The Torches We Carry

by L. A. Witt

  Not my scene.

  And anyway, I didn’t really care where he’d gone—I was just glad he wasn’t here. The awkwardness was tenfold what it had been on the way to Boise, and the less time we had to spend together, the better. Maybe once we got back to Seattle and our normal lives, we could think about clearing the air between us again, but right now I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t see myself sleeping any time soon, I had no desire to go party with anyone, and as long as he didn’t come back up to the room, I could seethe in peace.

  I’d be dead on my feet in the morning, but whatever. Marcus could drive. He was the morning person, so he was better suited for the job anyway.

  Well, assuming he got some sleep first. And he had been gone a long time, hadn’t he?

  I checked the time. Almost eleven thirty.

  I gnawed the inside of my cheek. It wasn’t at all like Marcus to go out and party, particularly into the night like this. He was a morning person. Late nights had never been his thing, especially not if he had to be up early.

  Okay, Marcus could function on less sleep than most people, but he still needed some sleep, especially if he was going to navigate a fully loaded van down treacherous roads in shitty weather. Plus we had to leave early because the weather was supposed to get ugly tomorrow. We couldn’t afford to leave later than six or seven, and I knew Marcus. That man ran on too little sleep like a car ran after someone had poured sugar in the gas tank.

  I groaned, picked up my phone, and sent him a text.

  Where are you? We need to get some sleep.

  No response. He saw the message, but… no response.

  Fuck. I tossed my phone onto the bed beside me. Even if he didn’t need to sleep, I sure did, and that wasn’t going to happen if I was lying there wondering when he’d come back. Or if he came in and turned on all the lights or something.

  Damn it, I should have booked a separate room. Then we could avoid each other in peace.

  But I had an expensive divorce looming, so I wasn’t exactly flush with cash. Marcus might have been able to convince the company to let him expense room service, but there were limits. I really didn’t want to explain to my dad or the accounting department why two people couldn’t share a room big enough to comfortably accommodate four, and I doubted Marcus did either. I was pretty sure the hotel was sold out anyway, so the only other option would be finding some other place to stay. Which suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. If my dad roped me into another trade show, that was exactly what I would do.

  For this show, however, Marcus and I were rooming together, and even though I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, it bothered me that he wasn’t back yet. Especially when I went to text him again and realized it was almost midnight.

  No sign of Marcus. He’d read my texts, so unless he’d been kidnapped or something, he was still alive and looking at his phone. He just wasn’t replying and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to come back up to the room.

  Well, there wasn’t much I could do, short of going down to the bar and dragging him back to the room. So, I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth, and got ready for bed. As I settled in for the night, the clock between our beds said 12:13.

  It took me a long, long time to finally drift off to sleep.

  And my last thought before exhaustion finally took over was that Marcus still hadn’t come back.

  Chapter 12

  Marcus

  As the bartender poured me another neat whiskey, I checked my phone. It was after midnight.

  Gnawing my lip, I glanced at the drink. I was seriously buzzed, and it was getting really late. The bartender was already making the drink, though, and there was a chance Reuben was still awake. He’d texted me half an hour ago, after all. Staying down here for as long as it took me to finish this one wouldn’t make much of a difference, would it? Except maybe giving Reuben a little more time to fall asleep so we didn’t have to face each other?

  I took the glass, paid, and leaned against the bar, looking out at the familiar faces who were all well on their way to getting drunk. It had been a long time since I’d joined them; for the last few years, I’d carefully avoided staying late at the bar on the last night of a trade show. This was when people let their hair down, got shit-faced, and did things the rest of us would be gossiping about for years to come. I’d been the subject of that gossip a few times, and had learned early on it was better to just make an appearance, say goodbye to a few people, and then bow out under the pretense of needing to leave early the next morning.

  It wasn’t even a pretense this time. There was a blizzard moving into the region in the next twenty-four hours. Reuben and I needed to get on the road early and be well on our way home before the storm showed up mid-afternoon. As long as we made it into Washington by around two or three, and assuming the storm didn’t suddenly change its strength or trajectory, we’d be well in the clear. I wanted to be back in Washington by noon just to be safe.

  Staring into my drink, I debated leaving it on the bar untouched. I was still coherent and steady on my feet. By the time I made it to the bottom of this glass, though, I would be well on my way to joining my colleagues for a night of public unprofessional behavior.

  But at least I’d be numb. I’d be away from Reuben, and I’d have some more time to think about anything other than how much longer and more awkward our drive home would be now that we’d…

  I winced.

  Damn. I obviously wasn’t drunk enough because I was still lucid enough to cringe at what we’d done.

  Fuck it.

  I took a deep swallow. Another.

  Then I downed the rest, flagged down the bartender, and ordered a double.

  I was halfway through that one when a chirpy squeal broke through the noise of the crowd: “Marcus!”

  I turned to see Sheila Brown from… fuck, whatever company she was from. With a forced smile, I let her hug me—one of those drunk hugs that was more like a controlled fall in hopes I would hold her upright. As I righted her again, I said, “How are you doing?”

