“You don’t need to ask. I had a feeling you might secretly need someone to hold you up sometimes. I won’t tell anyone.”
I nod my head, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “Brody?”
“Fireball,” he responds.
“Do you know what bearded barley means?”
“I figured that’s what women call a messy beard.”
I release a quiet laugh. “It’s obviously not a commonly used term, but it means something like that, but of a woman’s nether region.”
“Wait, what the hell? Are you serious?”
“I’ve Googled it.”
“I thought this song was like the sweetest romance song of the nineties and it’s some chick singing about someone going down—”
“Yup.”
“Shit,” he says. “My youth was a lie.”
“Speaking of youth … aren’t you supposed to take Hannah to school?”
Brody’s eyes widen and he tosses the covers to the side, desperately seeking the time of whatever device he can set his sights on. He reaches for my phone so it’s closest, likely finding the fifteen missed text messages he sent me last night, but I guess this isn’t a passing thought as he drops my phone to the bed and nearly falls to the floor. “Oh crap. I have to be at my mother’s house in ten minutes and she lives twenty-five minutes away.”
He struggles to get his clothes on, hopping on one foot then the other, fighting with the sleeve of his shirt while confusing it for the head-hole. “I’ll call you,” he says. “Maybe next time I’ll remember condoms too.”
I hold the sheet up to my mouth and laugh. “Drive safely,” I tell him as he grabs his coat.
Drive safely. I don’t tell people to drive safely. It just came out.
Brody pauses and his brows furrow. “I will. I promise.” He leans over me and kisses me softly. “Have a good day, beautiful.”
“You, too.”
When the door closes and I’m alone in my bed, I wait for the regret to set in. Did I screw up? Should I have waited? Should I have never let him in?
My pulse races at the answer to my question. He excites me. He makes me feel something—alive.
I don’t feel like I should have that right.
I don’t deserve to feel this way.
I deserve a life like Adam’s.
Adam.
All thoughts revert back to the fact that I still don’t have my car. My car has been parked at Mom’s all night, which means she is speculating the absolute worst or best—however she wants to look at the situation. I went out with Brody last night and never came back to collect my car. I’ll need a good story for this one.
11
I wonder if Brody forgot about my car or purposely left me stranded. While I debate on how to retrieve my vehicle, I sip on one of the lukewarm coffees Brody left on the counter. The flavor is hazelnut, like the kind he stole from me. I suppose I can chalk that up as a thoughtful gesture.
My phone, with its inability to stay quiet for more than a full hour, is buzzing, and I make my way over to see who needs to talk so early in the morning, finding Melody’s perky smile and name flashing across my display.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Good morning,” she chirps. “I have a crazy question for you.”
I take another sip of my coffee. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“Where are you?”
I glance from side to side, wondering if this is a trick question. “At home, why?”
“Well, your car is blocking my car in Mom’s driveway, and I can’t get to work.”
Right. My car. There was no way to escape this one. “Uh, well, I don’t exactly have a way to get to my car, but ...” How are we going to do this? “Oh, there’s a spare set of car keys in the top dresser drawer of my old bedroom. If you drive my car here, I’ll take you to work, then maybe, Brett can bring you home?”
Melody pauses long enough to cause me some stress. “Journey, how did you get to your apartment without your Jeep?”
“It’s a long story,” I tell her.
“Mmhm. Well, I can’t wait to hear it.” My eyes float to the ceiling, wishing I could have gotten away with no one knowing about this incident. I’m sure Mom told her I left with Brody. She just wants me to spell it out. “I’ll be there soon.”
The call disconnects, and I bury the urge to rant about my irritation for Brody. The remaining sparks sizzling through the core of my body. I grab some clean clothes from my dresser and stumble around as I hide the evidence of what happened here just a half hour ago. I even go as far as straightening the comforter on my bed, which I rarely do. Maybe she’ll call when she gets here, rather than coming up like she usually does. I don’t know why she feels the need to get out of a warm car to pick me up at the door whenever we’re going somewhere, but part of me thinks she’s checking up on me, looking for whatever she thinks I’m hiding.
After my boots are on, I take a seat on the bar stool, sipping on more coffee, trying to push away the images blooming in my mind. The thoughts are only growing. They aren’t going away. I felt happy, alive, and like I didn’t want our time to end. I have absolutely no regrets, yet; I feel this will all change.
“Good morning,” I hear with a knock at the door squeals open.
“Why didn’t you just text me. I would have come downstairs?”
Melody peeks around my apartment, looking for something or someone she won’t find. “Are you aware, I know you’re snooping? Or do you think I’m oblivious?”
“Eh, I don’t care either way. Sometimes it’s the only way to find out the information I’m curious about,” Melody says, continuing her investigation around the apartment. She ends up in the kitchen when I hear an “Ah-ha.”
I turn around, finding her holding my shorts—the ones I was wearing when Brody came inside. “My shorts give you a clue?” I try to play it off.
