by Sylvia Fox
He was at the door now, but he looked over one of his deliciously broad shoulders to say:
“I think I own this bar, last time I checked. And I’m not letting a little girl like you get sloppy drunk and get herself hurt on my watch. Rick, keep an eye on this one.”
And with that, he was gone.
Well, Huck didn’t need to cut me off. After the fourth straight up bourbon in a row, I was done for. All of the booze hit me at once and suddenly everything around me was spinning. I felt like I was at the Kentucky State Fair on the Tilt-O-Whirl. I didn’t know which way I was going and suddenly I wished I’d stopped at three shots. Or no shots.
“Belle,” I heard Rick’s voice. It sounded like he was speaking to me from across the room, even though I could see him right in front of me. “You need to get home.”
I shook my head. “Home is far away. Home is not for me anymore.”
“Where is home, Belle?” he asked. “Did you come to Whitmer alone?”
Suddenly I was panicked. Rick was asking so many questions and in my current state of intoxication I wasn’t able to determine whether he was trying to help me or trying to gather intel for his own nefarious purposes. I couldn’t remember why I’d even come to this damn bar. It had to be one of the diviest dives I’d ever been to.
And keep in mind that I’m from the South. So that’s saying something.
“I need to get to my bed,” I said, standing up and immediately falling to the floor. I could hear people chuckling around me.
I’d caught myself and was now covered in the stickiness of the bar’s floor. The scent of old beer, shoes, and feet, with a chaser of stale vomit, hit me all at once. Suddenly I was very warm.
And then it got worse. I added my own aroma to the fetid floor. I puked everywhere.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Ugh!” a waitress said, as she literally stepped over my pathetic form still lying on the floor. “Rick, we got a puker! Get her ass outta here! I don’t get paid enough to clean up that kind of mess! Bitches can’t handle their liquor these days!”
I couldn’t even move. I was so mortified.
Suddenly, someone was picking me up.
Great. Rick was literally going to toss my ass into the street. Where was my purse? Or the motel card key?
I folded into myself. I’d never been so embarrassed in my entire life. I hoped whoever was carrying me would just throw me into a drainage ditch. Leave me there to just die from humiliation and from the pain that sat heavy in my heart from what had happened to me in Kentucky.
Once I’d gathered my senses, I could smell the woods again. And the grass. My heart almost stopped.
Huck was the one carrying me.
I was my worst self, and now, when I didn’t want anyone to touch me, of course he would be touching me.
“Just take me to my car,” I mumbled. “I’ll sleep there tonight.”
“The hell you will,” he said. “What’s your room number?”
It was the last thing I heard him say before I passed out.
HUCK: Chapter Two
Drinking was how I tried to forget.
But hangovers? That’s all about remembering. And regret.
When I woke up the next morning, I found myself in my hotel room, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. My feet were bare and I was under the covers. At first I was confused about where I was and how I’d gotten there.
But it didn’t take long for it all to come flooding back.
I pulled my pillow over my head. I’d come here hoping to feel better about things, but instead I felt worse. I’d made a complete ass of myself in front of an incredibly handsome man, and was now sleeping in my own vomit-scented clothes.
And I felt like shit on top of it all. I needed hydration and carbs. Stat.
I sat up, groaning as I felt the heaviness in my head. Ugh. This day was going to suck.
I was immediately grateful for a blue, plastic bucket that sat on the floor next to the bed. Interesting perk I hadn’t noticed when I checked in. Maybe the maids at the hotel got tired of cleaning up messes made by patrons of The Side Pocket.
I looked at my surroundings. I was in your basic run-of-the-mill highway rest stop motel room. Not that I’d stayed in many of them throughout my life. As a matter of fact, this road trip had been my first time spending the night in any sort of accommodation that was rated less than 5 stars.
But that was a whole other story. I couldn’t think about that right now.
I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d gotten here. My last memory was of being carried out of the bar.
