Raine's Haven

by Shari J. Ryan

  "Yeah, I know. He couldn't get himself to face you after kicking you out on your ass." That sounds more like the Crow I remember.

  "Where is the douchebag?" I ask.

  "Fixing a few stools in the bar," she says, nodding her head toward the door. "I'm going to go give him the heads up you’re back. Give me a two-minute head start."

  “Sure.” I keep sweeping until I’m adding dirt to the pile, but it seems like not even a minute goes by before the side door of bar door swings back open. Crow, with an additional thirty pounds of muscle and a thick black beard, which seems to have stolen every piece of hair from his head, stalks toward me like he's going to kill me. The guy's arms are around me before I can get a word out, and he's squeezing me harder than necessary. I think I even hear a faint cry hiccupping in his throat. His hands lock around my arms, and he shoves me away, looking me square in the face. "You motherfucker," he says. "I can't believe you're standing in front of me right now."

  "There were plenty of days over the past seven years when I didn't think I'd ever be standing outside of those walls again, so I feel the same way."

  "I'm sorry, man. I don't expect you to forgive the asshole I was, but I am sorry. Like from the bottom of my heart and shit."

  "You don't have to be," I tell him. "You got the girl; we're good." I smirk and punch him in the shoulder.

  "Married for five years now with two kids. Hard to believe, huh?"

  "You have kids?" I know I shouldn't laugh at my own question, but for the life of me, I can't picture Crow holding a baby.

  "Two little girls. Anna and Emma. They're three and four."

  "Well, I'll be damned. Congrats, man. Really, I'm happy for you both."

  "What can I do for you? Tell me. Give me something. I have felt like the biggest prick in the world for years, and I need to make this up to you somehow," he says while tearing the broom out of my hand, which oddly enough, gives me a great idea.

  "I need a job more than I need air right now. You got any space for a bartender?"

  "I'll fire Kacee. The job is yours.” He offers his wife’s job up awfully quickly, making me wonder what’s in it for him.

  "Dude," I laugh. "You're not firing your wife for me."

  "Are you kidding? I needed the help. We've been taking shifts so one of us can always be with the kids. Our sitter is sickeningly expensive, so this has been killing us."

  Ever since Crow and I became friends when I started to hang at his bar, I was always the last to leave every night, never walking out the door without offering him a hand, but his affable rejection always made it clear he's a one-man show. More than a few times, he told me he'd never trust anyone enough to hire help. I don't think it was ever intentionally directed at me, but I never pushed the subject either. We came to respect each other's flaws, and a friendship was born.

  "You sure you trust me?"

  "I'm going to assume you were unlawfully accused of having sex with a child, and go out on a limb…"

  And so, it begins. The defense. "You really think that little of me?"

  "Mayor Leigh's daughter? For real, man? How old was she?" he asks with a squint to his eyes, reminding me of the mistake I've clearly paid for.

  "Yup, Mayor Leigh's daughter," I repeat. "She was sixteen but told me she was eighteen. Fun shit, right? We good now?"

  "You start in three hours," he tells me. "Come on in. Let me give you some cash so you can go buy yourself some clothes that fit. I'll feed you too. I know they wipe you clean before you get out of the joint. Plus, we're friendly to prisoners at Crows." He slaps me on my back as if it were the drumroll to his joke. This is never going to get old.

  "Crow, dude, you almost just redeemed every one of your asshole qualities."

  20

  Haven

  Our five-mile drive somehow feels as if it lasts for hours. The silence sounds like a foghorn, and my thoughts are darting through me like dull bullets pounding against my head.

  We pull down our driveway and into the garage before the car comes to a screeching halt. Bennett's door opens and slams closed before I'm able to get one foot out of the car. Granted, I'm moving much slower than normal, but I know Bennett is beyond angry, and while he might think he has every right to be, he should think again. He's not so innocent.

  With slow strides, I make my way up the short set of stairs and into the dark kitchen. I guess we’re going right to bed. Point taken. I tread up the stairs, taking my time, contemplating what I can say in defense of everything that happened tonight.

