My Fate for Yours

by Steph Campbell

  “I don’t know, Rach. It could be a bad idea. We both know Delia, and she wouldn’t be able to stay away if she thought Tobin was in trouble. Right now, she needs to stay away. At least a little while longer. Tobin needs to get his shit together and stop pining away for something that was never meant to be.” Eamon runs a hand through his messy brown hair, and I try not to watch.

  Eamon’s right of course. That Tobin needs space. And I know more than anything, he wants to know his brother is okay—safe. And if that means calling Tobin’s ex, it has to be done.

  Tobin’s the only thing Eamon doesn’t mind being tethered to. He won’t move out on his own, too final. Doesn’t stay with girls for more than a weekend, too restricting. Won’t take the supervisor job his boss keeps offering, too much responsibility. Even though he could handle all of it easily. It’s just who he is, which is why I have to find a way to let the idea of him go.

  “You sure? I could be vague, not let on that he’s…sort of…missing,” I suggest thinking that’s probably the best way to do this.

  Eamon rubs the scruff of his cheek and slowly nods. “Okay. But he’s not missing. Don’t say that. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s just… He’s just being an asshole.”

  I pull my iPhone out of the apron that’s tied around my waist and scroll for Delia’s number.

  “Scotch. Neat.” I look up from my phone and there’s a guy from the group that was in here earlier. His arms are covered in tats, he’s got a bandana around his wrist and an eat-shit look plastered across his face.

  “Sorry, last call is over,” I say purposefully not making eye contact. I press a few buttons then put the phone to my ear. “It’s ringing.” I mouth to Eamon, who’s peering over his shoulder at the man.

  “Scotch.” Bandana man repeats, sliding the glass toward me.

  I pretend to concentrate on my phone call as Eamon cuts his eyes toward him.

  “Braden, let’s go!” one of the guys calls from the door to Bandana.

  “You go on. I’m still waiting on my drink.” I ignore the way his eyes are boring into the side of my head and hope Delia picks up.

  “No answer,” I say, feeling myself deflate a little, even though it’s the middle of the night and I should have expected it. Delia is probably snug in her bed, sleeping sound without a damn care in the world. I’m not bitter, just a little envious, maybe. Mostly, I was hoping we could talk and we’d have an answer to at least one mystery—whether Tobin had high-tailed it to D.C. or not. I was also hoping Braden with the bandana would walk away while I was busy. He hasn’t.

  I press my hands to my hips and cock a brow.

  “I said last call is done. We’re closing up behind you.”

  I move to drop my phone back into my apron when Braden reaches across the bar and grabs my wrist. His fingers press deep into the skin with a searing pain. He’s so close I can smell that he must have chased the single scotch I poured him earlier with a fifth of his own.

  My heart starts racing just as I catch Eamon moving in out of the corner of my eye.

  3

  Eamon

  It only takes me a split second to react. I easily pull Braden’s arm from Rachel’s and pin it behind his own back. I push his head forward, letting it slam into the bar and hold it down with my other hand. There’s enough frustration coursing through me right now to end this guy.

  “You keep your damn hands off of her,” I say. I lean in toward Braden, my voice close to his ear, and the words slip through angry lips like daggers. “You owe her an apology.”

  Braden jerks away from me and I let him go, his arm dropping free at his side. He’s too drunk to do any real harm. He shakes off his arm and curses under his breath.

  “You okay?” I turn toward Rachel. She’s standing with her mouth gaping open, like she can’t believe this just went down on her watch. She shouldn’t be surprised. This isn’t the first fight to break out in Carl’s place, won’t be the last. And it’s not the first time I’ve stood up for her, either.

  “I—”

  Braden’s fist connects with my jaw with staggering force. I’ve either overestimated his drunkenness or underestimated his strength. Blackness tugs at my peripheral vision and I stumble backward, grabbing onto the back of a barstool to steady myself. I can feel the warmth of blood pour from my mouth.

  It should be the last thought on my mind, but all I can think is that I just got sucker punched because Tobin wasn’t here.

  Tobin and I are no strangers to throwing blows when we need to, but we’ve always looked out for each other and watched each other’s backs. Now he’s bailed, and I’m pissed.

  I swallow hard, trying to swallow the pain in my face, trying to swallow the thought of my brother and concentrate on what needs to be done. I lunge toward Braden and tackle him like a linebacker drilling a quarterback. We fall onto the hard floor and I hear Rachel yelling, but I can’t stop. I let my fist fly to his face.

  “Eamon!” Rachel screams. She’s pulling on my arm, trying to tear me away from this asshole. “That’s enough! Eamon! She’s calling back! It’s Delia!”

  It’s like I’ve been woken up from a dream. I jerk back away from him long enough for him to scramble out from under me and toward the door. My anger and frustration slowly dissolve into the worn wooden floor.

  Rachel looks at me, making sure I’m not going to run after him as he stumbles out the door. She turns her back to me and answers the phone.