  “I’m…” She held up her mostly empty beer bottle. “Well, I think you know.” She nudged me and slurred, “What’re you still doing here? You’re never at this party.”

  Because I’m not usually rooming with someone I can’t look in the eye.

  I sipped my drink and smiled again. “I’ve been missing out, haven’t I?”

  “You have.” She looped her arm in mine. “Come on. My field reps don’t believe me when I say you can dance.”

  I balked, digging my heels in. “Oh, no. Not—”

  “Come on!” She tugged my arm. “Just a song or two!”

  “I know, hon, but I need to…” What? Go back to the room and feel like shit? Try to sleep even though there was no way in hell I would with Reuben in the next bed?

  Well, damn. I could either toss and turn, or I could stay down here and dance for a while. I wasn’t going to sleep either way, and at least this would be fun.

  So I shrugged, threw back the rest of my drink, and let her lead me out onto the dance floor.

  Chapter 13

  Reuben

  At 5:00 the next morning, my alarm jolted me out of a restless sleep.

  At 5:01, anger jarred me fully awake.

  Marcus was sprawled across his bed, snoring the way he only did when he’d been drinking. He was still dressed—hell, he still had his shoes on—and the alarm didn’t seem to have even registered. When had he come in? Apparently during one of those brief intervals when I’d actually been asleep.

  I got up and shut off the alarm. He still hadn’t moved, so I leaned over to nudge him. The smell of booze wafted off him so strongly it made my eyes water. I swore under my breath and shook his shoulder. “Marcus. Hey. Marcus?”

  He groaned, but his eyes stayed shut.

  “Marcus. Get up. We have to get going.” I shook him harder. “Goddammit, Marcus!”

  This time, he grunted, and then his eyelids fluttered for a second befor
e they opened completely. He winced, squeezing them shut again, but not before I saw how bloodshot they were.

  “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “I’m up.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He shot me a glare, then sat up with a groan and rubbed his face. “Just let me—” He paused, and his eyes lost focus as his balance seemed to waver.

  I studied him, forcing my irritation beneath the surface. “What?”

  “Just—” His teeth snapped shut. Some color slipped out of his face. Then he bolted for the bathroom and treated me—and probably our neighbors on all sides—to the sounds of him retching for a solid minute. On any other day, I might’ve been smug because he richly deserved to be as miserable as he sounded, but not today. It wasn’t funny that he was way too hungover to drive. Hell, he might’ve still been drunk.

  I rubbed my gritty eyes with the heels of my hands. Fuck my life. I was driving, wasn’t I? Even though I was the night owl and had gotten almost no sleep, I was driving. The only alternative was to stay another night in Boise and hope for the best tomorrow, and… no. Fuck no. I didn’t care how much caffeine it took—we were going back to Seattle today.

  Marcus emerged from the bathroom looking green and wobbly.

  I gritted my teeth. “You all right?”

  “I think so,” he croaked. “Let’s get going. We need to…” His eyes unfocused again.

  “Get out of Idaho before that blizzard shows up?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Yes. That. Let’s go.”

  I rolled my eyes, and said nothing. I just started getting dressed. I didn’t bother shaving, but at least brushed my teeth and splashed some cold water on my face. Marcus was, unsurprisingly, slower about getting ready to roll, but he got his shit together. Neither of us said a word as we headed out of the room.

  In the elevator, he leaned hard against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing like he was struggling not to puke again.

  I could relate. It was hard to believe we’d had a ridiculously hot make-out session in here the night before last. Now, just being this close to him made me want to hurl too, and not because of the alcohol fumes still radiating off him.

  When we got to the lobby, I gave him the van keys and sent him down to the garage to wait for me by the van. No sense letting anyone see him here in the checkout line while he was such a mess. I doubted he’d know how to check out at this point anyway.

  Checking out was uneventful and easy, and I grabbed a cup of coffee at the espresso stand before I headed down to the garage. As I walked up to the van, Marcus eyed my cup, and he actually managed to look even greener.

  I couldn’t resist, and raised the cup. “Coffee?”

  Marcus winced and shook his head wordlessly. From the way he was clenching his jaw, I didn’t have to ask why he didn’t want anything. I couldn’t imagine he had much left to throw up, but he could still surprise me, so I didn’t push the issue.

  And he was completely miserable. I almost felt bad for him because he had to feel like shit right then. But I really didn’t. Not after he’d chosen to stay out that late and drink that much when he knew we had to be up this early.

  Serves you right, asshole.

  We hadn’t even made it to the freeway before Marcus had dozed off in the passenger seat. I kind of wanted him to stay awake and keep reminding me why I was pissed at him. Being angry kept me awake. The combination of the van’s heater, the quiet between us, and the monotony of the pre-dawn road threatened to lull me to sleep. Would it be wrong to wake him up and pick a fight with him just to keep myself awake?

  Maybe, maybe not, but I let him sleep. Truth was, I was too tired for that. At this rate, if we started fighting, I was liable to break down in tears. There was just so much, and I couldn’t even put it all in order, and the one person I could usually ask to help sort things out was on the other side of this giant trash fire.