Huck.
The taste of bourbon couldn’t wipe away the memory of his handsome face staring down at me. I could still feel the strength in his arms as he’d lifted me off the floor. As if I’d weighed nothing. I hadn’t wanted to leave his arms, ever.
Somehow he’d figured out my room number. My guess was he’d gone through my purse to find it. My mind spun. What was in my purse that I wouldn’t want him to see?
My Glock.
I was frantic now. Where was my Birkin purse? The one my mother had given me last Christmas. The one made of alligator skin that had cost more than what the average American makes in a year.
Yeah, I’d brought that purse into a dive bar. And also put my Glock 43 in it.
I let out a sigh of relief. The purse was on the chair across from my bed. My shoes were lined up neatly beneath the chair. My wallet and hotel card key were next to my purse.
And the gun was inside of it too. Untouched.
But he’d had to have seen it.
No matter. I had all my stuff. My Louis Vuitton duffel was on the floor next to the chair, zipped up with the clothes I’d thrown in it haphazardly the night I’d run away.
“Okay,” I said to myself. “You’re safe now. But you need a shower.”
The water pressure in that tiny bathroom was surprisingly strong. It felt good on my aching shoulders and arms. I let the water hit my face for a long time, just letting it baptize me. I needed a cleansing.
More than one, really.
As I stepped out of the shower, I caught a view of myself in the mirror above the sink. I turned to see if they were still there.
The bruises.
They weren’t as dark anymore, they were yellowing now. In a couple of days, they’d be gone, but the damage to my soul would remain forever.
I wanted to cry, but I shook my head. No. The man that had done that to me was not worth a single fucking tear. He was long gone. He’d never hurt me again.
Ever.
Thirtyminutes later I was in some fresh clothes, my hair was wet but clean, and I was ready to explore this place called Whitmer and decide if it was where I wanted to stay or if I needed to find another freeway exit at which to restart my life.
It was a beautiful day, and now that the sun was out, I could see just how gorgeous Montana really was. I’d never breathed in air so crisp. Despite my hangover, I was mostly feeling good. I just needed some food in my growling belly.
Across the street The Side Pocket’s parking lot was empty except for one old Ford pickup.
But next to it? Heaven. Nirvana. Valhalla. Paradise.
A Waffle Hut. And I could practically smell the bacon from where I was standing. The parking lot was somewhat full, so my guess was that the Waffle Hut was one of the more popular places in town. But I didn’t care. I would have stood in line all day for a chance at a waffle drenched in maple syrup, bacon, and scrambled eggs. With endless amounts of coffee.
Despite the humiliation of last night, I was so much happier already. Food was the best medicine. My ultimate cure-all.
My happiness faded as soon as I walked through the diner’s glass doors.
For one thing, when you walked into this place, the door made this crazy dinging noise to alert everyone within 100 yards that you had arrived. So as soon as I walked in? All eyes on me.
Not that I needed the doors’ help announcing me. I got the feeling
that everyone in the place was on a first-name basis and had been from birth. I stood out like a giraffe running in the Kentucky Derby.
Sadly, I recognized a couple of faces from last night. And they were all smirking at me. A couple laughed.
Fuck. This wasn’t good.
“You gonna be able to hold your food down, sweetheart?” a very round, doughy-faced man asked me. “You were a big ol’ mess last night.”
I gave him a thin smile. “I think I’ll be okay,” I replied.
It felt like everyone was whispering around me. If I hadn’t been so damn hungry, or if I thought I could find anywhere else to eat within fifty miles, I would have turned around and walked out. As a matter of fact, I was on the verge of it when I heard a voice I recognized.
“Belle!” Rick said. I looked over to see him in a booth with a guy who wasn’t Huck, but who looked like could be related to him. He had the same jawline and eyes. But this one was much friendlier. Both men waved me over to them, looking genuinely happy to see me.