  My fist aches, and is already swelling and badly bruised. I stumble across the room, walk behind the bar and shove my hand into the ice bin. I close my eyes and let the coolness numb the pain in my hand. What the hell am I doing? This guy was nothing more than a drunken asshole. I could have easily gotten rid of him without beating his face in.

  “Are you okay?” I hear Rachel’s voice next to me and open my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Rach. I just… I just lost it. I don’t know what to say.” I stare at where my arm disappears into the ice, realizing I’ve made more work for her because she’ll have to replace it all.

  “I do.” She shakes her head at me, the brown waves sweeping over her shoulder with each movement, and wraps an arm over my shoulder for a quick squeeze. “You LeJeune boys have always had a short fuse. Especially when it comes to protecting a woman.”

  She pulls my hand out of the ice and wraps a cool towel around it. “You made a hell of a mess in here, and you’re going to help me clean it up.”

  There’s nothing insulting or angry about her tone, and we both know I’d do it anyway.

  I glance around the bar at the stools toppled over, the glasses that I knocked off of the counter when I lunged for Braden, shattered across the floor.

  “But you’re not mad?” I ask, and the words suddenly feel like some kind of tipping point between us. To be honest, I’m still reeling from her admission after her split with Brett, I’ve just gotten better at hiding it.

  Rachel lets a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Am I ever mad at you, Eamon? You’ve been defending me, and everyone else you care about for as long as I can remember. I don’t expect that you’d stop now.”

  Her words cut through me. They definitely bring me back to that night three months ago when I thought our friendship was done. It took a long ass time to get back to normal, but Rachel knows—I may not do relationships, but I care a hell of a lot about her. Always have.

  “Eamon? You want a shot?” she asks. It’s like she knows what I’m thinking about and she’s trying to drown the memory before it gets too clear. Before it messes things between us again.

  I smirk. “I thought last call was through?”

  “Alright, smart ass. Cheers,” she says. She clinks her shot glass to mine and we each tip them back quickly. The tequila burns down my throat in the best way. Hopefully it’ll fuzz out some of my shitty evening.

  “What are we toasting to, exactly?”

  “Delia. She called back.”

  How could I forget so damn f
ast what I was even here to do in the first place? Find Tobin.

  “You didn’t tell her we can’t find him, did you?” I reach over and pour us each another shot.

  Rachel shakes her head. “Course not. I said that I saw someone in town earlier that was damn near her clone, and I was wondering if she was in for a visit. She, of course said she’s still in D.C. Then she asked how Tobin was doing.”

  “And?” I ask.

  Rachel downs her shot so I follow suit. “So, I told her he’s doing great. She said that was really good. Said she’s been wondering since she hadn’t heard from him in a long time.”

  “Nice job, Rach.” I love Delia like a sister, but she needs to stay out of Crawford while my brother gets his life back together.

  Rachel does a small curtsey that I can’t help but laugh at. “I do what I can. Anyway, I know Delia, and she sounded sincere…and a little sad. If she’d heard from Tobin, she would have said something.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “So now what?” Rachel asks.

  I pour another shot and tip it back. “Now, I’m back at square-fucking-one.”

  “Not you, Eamon. Us. We’ll find him.” Rachel moves away from me and I’m surprised at how empty the space feels without her. But that’s probably just the tequila burning away any sense in my brain. I hear the clink of coins and then the sound of a plucky guitar fills the bar.

  I peer around the tables and Rachel is in the middle of the small dance floor, arms above her head, letting the music flow through her. Her smooth hips sway back and forth in those jeans that fit her too damn well and her long, dark hair falls in waves over her shoulders and like everything about her, is soft and beautiful.

  There I go again.

  “I love this song.” She closes her eyes and even though I don’t know the song, I fall in love with it a little, too.

  “Bring me another drink, will ya?” she calls. “I’ve got work in the morning, and I’ve given up on sleep for the night.”

  My stomach turns over because I hate how hard she works. Longer hours than me, that’s for damn sure, and probably still makes half as much.

  I pour two more shots of tequila and take them over to her on the dance floor.

  “Thanks,” she says, glancing up at me from under a thick layer of lashes.

  I hand her a shot glass, she wraps her tiny palm around it but doesn’t quit swaying to the music. “What are we toasting to this time?”

  “Friendship,” she says. She clinks her glass to mine and we toss back the shots in one swallow. Rachel puckers her mouth. “I’d do anything for you and Tobin, you know that?”

  “I know, Rach. Same goes for you. It’ll always be that way.” I still feel the need to show her we’re okay, no matter what happened between us.

  She nods. “Mom’s looking at maybe another surgery, and the settlement money from the accident’s almost run out. I’m kinda running out of ideas.”

  My gut twists again. I’d do anything to change their situation, but it feels impossibly out of my hands. So I say something that’s basically a throw-away, and offers her no comfort, but it’s all I can think of right now. “Sorry. It’ll work out.”

  I make my way back to the bar and set the glasses down. Four is my limit for tonight, otherwise it’ll just be trouble, and really, I’ve had my fair share of trouble already.

