She shook her head. “The girl that broke his heart.”
“Lindsay. He was upset that she never called him to see why she hadn’t heard from him. He… he was in no shape to call her, but I think he wanted to know that she cared.”
She swallowed hard and took another big gulp of wine.
“You okay?” the bartender asked. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m Lindsay,” she said.
“You’re Lindsay?”
“Yes.”
“And you moved into the house next door to Chace?”
She nodded.
“Jesus! No wonder you two are both all fucked up.” He shook his head, then held up the bottle of wine, asking if she wanted another. She shook her head no. Half a glass had been enough. Any more and she wouldn’t be able to drive.
“I didn’t call him because I thought he didn’t want to see me anymore,” she said.
“I thought he… I mean, I didn’t know that…”
“No, it makes sense. You thought he was just a jerk guy blowing you off. You didn’t call because of your pride.” He thought about it. “I wouldn’t have called either.”
Lindsay’s heart ached, thinking about Chace, what he must have been going through. She thought about how he must have felt, his father gone, his stepmother, his stepsister…pretty much his whole family.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“Hey, you couldn’t have,” the bartender said. “There was no way you could have.”
She swallowed and nodded, then took a sip of the water he’d set in front of her.
The bartender sighed, pulling his baseball hat off and running his fingers through his hair. “Lindsay, Chace blames himself for what happened to his family,” he said finally. “And it’s going to be really hard for him to get over that.” He paused, then took a deep breath and looked her right in the eye. “But I’ll tell you something I know for sure. Chace is a really good person. And if you’re even thinking about trying to make things right with him, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that he’s worth taking a chance on.”
***
When she walked out of the bar, Lindsay felt completely numb. She didn’t know what to do, wasn’t sure if what the bartender had told her even changed anything. What was she supposed to do? Tell Chace she was sorry for never calling him? She could only imagine that was the least of his worries after what he’d been through.
Still.
Tears blurred her eyes, not only for what she’d lost with him, but for the whole situation.
But by the time she was pulling onto her street, she’d decided it didn’t make any difference. Chace Davenport was none of her business. He was a man she’d met on the internet, a man she hadn’t seen in twelve months. And this morning, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with her.
She was sorry that he had gone through something so horrible, but she couldn’t be the one to save him. She needed to move on with her life, work on getting her new house in order, work on letting enough time pass so that she wouldn’t get upset every time she saw him outside or looked at his house.
As she got closer to home, the afternoon sunlight was glinting off the pavement, and suddenly, something came lurching out of the brush on the right side of the road.
Lindsay gasped and slammed on the brakes. Her heart pounded as she peered out the windshield at the furry thing that was lurching out onto the street.
It was Maximilian. His head was low, his gait unsteady as he loped along. She opened the door and called his name, wondering what he was doing out here, so far from home. Was he lost?
He perked his head up and looked at her. And that’s when she saw his face. A deep gash ran from the top of his forehead to his ear. Smaller scratches were all over his face, and he was limping.
“Oh, Max,” she said, rushing out of the car as he loped toward her. “What happened?”
He gave a little whine and licked her hand. She didn’t think about what to do.
She just picked him up, put him in the car, and drove him to the veterinary hospital she’d seen while she was in town.
***
Chace was trying to have a meeting the employees of his restaurant. He was in a bad mood after what had happened this morning with Lindsay, and his mood was just getting worse.
“I don’t understand why I need to give you twenty-four hours notice if I have an emergency,” Dolores was saying. “My back was out. Your fathe
r never asked for twenty-four hours notice.”
“That’s because you never called in when my father was here,” Chace said calmly. “Otherwise, I’m sure he would have required twenty-four hours notice.”
“Twenty-four hours notice is fine with me,” Marcela said. “But could we, like, make this meetings for later in the day from now on? Because I need to sleep in if I’m going to be able to stay up late working.”
“Stay up late working?” Chace repeated in disbelief. “We shut down at nine.