“Hi,” I said, scooting into the booth next to Rick. “Good morning, I should say.”
“Good morning, indeed,” Rick replied. “How you feelin’, Belle? You had a rough night.”
“I’m fine,” I said, looking down at my hands. “I’m so sorry about that. I’m happy to reimburse you for any damage I did… When I was sick.”
Rick laughed, a hearty, good-natured one. “Oh, Belle. If I had to make people pay me every time they puked in our bar, I’d be pretty damn rich. This whole damn town would be in my debt. It’s just a part of the job. You really did drink a lot of Maker’s. Surprised you’re even up. Hayes, this girl had 4 shots of bourbon within about 30 minutes. Took ‘em down like a champion.”
The guy who was sitting across from Rick (who looked a lot like Huck) smiled. “Well, damn, girl. That’s impressive. Next time, slow down a bit though. Heard my brother had to haul you home. Good thing he was around; some real assholes hang out there on ‘Shitfaced Mondays’. They’d try to take advantage of a girl like you.”
“We cancelled ‘Shitfaced Mondays’, Hayes,” Rick reminded him. “On account of your other brother, Hunt, kicking some guy’s ass and landing him in the hospital over on the other side of town. Two Mondays in a row.”
“Well, I know the first one deserved it; and I’m betting the other one did, too,” Hayes said. “But to me, Mondays will always be ‘Shitfaced’.” Both men laughed.
I had no idea what either of them were talking about.
“Well,” I said. “I feel like a real horse’s ass. I’m so embarrassed. I really thought I could handle my liquor… I grew up…” I paused. I was saying too much.
“Where’d you grow up?” Rick asked. “I mean, how does a girl like you, driving a damn BMW, end up in a town like Whitmer?”
“Kentucky,” I replied. “And people move all the time, right?”
Rick wasn’t stupid. He didn’t bother to ask any follow up questions.
“Well,” Rick said. “I’m glad you’re okay, Belle. What’re you in the mood to eat? Hayes is treating.”
Hayes rolled his eyes. “Ain’t that always how it is? When’s the last time you paid for breakfast, Uncle Rick?”
“It’s been years,” Rick said, winking at me. “But I cooked you and your brothers so many of your meals growing up, I figure you owe me a few.”
As if on cue, our waitress arrived at the table, smacking gum and being the stereotypical type of server you see in all the movies. Her nametag even said “Nadine.”
“What’cha havin’, cutie?” she asked me.
“The breakfast special,” I said. “Eggs scrambled.”
“You got it,” she replied. “Rick, the usual?”
“You know it, Nadine,” he said, winking at her. He really was kind of sexy. In that older man sort of way. I could tell Nadine thought so, too. She grinned and giggled.
“Oh, Rick Calloway!” she declared. “You are too much!”
As she walked away I couldn’t help but smile. No one was paying attention to me anymore. They were all concentrating on their own small talk and food.
And then the door alarm sounded again.
And in walked Huck.
Suddenly, my stomach dropped. My hunger was gone in an instant. Our eyes met for a moment, his looking confused to find me sitting with his uncle and brother. He stopped for a moment, as if he was thinking of turning around and walking the other way.
But Rick wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Huck!” he called out to him. “Look who joined us for breakfast!”
I couldn’t even look at him. Not just because I was still mortified about him having to carry me home. But because he was so incredibly sexy that it was painful to look at him. He was the kind of good-looking you couldn’t have a poker face around. I was afraid I might drool in his presence, and he’d already seen enough of my bodily fluids.
He sauntered over, and Hayes scooted in so Huck could fold his incredibly tall body into the small booth. Still, one of his long legs had to stretch out next to the table. He was a large, muscular man. So tall, so solid.
I could feel his eyes on me, so I finally looked up.
His gaze was intense, but it was softer today. Last night he’d been more cold, not showing any sort of interest in me.
But today was somehow different.
“Good morning, Belle,” he said. “You doing okay?”