“Your shorts are hanging off the cabinet door under the sink. What reason would you have to hang them there unless they had been thrown from across the room?” My sister might be annoying and chipper, and always happy, but she’s also more intelligent than I’d rather admit.
“I was tossing clothes into the kitchen, creating a laundry pile, and I must have missed my shorts,” I tell her.
“Why are there two coffee cups?”
“I like coffee.”
“How did you get coffee cups when you don’t live near a coffee shop, and you didn’t have your Jeep?”
I usually win at this game. “They’re from yesterday.”
She wraps her hand around the one I wasn’t drinking. “Hmm, this one is still warm.” I ignore her assessment, but she walks over to me, stopping two feet from where I’m sitting. Her hand cups around her mouth. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You have sex hair,” she says. “And you’ve been smiling. You’ve been smiling hard.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” There is no way to assume someone has been smiling.
Melody smiles at her thought. “Your cheeks are red, and I can see the indents of your dimples. You’re trying to hide the smile.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I tell her. “Can we get going now?”
“Did Brody stay over last night?”
“No,” I tell her, feeling better about not lying this time.
“Hmm. I heard he was late picking up Hannah and Parker this morning. Weird.”
“That is weird.”
“How did you get here without your car last night?” she continues. “Forget it. I know you left Mom’s with Brody. I know exactly what happened, and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”
“Well, okay can we get going now?” I ask.
I slip my coat on and meet Melody at the door since she’s still poking her head around every corner of the space in here. “We should totally go on a double date. How fun would that be?” I ignore her as we walk down the steps toward the back of the building. “Mom is already so
excited, thinking of the possibilities.”
“There are no possibilities,” I tell her.
“Anything is possible, sis.”
Melody hands me the keys to my Jeep, and we climb in through our respective doors. “Melody,” I begin. “It isn’t possible because moving forward with Brody—of all people—feels like the biggest sin I could ever commit. I didn’t ask for my life to turn out this way, but it did, and when you pretend like everything should be perfect, it makes the pain I feel, worse.”
Melody is quiet for a long minute as we pull out onto the street. “I know what you’re saying and why you’re saying it, and while I never expected Brody to step back into your life, I don’t agree with the part about him being a sin. You need to tell yourself it’s okay to live and be happy.”
I hold my focus on the road, taking in her words, matching them up with advice I’ve gotten from various therapists and former friends, but it’s much easier said than done. “I don’t know,” I tell her.
“What can I do to help?”
Whether the man is Brody or someone I never met before a week ago, I’d feel the same way. Why do I deserve to live a carefree life when I caused the exact opposite for someone else? “There’s nothing you can do,” I tell her.
“What would Dad tell you?” She’s playing on my weakness, and I’m not sure I can answer her question without feeling a fresh tear within my chest.
“To follow my heart,” I answer, trying to move away from the question.
“Then, follow your heart, Journey. I am always here for you.”
I pull into the back parking lot of The Barrel House and shift the gear into park before glancing over at her. “I know you are and thank you for putting up with my moods.” I know I’m difficult to be around, but I can’t find my way out of the deepening hole I keep falling farther into.
“If you find something to smile about, hang onto it, okay?” she asks, leaning to the side to hug me.
Melody hops out of the Jeep, and I watch to make sure she gets in through the back door of the shop before pulling away.
I can only imagine the stories Brett and Melody will share with each other today. If it wasn’t already obvious why two sisters getting involved with two brothers is a bad idea, gossip is the number one reason.
Just as I hit the main road, my GPS pops up with a notification telling me it will take thirty-five minutes to get to my assumed destination—the same place I got every Friday. I click accept on the suggested destination and continue driving as if I don’t know the directions.
Five days had passed since the accident. The news was out, but since Adam wasn’t eighteen yet, his name remained anonymous per the request of his family. Therefore, personal information didn’t spread as far as it could have. However, the town isn’t big, so many people found out from other sources, but the stories are distorted because there were so many underage drinkers at the party, and we all knew the consequences of the truth. I didn’t know whether to feel grateful or like the worst person in the world that no one ratted out where the party was held. No one wanted to admit they were even there, but we all know the truth. I considered ratting myself out, taking responsibility for throwing the party at a location I didn’t have permission to use, but the odds of Dad taking the blame was still high, or so I assumed. I’d end up ratting out a lot of lies from others who were protecting themselves and me.
I convinced myself the location wasn’t the precursor. If the party wasn’t at The Barrel House, we would have found an abandoned warehouse in one of the mills. However, we wouldn’t have been heat or electricity, which was why I opted for The Barrel House. There still would have had alcohol, underage drinking, and the temptation to kiss Brody Pearson in a utility closet.
It was time to face the facts—the outcome of my New Year’s Eve party.
I pull down the long driveway, shaded by thick pine trees. The parking lot is inconspicuous to the rest of the building, which offers the landscape of the location beauty rather than a feeling of hell. The walk along the curb and up the stone steps is more bitter than it was when I left my apartment. I’m higher in altitude, and the temperatures are always a ten-degree difference. I pull my coat tighter around my chest and lift my collar to block out the wind.
