One Call Away

by Emily Goodwin

  Chase isn’t lying.

  I rest my head on his chest again, eyelids feeling heavy. Chase folds his arms around me again and lets his head fall against mine. Maybe I’m more dehydrated than I thought or suffering from exhaustion, but laying here with Chase feels right. I forgot how good it feels to be wrapped in someone’s arms.

  Someone else’s arms.

  “Your brother is probably wondering where you are.”

  “Yeah,” he mumbles and then gives me a cheeky grin. “He probably thinks we’re having a quickie before I go down.”

  “He probably does. Like really, he’s down there rolling his eyes and checking his watch.”

  Chase laughs. “I’ll make sure to tell him you overdid it on tequila and the puke in the yard is yours.”

  “Thanks,” I say flatly. “But really…thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He brings his hand down my arm, stopping when his thumb rests on the pulse-point of my wrist. My eyes shut again and I yawn. “You can take the bed and go back to sleep if you want.”

  “I should go home and shower then try to get a few hours of sleep before work.”

  “Ouch. When do you go in?”

  “Ten-thirty, so it’s not too bad. We open at eleven on Fridays. So I guess we’ll take a rain-check for breakfast.”

  “Deal. Just to be sure, does that include you spending the night again? Because if it does, I have a different idea on how to pass the time.”

  “No.”

  “You mean not yet.”

  I just shake my head and sit up. Pulling myself away from Chase is harder than I expected, and once the heat of his skin is away from mine, I shiver.

  “Drink a lot of water,” he says and steps away, picking his jeans up from the floor. “It’ll help with the hangover.” He gets dressed and I’m not sure if I should look away or not, which doesn’t make sense since I’d been looking at him in only boxers all morning. But there’s something intimate about getting dressed like this because it implies we’re comfortable enough around each other to get undressed.

  He turns to get his shirt and I see yet another scar on his back. It’s small, but I can tell the wound was deep. My first thought is that someone stabbed him in the back—literally.

  “I’ll walk you out,” he offers and pulls his T-shirt over his head. I grab my clothes, step into my shoes, and pull my keys from my purse. “Thanks again,” I tell Chase when we near my car, which surprisingly isn’t the only one left in the lot.

  “You don’t have to thank me, Sierra.”

  “I want to.”

  “I’m glad you do.” He tips his head down, blocking out the early morning sun. “I’ll call you. For real this time.”

  10

  Chase

  “You move fast.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I ask my brother. We just finished unloading the truck that showed up twelve hours early and are sitting in the bar having a drink.

  “It’s an observation. You just got Sierra’s number and you already slept with her.”

  “Actually,” I start and pull the tab off my Coke can. “I didn’t.”

  Josh looks across the bar top at me, waiting for me to explain.

  “She drank too much and needed a place to crash. That’s all.”

  “Oh.”

  “You look disappointed,” I say.

  Josh shrugs. “Nah. Just, uh, surprised.”

  I set the Coke down and cross my arms. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

  Josh sighs. “I might have hoped that if you got involved with Sierra it would make you want to stay here.”

  “I am here.”

  Now it’s Josh’s turn to stare at me incredulously. “For now. Come on…we both know you don’t stay in a place too long. It’s been hard trying to keep in contact with you because I never know where you are, what you’re doing, or if you’ve been arrested…or worse. I know I can’t convince you to change professions, but maybe a woman can.”

  My go-to response to a statement like that is to get offended, defend myself, and probably say something shitty. Josh is my brother and probably the only person in the fucking world who actually gives a shit about me. So I bite my tongue.

  “You know I don’t believe that nothing happened,” Josh goes on. “You take a girl home and nothing happens…” He arches his eyebrows and shakes his head. “You two looked pretty cozy this morning.”

  “I am serious,” I say with a laugh. “She was pretty far gone, so I took her upstairs to lay down with the intention of taking her home later. She passed out until this morning.”

  “So noble.”