I nodded. “Yep. I’m feeling just fine. Thanks.”
I knew I sounded clipped, but I was truly so uncomfortable. And I could tell he was too.
I guessed he really didn’t like me much.
I seriously needed to get out of Whitmer.
It was an awkward breakfast that mostly consisted of Rick and Hayes talking to each other about hiring new bartenders at The Side Pocket while I inhaled about a thousand calories of waffles without looking up to talk to Huck. I just couldn’t.
I was ashamed of how I’d acted last night and I just knew he couldn’t stand the sight of me. It was so obvious that I rubbed him the wrong way. He saw me as some drunk, idiot girl who’d made a mess of his bar.
I just wanted to get away. Whitmer was already turning out to be a mistake, and the sooner I got my car filled up with gas and put The Side Pocket in my rear view mirror, the better. Montana was a huge state. There had to be another little town for me to hide in.
After the awkward breakfast was over and I’d said my goodbyes to Rick, Huck, and Hayes, I walked back to the Traveler’s Inn, eager to pack up and head on out.
When I reached my room I saw a piece of paper taped to my door. Curious, I pulled it off and read it:
Miss Delford-
Please see us at the office immediately. There has been an issue with your method of payment.
Thank you,
Front Desk
Well, that was weird.
I walked down to the rickety front office of the Traveler’s Inn and waited behind a man who was checking out and arguing over charges on his bill.
“I would never rent a movie!” he said. “There’s a mistake.”
“Sir,” the older gentleman who was working the front desk said, his voice clearly one that had dealt with this debate before. “There’s no mistake. We don’t just charge random guests for movies. You rented this movie last night and you watched it.”
“How do you know?” he asked. “Maybe your system is broken!”
The hotel employee shook his head. “It’s not. You watched BIG BOOTY HOES 4 at 11 pm last night. And adult entertainment is $12.99 a movie. We can’t allow that to go.”
I wanted to die. How embarrassing.
“Well,” the man said, pulling his wallet out of the back pocket of his khakis. “You didn’t have to announce that to the entire world. Here.” He threw his Visa card on the counter. “Just charge me so I can get the hell out of this terrible town.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as the man behind the desk ran the credit card and
they waited for it to be approved. The angry guest signed it and was out the door, not even daring to make eye contact with me or anyone else as he left.
As I walked up to the desk, more awkwardness ensued. What is there to say after witnessing something like that?
“Can I help you?” the old man asked, clearly not loving the fact he was here at all or asking me that question.
“Well, I didn’t watch any movies,” I joked, hoping to lighten the mood. “But I had this note on my door,” I said, sliding the paper across to him. “Something is wrong with my payment method?”
“Yes ma’am, your credit card was declined,” he said. “I ran it twice.”
“Oh,” I said, digging through my purse. “That’s really weird. Here, try this one.” I handed him my MasterCard. The one that had a $20,000 limit. There was no way that wasn’t going through. It cost $50 a night to rent a room at this place. I should’ve had plenty of money to stay there for a year if I’d wanted to.
He ran it, and as I waited for him to print out the receipt he started shaking his head.
“Nope,” he said, annoyance in his voice. “This one doesn’t work either.”
What the fuck?
“That’s impossible,” I said. “Let me call my bank.” I rummaged through my purse again looking for my cell as he rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
Once I was outside and could see I had good cell reception, I tried to call my bank back in Kentucky, the same bank I’d been a customer of since I was a child and my father had helped me open my first savings account.
But the call wouldn’t go through. My phone was… off. As in the service had been shut off.
I was suddenly sick to my stomach.
Whitmer seemed to be my personal emetic.
Then it hit me.
This was no accident or misunderstanding. It was now clear to me what was going on.
I’d been cut off.
If you’d like to read the rest of HUCK: The Montana Brothers, get it for only 99 cents on Amazon! And it’s always free on Kindle Unlimited.