  I make my way into our bedroom, finding the bathroom door closed with the light glowing out from underneath the door. Frustrated, I plop down onto my vanity stool and stumble upon my reflection, noting the remnants of the red lipstick that once had an effect on the man whose life I ruined. I wish I could turn back the time and undo what I did. I wish I had been smarter and knew better not to lie for such a childish reason. But that's the thing, I was still a child—one who just wanted to seem a little older.

  The gushing sink quiets to a dribble and the clicking of the light switch echoes from within the bathroom. I still have nothing good to say.

  As the door opens, Bennett walks past me while loosening his tie. More silence. He pulls his suit jacket off and tosses it onto the edge of the silk, navy bedding I don't want to touch tonight. During his toss, a ring box flies through the air, landing beside my feet. "I thought you wanted all of this," he says. "I bought that ring without a doubt in my mind that you would say yes."

  "Bennett," I say, with nothing to follow.

  "Don't bother," he continues. "You know what the funniest part of this is? If I had stuck with my original plan and popped the question last week while we were in the mountains, you probably would have said yes. I let the damn flu get in the way of that, though. Then Ryland's picture popped up all over town. I watched this domino effect occur right in front of me, and I didn't say a word."

  "It's Raine," I correct him.

  "Whatever, Haven. Does it matter?" he jabs. "Oh, yeah, of course it matters. You're still in love with him."

  I stand up from the vanity stool while pulling my Louboutins off my throbbing feet. "Love him? You do know I was sixteen the last time I saw him, right?"

  "What's your point?" Bennett unclasps the cufflinks from his shirt and tosses the thick Italian fabric to the ground in front of the closet. "You think no one has ever been in love at sixteen?"

  His question makes me think, because these past few years, I have convinced myself that what I had with Raine wasn't love. How could I have known what love was? That was my only real answer. Then I found Bennett and everything moved quickly and effortlessly as if it were prearranged for us. I figured it would take time to build up the same kind of feelings I had so quickly grown for Raine, but I thought love would eventually come. However, with Bennett, I still don't feel half of what I felt for Raine, and it isn't because I didn't try. I have tried. I have had pep talks while looking in the mirror. I have told myself to suck it up and try to understand what's best—words straight out of my demented parents' mouths. Maybe I didn't know what love was when I was sixteen, but that doesn't mean it wasn't what I was feeling. Nothing has ever come close to the way I felt then.

  "I don't know what to say," I tell Bennett. That's the truth. It's the only truth I can come up with.

  "I think your lack of words sums everything up quite nicely tonight," he responds.

  I force myself to look over at him, the red splotches covering the paleness of his neck, the hunch in his shoulders, the small gut that's usually concealed by his perfect posture—now hanging slightly over his belt. The lines on his forehead scream the definition of pain and the buckling of his brows exposes the trueness of a broken heart. A broken heart he kind of deserves. All he wants is the answer to his "why" and I don't have one. "I do love you," I say, offering him a splintered olive branch.

  "Do you?" Sarcasm drips from his words.

  "I think so, Bennett, but—" I sigh with
exasperation, trying my hardest to say what I mean without blurting out the harsh words piling up on the tip of my tongue. "I don't love who I am when I'm with you, and I think you have felt the same about me for quite some time. Wouldn't you agree?"

  His nostrils flare at first, then he turns around and pulls open a drawer from his bureau, snatching up a flannel shirt and matching pants. "I've given you everything. Everything, Haven. You want and need for nothing. You don't have to work. You don't have to tend to the house. You can sit down on the front porch in your damn white rocking chair all day, every day, and read your lousy romance books. And you know what?" A contemptuous laugh bellows in his throat. "You're still not happy. Darling, some people might consider your response to having everything handed to you on a silver platter to be somewhat apathetic."