  “Shut up.”

  Josh snickers. “You like her.”

  “She’s all right.”

  “Just all right. Sure.”

  “She’s hot,” I admit and press the sides in on my can. “I’d fuck her if I had the chance.”

  Josh raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you have the chance last night?”

  I did have the chance and it would have been easy to put the moves on Sierra and have her begging for more. But I didn’t. And it didn’t even cross my mind.

  “She was wasted.”

  “You do like her.”

  “Not like that.”

  Josh’s face turns serious. “Why would liking someone ‘like that’ be a bad thing?”

  I take a drink, buying myself a few extra seconds. I don’t get emotionally involved because I don’t want another human being to impact my happiness. Giving a person that kind of control is the dumbest thing we can do. I don’t depend on anyone. Never have. Never will.

  “Like you said before, we’re different people.”

  Smarter than he lets on, Josh just nods, not buying it for a second. “Thanks again for helping this morning.” He finishes his drink and gets up, stretching his arms above his head. “I need to get home to watch Dakota before Melissa has to leave for work. See you tonight.”

  Once Josh leaves, I go upstairs and crash in my bed. Sierra’s sweet floral perfume clings to the sheets, and the scent calms me and turns me on at the same time. I toss and turn for half an hour before giving up. I grab my phone and go right to the voicemail.

  I stare at the unheard messages, heart lurching at the thought of hearing her voice again. I should have told her. Confessed it all and gotten it over with. She might not have wanted to see me again, and I didn’t want to risk that. Because I do have feelings for Sierra.

  I press play on the next voicemail and a rush of adrenaline goes through me. My heart swells in my chest at the same time. I close my eyes and bring the phone to my ear. No one has ever made me feel this much.

  “I dreamed that I died,” Sierra starts, voice flat and void of emotion, “and when I woke up, I was disappointed. What the hell is wrong with me? I want to live but I feel guilty for wanting that. I try to think what you would say, but if you were here to give me advice, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I know what’s right isn’t easy, and what’s easy isn’t always right. But right now…right now I feel like I have nothing left inside of me.”

  Her words hurt and I feel a maddening desperation to make everything better. I play the next messages, pulse racing. Eventually, I’ll get to a message where she says she’s okay. That’s she’s moved on and is enjoying her life again.

  But—fuck—I know she’s still struggling. Still hurting. And I hate it.

  “Your voicemail changed,” she starts, and this time she’s trying not to cry. “I knew it would happen, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. It still feels familiar to dial your number though.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I went to the hardware store and got stuff to work on the garden today. I drew out a plot of how I want it to look and everything. Now I just need the motivation to actually do it.”

  Lacking all self-control, I play the next message. “Mrs. Williams fell today. She sprained her wrist and is all bruised up, but she’ll be okay. Her son called me from the hospital. I wanted to go, but the tho
ught of walking through those doors…I haven’t been there since…since…and I couldn’t do it. I feel bad. She said she understood though. And I’m working the rest of the week so she doesn’t have to come in.”

  I exit out of my voicemail and open the internet, doing a search for this Jake guy. It’s a bad idea, and I’m well aware. It takes a few keyword changes to get his obituary and an article about the accident pulled up. Jake McLeland died from complications of an accident when a truck failed to yield and struck the driver’s side of his Jeep. He was taken to Mercy Hospital and died from his injuries several hours later. No wonder Sierra can’t go to the same hospital. She must have been there with him.

  From what I can tell from the article on the accident, he was alone in the car and on his way home. His way home to Sierra. According to his obituary, he was doing his residency at another hospital, lived here in Summer Hill with Sierra, and was from a nearby town. A list of his accomplishments follows, and Jake was a model fucking citizen, not counting the fact he was on his way to becoming a doctor.

  He went overseas and volunteered his time and medical skills to children in Africa. He led activities with the Boy Scout Troop he was part of as a child. Worked at a free clinic in a poverty-stricken town in the bayou.