The doors open automatically, and I walk in through the serene lobby encased by a botanical garden, a small waterfall, and a koi pond. There’s something special about the fragrance of rare flowers in the dead of winter. The farther I walk inside, the more noticeable the ambient sounds of an orchestra play subtly as a minor backdrop. This place does a good job of concealing the truth within the outer walls. I take the glass elevator up to the third floor, feeling the familiar pain and unease as I step out on the old hardwood floors they kept as original when remodeling the building.
The door to Room 303 is open, as always, and I walk in quietly, finding the guest chair in the same spot it’s always in. I place my bag down and take Adam’s hand within mine.
“Can you believe it’s already Friday?” I ask him. His eyes open, and he peers over to me through his peripheral. “The sun is out today. No more snow for a couple of days, hopefully.”
I stand from the chair and straighten the sheets over his body, being careful not to touch any of the wires or his breathing tube. Adam blinks once, and I know that’s his way of saying hello or agreeing to a comment. Two blinks mean he doesn’t agree.
“I had a bunch of photoshoots this week. They kept me pretty busy, which is good since it keeps my mind off my Dad and all the decisions with the distillery, but I finally decided to sell my share.”
Adam blinks twice. I knew he would.
I shake my head. “No. I can’t walk through there without feeling sick to my stomach. There are so many mixed emotions about the place, but there isn’t happiness there. There are memories and the void of my dad. I couldn’t bear the thought of diving in and running the show with Melody. It’s better off this way.”
Adam doesn’t blink. The guilt about Brody is sloshing around in my head, but there’s no way I’d bring up his name in this facility. It wouldn’t be fair. There are a set number of blinks that he could respond with to make me realize how much the thought of Brody would hurt him. It doesn’t matter if a year has passed for fifteen years. Adam and I haven’t spoken since that night. Therefore, I don’t know how he feels. He’s forever stuck with his last thoughts from before the accident.
“I brought a couple of DVDs. They’re new releases, so maybe you’ll enjoy them.” He has cable, but his channel selection isn’t great, and the TV is old enough that it still has the hookups to play DVDs. Aside from music or something to watch, I can’t offer him much else.
Adam is staring at me, but the look is blank. I don’t know how much activity flows through his brain, but I assume there’s a decent amount if he can respond to the simple statements I make. He blinks twice and keeps his eyes closed the last time.
“I can get a nurse,” I offer.
He blinks twice again.
“Is it me?”
One blink.
His eyes move subtly from the top of my head to my chin as if he’s studying my face, then blinks twice again. I place my hands on my cheeks, feeling around for whatever he’s looking at, but all I feel is the definition of my cheekbones. I run my fingers across them, losing myself in the moment, but I notice Adam blink once.
My cheeks?
Another blink.
His eyes slowly drift to my hand that’s resting on the side of the bed.
“I’m not sick,” I tell him, wondering if that’s what he’s thinking.
He blinks twice and closes his eyes again. He doesn’t reopen his eyes for the duration of my stay.
I kiss him on the top of his overgrown shaggy hair and grab my belongings before leaving Adam to the place he has remained for the last thirteen years.
My legs move much quicker when leaving the facility than they did when I arrived. When I slip back into the Jeep, I normally f
eel as though I’ve gone to confession for the week, releasing all the details—the good and bad. Except, this week, I didn’t confess all of what is on my mind.
12
The weekend zipped by due to a non-stop work schedule with the wedding I had to photograph and edits. Weekends aren’t my favorite, which may be ironic to most, but I prefer when the world isn’t battling to achieve every errand at the same time. A benefit of working for myself is creating a schedule that can counteract the general public.
I secretly love Mondays. It’s a fresh start to a new week. I’m also offloading the final edits to Marco at the restaurant so I can cross him off my list of problems.
I don’t have a full schedule today, so I will get my typical weekend errands done before digging into the wedding photo edits. The grocery store is first on my list.
It has taken me a while to instill a habit of shopping for food every week. For a long time, I didn’t see a point in shopping for a week’s worth of food when it’s just me who eats the food. Shopping for one is a grand reminder of the current state of my life, but the food is necessary, and takeout has become nauseating, plus there’s one option for delivery. I could live off pizza, but the restaurant that delivers doesn’t know how to make pizza properly, so it’s a no-win situation.
The parking lot is nearly empty, which offers me comfort before walking into the colder than necessary store. I grab a cart and begin my routine of zigzagging down the aisle in order of what I need. On Monday’s there are only a few types of people shopping; moms with young children and the elderly. Then, there’s me, of course—none of the above.
I turn the corner into the instant coffee aisle, and my gaze settles on a familiar face, a mom with a young child—Adam’s older sister, Tracey. Therefore, I do the only logical thing and turn around to make my way over to another aisle, hoping to avoid the interaction. I’ll come back for the coffee.
The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set : Complete Series, Books 1-4 Page 35