  "Why is it, everyone in my life thinks all I want to do is sit around and read books all day? It's not enough to be placed on this earth to serve the purpose of being someone's daughter, then someone's wife, and God willing, someone's mother. Because, not once has anyone ever asked me what truly makes me happy," I tell him, vomiting more truths than I've ever cared to share with anyone since Raine listened to them seven years ago.

  Bennett sits down on the edge of the bed, bringing his foot up over his other knee and clasps his hands together. "Go on then, Haven. Please, tell me what tickles your fancy."

  I hiss and shake my head, "I'll tell you what doesn't tickle my fancy," I lash out. "Words like fancy, dresses that cost more than our mortgage payment, shoes that make my toes feel like they're bleeding from the moment I put them on, jewelry that almost always make me itch—no matter how much money was spent on them. Saying please and thank you four million times a day. Smiling when I don't want to smile. Laughing at stupid jokes. Saying yes to proposals just because I'm expected to do so."

  "Well, pardon me, Miss Perfect," he counters.

  I walk over to him, kneeling in front of him. "What makes me happy, Bennett…what makes me truly, purely, happy?" I laugh for a moment, regressing to the times I live to remember. "Swimming in a deserted lake alone while watching the sunset, standing in the rain barefoot while wet mud slithers across the tops of my feet, slugging a beer, burping when I've eaten too much, letting the grease from a freshly barbecued burger dribble down my chin without concern, and wearing seasonable clothing so I don't have to sweat my fucking ass off in a long, thick dress when it's a hundred degrees with a hundred percent humidity." I pause for a moment to catch my breath, realizing there are so many stupid, insignificant things that simply make me happy. "Oh, and I like to cuss because it makes my point a little clearer, and it makes me feel a whole lot better about what I'm feeling." I laugh to myself, loving every word spewing from my mouth. "Those are the things that make me happy, and I'm willing to bet you had no clue that any one of those meager parts of life could possibly make a person smile, least of all, me. I haven't done one of those 'unacceptable' activities in years, and I miss myself for it. I miss the girl who I always wanted to be and was for such a short period of time before I gave in and became the woman my parents struggled to mold me into."

  "I don't know you. Or I don't know what's gotten into you. Either way, I don't like it," Bennett says sourly, with a snarling curl to his top lip.

  "I knew you wouldn't. Among other unimportant reasons, I'm done pretending I'm someone I'm not. I can't be this person for you or anyone. I was born to be a lower class, works for her food kind of girl, and that's what I want."

  "You mean, you want Raine," he corrects me.

  "No, I want what Raine showed me I was missing out on."

  "I can eat a burger and go swimming in a lake with you, Haven." His words soften in tone, almost like he's pleading for me to stop running in the direction I'm going.

  "I know, but that isn't you, and it isn't fair for me to ask you to be someone you're not. No one should ever do that to another person. We have one life, and we should live it the way we want to live."

  "Okay, enough with the poetic words. I get it. We're done. I'm not good enough...or lousy enough...for you, still not clear on that…but what now?"

  Calmly and quietly, I stand up from the ground and pace across the room to my vanity where I remove my pearl earrings. "I'm going to sleep in the guest room until I find a place to live. I will return the jewelry and gifts you have given me, and I will seamlessly remove myself from your life almost as seamlessly as I became a part of it."

  "Great, close the door on the way out," he says, throwing himself backward into the mess of pillows. I should have done this months ago when his personal guilt would have tamed his anger, but I was dumb enough to convince myself that pain was part of any normal relationship, and that true love and respect are never a given when being with a person.

  I pull open a drawer and take out a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt, tucking them under my arm. After grabbing my hairbrush, a hair tie, and toothbrush, I silently walk out of the bedroom we have shared together for too long, and do as he asked by closing the door.

  As I make myself comfortable on the guest bed, I try to remember what I found so attractive about Bennett three years ago. He's a good-looking man with an alluring smile, perfect blond hair that naturally sweeps to one side, and dimples that made me blush. His personality has been on the tighter side but not so much that people have a hard time chatting with him—some even refer to it as a pleasant bedside manner. He was sweet until sweet became the definition of a pushover. Whenever I'm angry and argumentative about something, I've wanted him to reciprocate rather than sit there with a therapist type of stare that tells me he's listening but doesn't quite understand. His calmness in stressful situations makes me crazy, but that's the surgeon in him.