  There’s no fucking way Sierra would go for me. Not that it matters. Because it doesn’t.

  I stop by the river, slowing so I can catch my breath. I’m not a morning person, but going for a run this early was nice. Not as hot. Though standing here in the sun I can feel the heat.

  I followed the deer path this time and found another direction to follow instead of going along the Belmont’s field. I’m back at The Mill House now, looking at the rushing water that Sierra and I sat by last night. The river is about ten feet wide here and takes a slow curve wrapping around the brick building. The old wooden wheel that used to roll in place from the current of the water is rotting at the bottom, and I can’t help but think it’s a shame something so historic has been left to just rot away.

  The surface of the water is a good foot and a half below where it was back when the mill was working, and the erosion along the bank leaves tree roots exposed, dry and hanging over the water, like hair on corpses. I pick up a hard lump of dirt and chuck it into the water. It breaks apart as it hits, sinking down and becoming mud. I sigh and go into the apartment to shower.

  Exhaustion hits me once I’m out, so I eat and lay on the couch. It’s only nine in the morning, and already the sun coming through the large window is heating up the room. I strip to my boxers and flip through Netflix, and eventually fall asleep.

  Four hours later, I wake, startled by a dream. I don’t dream often. Or if I do, I don’t remember them. The dream started well, with Sierra back in my bed and this time I was next to her. She was naked and her perfect tits pushed up against me as we kissed. I moved on top of her, ready to fuck, and suddenly I was inside a casket buried deep in the ground, yet was still able to see what was going on above me.

  Nothing.

  People carried on with their lives. No one missed me. No one even noticed I was gone. Sierra stood on top of the grave, crying, and her tears penetrated the earth and dripped inside the casket. I thought she was crying for me, but then I realized I was inside Jake’s grave.

  I woke before things could get even more fucked up. Dream interpretation is a crock of shit…or so I thought. Figuring out exactly what that messed-up dream means requires me to think about it, and I don’t want to. It’s just a dream. A stupid dream.

  Feeling groggy, I take my time getting up and dressed. I’m out of food again so I grab my keys and head out. I make it to my car when I suddenly stop.

  “What the fuck is wrong with me?” I mumble aloud. I’ve never been one to back off when the odds are stacked against me. I like a challenge. Change has never fazed me.

  But Sierra…Sierra is a force to be reckoned with.

  11

  Sierra

  I yawn for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. I reach for my water and regret sleeping in the extra twenty minutes after my alarm went off. I’m still just as tired as I would have been if I’d gotten up, and I didn’t have time to run to Suzy’s for a coffee. Time is crawling by, and business has been slow as well. I have an hour to go until my lunch break, and I’m honestly unsure if I can keep my eyes open for much longer.

  Nothing makes you feel old like a hangover, right? I roll my neck—yawn—and try to wake myself up by stretching my arms above my head. That doesn’t work. Getting up and moving might, but that requires energy, which I don’t have.

  The bell above the door rings, and I lazily turn my head, questioning my decision to work in retail and having to deal with the public.

  “Hey, Sierra,” Chase says with his famous grin.

  “Chase. Hi.” I blink, mind going to the lack of makeup and messy bun sitting like a rat’s nest on the top of my head. Wait, what? Why do I care? “What are you doing here?”

  He holds up a bag of takeout from The Mill House in one hand and a drink holder with two iced coffees in the other. “I finished The Fake Wife and need something else to read. And I figured you could use this.”

  He sets the coffees down on the counter. Still in a bit of shock, it takes me a few seconds to realize he got my usual.

  “That’s what you like, right? I can get something else if not.”

  “Yeah. It is. How…?”

  “You said you get coffee from Suzy’s Cafe almost daily. So I asked them what you get.”

  I stick a straw in my cup and bring it to my lips, closing my eyes as soon as the cold liquid hits my tongue. “French vanilla is my favorite. And I didn’t have time to get one this morning. Thank you, Chase.”