  Later. After we’d both had a chance to catch our breath. After some coffee. Maybe after we’d both gotten some sleep, too, because I was running on fumes. Driving was way more difficult than it should have been. My eyelids were heavy. So heavy. Each time I blinked, it was harder to open my eyes again. Damn. Next exit with anything that sold coffee—Starbucks, 7-Eleven, some shady dude in a rusty food truck—we were stopping. Clearly I hadn’t had enough caffeine.

  I gripped the wheel and forced my gritty eyes to stay open, if only so I could watch for someone selling blessed coffee.

  After a mile or two, they started getting heavy again.

  They slid shut.

  I let them stay there.

  Just for a second.

  Just a second of rest.

  Just—

  A loud rumble jolted me awake, and I swerved back into the lane. Thank God for those strips on the shoulder to wake up truckers. Turned out they worked for van drivers too.

  Beside me, Marcus jerked a bit. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” My face burned. I was awake now. “Just trying not to hit a deer.”

  On any normal day, he would’ve called me out on the bullshit, but he probably didn’t even know it was bullshit. Today, he didn’t question me, and a second later, he was snoring again.

  Irritation kept me going for a little while. Only a little while, though. There was still no place to buy coffee yet, though one sign promised something in a few miles. My eyelids… fuck.

  They slid down again.

  Okay, a second wouldn’t—

  A horn blared.

  My eyes flew open. I swerved to avoid the pickup truck in the next lane, and the ass end of the van found some ice. We fishtailed. Then spun.

  For a few seconds, my vision was reduced to flashes of white, gray, and black.

  Before the van jolted to a violent stop.

  And everything was still.

  Chapter 14

  Marcus

  Weightlessness and a surge of panic had knocked me awake, and I’d had seconds to try to make sense of things before the van slammed against something solid, and stopped.

  For a couple of heartbeats, Reuben and I sat in stunned silence. The van was at an odd angle, the windshield half-covered in snow, and everything was still except the idling engine. Outside, I could hear cars going by. There were voices and footsteps too, so maybe someone had stopped.

  Slowly, hands still gripping the wheel, Reuben turned to me and shakily asked, “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” My head was throbbing even harder now, but he didn’t need to know that. As I tugged at the shoulder strap of my seatbelt, which had tightened enough to be painful, I swallowed to make sure I didn’t puke. Then I croaked, “You?”

  “Yeah.” He faced the front again, staring slack-jawed at the snow-dusted windshield. “Yeah, I think… I think I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  He paused like he really needed to give it some thought, but then nodded. Hand unsteady, he shifted the van into park even though it didn’t feel like it was going anywhere, shut off the engine, and opened his door. The door scraped on something. Frozen ground, maybe. Pavement. Hard to tell.

  Jittery with adrenaline, I got out and stepped carefully on the icy ground. I had visions of the van being completely destroyed, but it turned out the scene wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated. The van was partly in the ditch, nose buried in a snowbank, which had thrown a bunch of powder onto the windshield. As far as I could tell, we probably just needed a tow truck to pull us free, and with any luck the wheel and axle were still intact.

  But what about everything inside?

  My guts knotted, which wasn’t a good feeling when I wasn’t sure I was done hurling, thanks to my hangover. I hurried around to the back of the van, opened the doors, and checked inside. Fortunately, not much had moved. Everything had been packed in here so tight, there hadn’t been a lot of room for anything to slide or fall, so nothing seemed out of place. When we made it back to Seattle, I’d have to check some of the demo equipment and make sure it had all stayed intact. I wasn’
t too worried, though—it was all heavy-duty industrial-grade machinery anyway, and we’d packed it like Grandma’s best bone china.

  Relieved, I swung the doors shut. Crisis averted. Well, one crisis averted. With my stomach still knotted, I went around to the front again. Reuben was scowling at his phone.

  “Any signal?” I asked.

  He nodded without looking up. “Just trying to find a tow company that will come out here.”

  I grunted in acknowledgement and glanced at the freeway. We hadn’t slid far, but we were a good fifteen feet from the flow of traffic. Safe enough, I decided, though I’d keep an eye on the road in case someone started to spin out. Though with as fast as everyone was driving…

  I looked around. “Maybe we should wait inside the van. Just in case someone else slides.”

  Reuben’s jaw worked as he cut his eyes toward the interstate. After a few seconds, he nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.”

  We climbed back into the cab. It was still sitting lopsided, so the seats were at an awkward angle, but at least it was warm in here and we were safer than if we stayed outside.

  I stayed quiet while Reuben made some calls. It took a while—not surprising, given the road conditions—but he finally found someone who could be here before the Second Coming.

  “Probably a couple of hours.” He tossed his phone onto the dash and rubbed his eyes. “We’re going to be here a while.”

  “So much for getting home before the storm,” I muttered.

  Reuben said nothing.

  I kneaded my throbbing temples. “What the hell happened, anyway?”

  Reuben clenched his jaw, avoiding my gaze.

  “Reuben? What—”

  “I nodded off, okay?” he snapped. He turned to me, eyes full of fury. “Guess I should’ve let you drive.”

  I blinked.

  “We had to hit the road early,” he went on. “You knew that. But you were still out drinking until—”