That’s not that late.”
“Yeah, but sometimes you make me stay until nine-thirty so I can fill up the salt and pepper.” She wrinkled her nose like this wasn’t in her job description.
Chace’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out, looked at the caller ID.
It was a number he didn’t recognize, and so he almost didn’t pick up.
“Yeah?” he barked into the phone, mostly because if he didn’t get a break from talking to his staff, he was going to fire the lot of them.
“Chace Davenport?” a man’s voice asked.
“Yeah, this is Chace.”
“This is Dr. Felder at the animal hospital,” he said. “We have Maximilian here, and he looks like he’s been in some kind of fight.”
“What do you mean?” Chace asked. The blood drained from his face. He was dimly aware of Marcela and Dolores fighting about whose job was harder. He took a step away from them.
“Your dog’s been hurt, Mr. Davenport. You should get to the hospital.”
***
When he walked into the waiting room, Lindsay was sitting in one of the hard-backed orange chairs. There was a magazine open in her lap, but she wasn’t reading it.
She was staring down at the floor, her head in her hands, her hair spilling over her face.
He watched her for a moment. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and so out of his reach. His stomach clenched.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted.
She looked up, her eyes bloodshot. He could tell she’d been crying. Was it because of Max? Was he okay?
“Lindsay,” he asked, “what happened?”
“I was driving,” she said. “And I saw him coming out of the woods. He looked a little wobbly, you know? So I pulled over. I didn’t know why he would be so far away from home, and I was worried.”
He nodded, sat down next to her. “How bad is it?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. He had a gash on his head that was pretty bad, and some cuts on his stomach.”
“Thank you for bringing him in.” They were the only ones in the tiny waiting room. Even the reception desk was empty.
They lapsed into silence, and then, a second later, Lindsay stood up. “Well,” she said. “I’d better… I mean, I should probably go. I wanted to stay here until you got here, just in case… just in case Max needed anything.”
He looked at her. He’d been a total asshole to her this morning, and still, she’d been worried about his dog. Enough to pull over and take him to the vet.
“Thanks for doing that,” he said.
“Of course.” She tilted her chin up, and he couldn’t mistake the tone in her voice.
The tone that said she hadn’t done it for him, had only done what any normal person would have done in the situation. But he could see the hurt behind her eyes, could see she was still scarred from this morning.
His heart twisted. All he wanted to do was protect her. But instead, he’d hurt her, had screwed everything up the way he always did. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, wanted to explain everything to her. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t say the words out loud, couldn’t tell her that he wanted her to stay here with him, to wait for Max.
He looked at her, hoping she could see in his eyes how much he needed her.
And it must have worked. Because after a moment, she sat back down.
“I should have called you,” she said softly.
“About Max?”
She shook her head. “After…I mean, after we spent the night together.”
“What are you talking about?”
She took a deep breath and twisted her hands in her lap. “I went into The Gristmill today, and your friend was working. He told me you were upset that I never called you.”
He would kill the son of a bitch. What right did Bo have to go around blabbing his personal business to strangers? “He had no right to tell you that.”
She could see he was angry, and so she said quickly, “He only did it because he could tell I was upset.”
“Doesn’t matter.” His rage boiled up inside him, and he wanted to take it out on someone. Bo seemed like a good target. He leaned back in his chair, his fists clenched at his sides. “But I’ll deal with him later.”
She stood up, her dark eyes flashing. “You know what, Chace?” she said. “You need to get over yourself.”
Her reaction surprised him. Why was she yelling at him? She knew what happened, knew that he was damaged. What did she expect?
“I need to get over myself?” He tipped his head back and laughed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that shit happens in life, Chace. Horrible, terrible things sometimes happen. And as hard as it is to accept, you have to realize that sometimes there isn’t a reason. Sometimes there isn’t anyone to blame. You need to stop punishing yourself and get your shit together.” She lowered her voice and shook her head at him. But still, there was no pity in her eyes. Just anger. Anger that he was wasting his life. “It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “It’s really not your fault.”