  Our eyes meet, and I get hit with the strangest feeling: I miss him, and he’s standing right in front of me.

  “And I don’t know about you, but after a night of drinking too much, junk food for some reason makes me feel better.” He gets a box of fries out of the bag, along with poppers and wings. A little plastic tub of cheese dip is inside the French fry box, taking place of the ketchup. “You said you like cheese.”

  “I do.” I bring my coffee to my lips and push books out of the way. The man brought me coffee and bar food. Why is it making me so emotional? “Thanks, Chase,” I say and realize that I’ve thanked him already. “Want to stay and help me eat this? It’s too much for me to eat on my own.”

  “I can do that. For the food.”

  I wave him around the counter and pull out another stool. He smells good and looks even better. His jeans and T-shirt cover up the scars but don’t hide the tattoos that decorate the skin on his arm.

  “Did you get much sleep?” I ask. “After I left, I mean.”

  “About four hours. Which is probably more than you, I’m guessing.”

  “I showered as soon as I got home and slept until about ten-thirty. I think I slept more than you did, but I still feel tired,” I say with a small smile and dip a fry into the warm cheese. “What about you?”

  “I’m okay,” he says. “I went for a run after we unloaded that truck, which helped. Though I wasn’t the one who drank enough to kill a whale last night.” He playfully nudges me with his elbow.

  “It wasn’t that much.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t make me remind you of the threesome that almost happened.”

  “You just did.”

  He laughs and I shake my head, smiling. “Maybe I should say sorry for intervening. Those two looked like they’d be a good time.”

  I shudder and laugh. “Ew. No way.” The door opens again, and I turn to see Wyatt walking in. He smiles when he sees me.

  “Good afternoon, Sierra.” His eyes go to Chase and his face falls a bit. “And, uh, Chase, right?”

  “Right,” Chase says. “And you’re Wyatt, from the bank where my sister-in-law works.”

  “Isn’t she your half-sister-in-law? Josh is your half-brother, right?”

  I stare at W
yatt, wide-eyed, and then slowly turn my head to see Chase. He looks amused, not offended, and doesn’t bother responding. He grabs a fry and dips it in the cheese.

  “Are you looking for a book?” I ask Wyatt and wipe my hands.

  “Uh,” he starts, still staring at Chase. He wanted to offend him, and I have no idea why. Chase’s non-response is irritating Wyatt. “Yeah. I need to get my grandma something for her birthday. You remember her, don’t you, Sierra?”

  “Yeah,” I respond, giving Wyatt a look. I know most people in this town. Why is he acting so weird? “We just got some new cozy-mystery novels in this week. I ordered a few from indie authors too so she wouldn’t be able to get them just anywhere.”

  Wyatt leans in and gives me a forced smile. “It’s sweet you remember what she likes to read. I guess she made an impression on you like you did on her.”

  “She’s nice,” I say and walk to the display of new books right in front of the counter. “And she’s a regular customer.”

  “She talks about you, you know, and still brings up how nice it was to have you around the house.”

  “Aww, that’s nice. I always enjoyed talking to her. She had such an interesting past.” I grab the book and give it to Wyatt. “Make sure you tell her I said ‘happy birthday’ then.”

  “You can say it yourself. How ‘bout you come to her party tonight?”

  “Uh,” I start, mind blanking on a way to politely make up an excuse not to go. “Tonight isn’t good.” Each word comes out slowly, obviously a lie.

  “You got plans?”

  “Yeah. I do. I have a, uh, a thing…”

  “I’m taking her on a date,” Chase says, sitting up straight. He brushes salt off his fingers and meets my eye. “I have a very romantic evening planned for us. If Sierra didn’t go, I’d have to cancel the helicopter and I won’t get my deposit back.”

  How he says everything with such sincerity and a straight face, I’ll never know. I blink, look away from Chase and back to Wyatt. “Right. So, uh, sorry.”