  I gave up on sleep about two hours ago. There are too many consuming thoughts filling my head to allow for a minute of rest. I can hardly make out the time on the clock across the room, but there's a dimness spilling in through my window, which means the sun must be rising soon. I'm not sure I can stand to be here when Bennett wakes up, not after the way things ended last night.

  I roll out of bed and open the closet doors, thankful for keeping an overflow of clothes in here. I slip on a light sundress and a sweater, both of which cost Bennett more than a grand each. I was never this girl. Silently, I tread from the guest room to the front door, grabbing the car keys on the way out.

  While sliding into the car Bennett bought for me, I stare coldly at the house as I back down the driveway. I almost feel free, except for driving a car I don't own. After driving in circles without a destination in mind, I debate where I can hide out for a bit—a place no one will find or see me. I only know of one spot guaranteed to be secluded, and I haven't been there in years.

  Pulling up to the edge of the woods, I park under some low hanging branches to conceal some of the car that would never belong on the outskirts of the neighborhood I'm in. I wonder if I'll be able to find my way to the dock again. If I remember correctly, it was kind of like a maze to find the place.

  More than a half hour passes and I'm still searching for the drop-off that led to the old wooden dock. Dammit. Where the hell is that stupid path? I walk to the left, into some trees, looking for where the water opens up. I see I'm already alongside the halfway mark of the lake, but the dock is missing, or I'm looking in the wrong place. With one step down the steep hill, forgetting I'm wearing flats with a smooth sole, I quickly find out how perfect my shoes are for gliding.

  I don't have much time to consider reaching for a tree stump or a thick branch since it's happening very quickly, so now I'm tumbling down this stupid hill, and I'm going to be lucky if I reach the bottom without a broken bone. Leaves are rustling around me and small sticks snap against my skin, stinging me everywhere. My heart hammers in my chest as I try to stop myself several times, but the carpet of smooth pine needles is too slippery and my speed continues to increase, throwing me several yards onto the pebble-covered ground.

  The pain is immediate, but no
thing more than bruises, I think—hope. I pull myself up, finding blood dripping down my left leg. Shit. It's official, I feel sorry for myself. This is the last thing I needed right now. Shit, shit, shit. Scanning my leg for the injury, I find a decent sized laceration on my thigh, one that will need stitches. However, I have no clue how I'm going to make it back up that damn hill.

  I limp and stumble along the pebbles, walking in the direction I came from, only parallel to the higher elevation. After rounding a large boulder, the pebbles open into a straight path for as far as I can see. I don't remember pebbles being here.

  I walk until the pain begins to throb, but now I need to sit down and take a rest. With a quick glance around for signs of a path, my gaze falls upon a dock, but it's not abutting the water. It only drops off onto the pebbles I'm currently sitting on. The water is at least fifteen feet away from the edge of the dock. The drought. We heard it would have side effects on our bodies of water, but this breaks my heart. The pebble-covered ground between the dock and the edge of the water is like an abyss separating my current existence from my past and my fond memories of those happy times I spent here with Raine.

  I stand up once more, trudging along the few hundred yards until I reach the elevated, worn wooden planks and walk around the side, finding a short hill leading up to the old dock. At least the horizon still looks the same.

  As I make my way to the edge where the dock drops off, I sit down and stretch my legs out in front of me, doing my best to ignore the pain searing through my leg. However, with a glance down at the wound, I find blood coating the side of my left leg all the way down to my ankle. When I see all the blood, I immediately feel a bit faint. "This is why you should carry a cell phone," Bennett would say. He hates that I often leave it at home. My argument has always been that if someone needs to reach me, we still live in a time where I can be found without much effort, especially in our small town. Except for last night at the motel, and right this second, of course.