The words sent a shock of relief jolting through his body. It was one thing to be told that by people who had to say it. But he knew Lindsay wouldn’t lie to him. She was too mad. And he trusted her opinion. He knew she was smart, and that she had a good head on her shoulders.
He took in a deep breath, his eyes suddenly filling with tears.
He stood up and took a step toward her, but before he could get there, the door to the back room opened and Dr. Felder came walking out, Max on a leash beside him.
“Here he is!”
Chace and Lindsay turned. Max had a cone around his neck, one of those big white plastic things designed to stop dogs from scratching at their wounds. When the dog saw Chace, his tail began to wag dopily bag and forth.
“Hey, boy,” Chace said, giving him a little pat on the nose. A line of stitches ran from Max’s ear down across his snout.
“He’s going to be okay,” Dr. Felder said. “He needed stitches on that gash on his face, but the ones on his stomach should be okay as long as you keep them clean. He was limping a bit, but his x-rays don’t show anything, so he’s probably just sore from whatever fight he got into.”
He looked at Lindsay. “You were lucky to find him when you did. His injuries weren’t that severe, but he was losing a lot of blood. If he’d stayed out there much longer, he may have become too weak to move.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Chace said.
“I’ll prescribe him some pain killers, and he should rest and take it easy. He can eat whatever he wants, although watch to see if the pain killers are making him nauseous.
If they do, call me, and we’ll see about switching him to something else.”
Chace nodded, and the doctor disappeared back behind the door to get the medicine and write up the bill.
Max was licking Lindsay’s hand.
“I’m glad he’s going to be okay,” she said.
“Thanks again for bringing him in.”
She looked at him, her dark eyes on his. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, was giving him a last chance to tell her he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to blow her off, that she was right, that he needed to get on with his life. But he couldn’t.
The moment had passed.
So instead, he looked away and back down at Max.
Lindsay shook her head. “Goodbye, Chace,” she said.
And th
en she walked out.
Chapter Nine
Maximilian wanted to play. The whole ride home he acted like he was fine, licking Chace’s hand and trying to poke his snout underneath Chace’s arm.
“You’re supposed to be sick, Buddy,” Chace said. “The doctor said you need to take it easy.”
But the car ride must have tired the dog out, because as soon as Max got in the house, he walked into his crate, flopped down, and fell asleep. The pain killers were making him loopy and drowsy.
Chace didn’t want to leave him alone, but he had some business to take care of.
“I’ll be right back, buddy,” he said to Max. But Max was already asleep, his breathing slow and content as he worked on starting the process of recovering.
When Chace got to The Gristmill, he turned his truck off and sat in the parking lot. The bar was starting to get busy — it was Friday, and the fishermen who had cut out early for the day were starting to file in, along with the tourists who’d decided to get a jump start on the weekend.
Whatever. An audience never hurt anyone. Chace waltzed inside and right up to the bar, drumming his fingers against the wood impatiently. His body was wound tight with electricity.
Bo was down at the other end, pouring glasses of beer out of the tap.
Chace stood there, waiting, his impatience growing with each passing second.
When Bo saw him, the smile on his face disappeared. After fifteen years of friendship, he knew why Chace was there, knew he was pissed about what Bo had told Lindsay. Bo nodded, held his finger up to signal one minute.
Chace walked outside and paced in front of the bar.
Thirty seconds later, Bo appeared in front of him.
Chace stared at his friend. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punch you.”
Bo shook his head, rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you three good reasons. One, we’ve been friends for fifteen years. Two, I’m one of the only people you’ve got left. And three, I’m not really the one you’re mad at.”
“Oh, I’m plenty mad at you,” Chace said. He rolled up his sleeves. “And the other two reasons don’t count.”
“’Course they do.”