  I decide to make good on my promise to clean up and lock the door and turn off the flashing neon sign in the window. I do busy work, not wanting to interrupt Rachel but still stealing glances over my shoulder of her moving to the music.

  Rachel doesn’t have the easiest time of it at home, never has. She takes care of her mom since the accident and her dad’s been gone since her mom came home in a wheelchair. He knows better than to show his face around here after that. Rachel doesn’t get a chance to let go--at least not often. I want to give her a moment of quiet, especially after the scene I caused earlier.

  I pick up the bar stools that were knocked over, empty ashtrays and wipe down tables. Finally, when I’ve run out of things to do, I lean against the bar and just watch her. She’s always loved to dance, ever since we were kids. Tobin and I would be swimming in the river and she’d stay on the dock, dancing to music that wasn’t anywhere but in her head.

  When the mid-tempo songs switch to a slow, whiny tune I’d normally roll my eyes at, I push off of the bar and move toward her.

  “Hey, Rach.”

  She spins toward me, looking a little embarrassed, though she has no reason to. “C’mere.” I reach out for her but she doesn’t move toward me.

  “You don’t slow dance, Eamon,” she says, smoothing her hair back away from her face. “Not unless you have other plans.” We both know what she means. I only dance with girls I plan to take home later. Still, it feels like we should. Her eyes are a bit unfocused, and I know the two shots have hit.

  “I think I’d like to.” I touch her waist, lighter than I normally would when I’m pulling a girl in to dance, but this isn’t just any girl. I pull her close in slow motion. Her eyes don’t leave mine, and they say everything we’re both thinking.

  What is this?

  It’s the alcohol. Right? Except I’ve been drunk off my ass with Rachel before and I’ve never danced with her, I’ve never leaned in and smelled her hair, wondering how she got it to smell like a combination of the woods and some sort of citrus.

  Rachel wraps her arms loosely around my neck.

  “My mama always thought I’d marry one of you LeJeune boys. Said it was destiny or something,” she says. “Even though I still feel like I don’t get Tobin all that much.” She bites on her bottom lip like she was just a little too late in stopping the words from slipping out of her mouth. She won’t look at my face, just stares at some point between my neck and chest.

  I let out a low, rough chuckle. “Well, Tobin’s more the marrying kind. I tend to steer clear of …commitments.”

  “I know.” She lets out a little sigh that makes me pull her closer. “No girls, no house, no wish for either… No wish for something of your own…” Her words are running together she’s so tired, and maybe a little drunk, and I’m wondering how I can help her get out of her other job tomorrow for a rest and to forget the words that she just let out of her mouth.

  Of everyone on this earth, Tobin and Rachel know everything about me that’s true. What she just said is everything I don’t want a light to be shown on. It’s everything I’m ashamed of.

  So I do the only thing I can do in the moment.

  I kiss her.

  4

  Rachel

  Eamon’s lips slide across mine in the practiced way that only someone with as much experience as Eamon could do. The alcohol smoothes out my body in waves as his kiss rolls through me, making me stumble against him. Eamon catches me easily as I find my feet.

  And then I pull back and laugh because I’m so damn nervous. “Nice try, Eamon. You’re drunker than I thought.”

  He blinks a few times at the new space between us and rubs his hands over his face. “Yeah. Guess so.”

  I glance around at the bar he’s cleaned up for me and now a wash of gratitude hits me. “Thanks for sticking around.”

  “Yeah.” He still seems dazed, his eyes sort of unfocused, and it’s more than just the drinks.

  “I’m gonna sleep in the apartment out back. And from the looks of it, you’re not safe to drive. Wanna crash here tonight?” I offer at the same time I’m realizing that now that his lips have touched mine, it’s probably not the best idea.

  Eamon takes a step toward me and sways just slightly.

  “Come on. I’ll get some ice for your hand.”

  He nods as I take his good hand and follows me behind the bar where I set him up with a bag of ice. Neither of us speaks as we make our way to the tiny apartment Carl keeps empty. I send Mom a quick text so she won’t worry, and set my alarm for four hours from now. It’s never quite enough, but it’s what it has to be.

&
nbsp; In minutes we’re sharing the bed like we’ve done what feels like a hundred times before when we couldn’t get home.

  Only this time I watch Eamon as he falls asleep, finally looking peaceful, less stressed. More like himself. I don’t realize how much the worry has kept me tense until my shoulders relax at the sight of Eamon asleep. The first thing I’m going to do the next time I see Tobin is punch him in the nose for making his brother worry like this.

  ***

  I start to roll over just as my phone buzzes telling me that my nap’s over. I’ve got to get to my other job doing filing at the newspaper, and make sure I’ve got my school stuff together for my lone nursing class. I could only afford one this semester. Well, and that’s all I had time for. At this rate, I won’t get my certification until I’m forty.

  I’ll hopefully make it home for another nap before my shift at Carl’s tonight. Either that or I’m going to be dropping a lot of money with Missy at the diner to keep me caffeinated today.

  As I start to slide off the bed, Eamon’s arm pulls me more tightly toward him. My first instinct is to move away, but when the thought slowly clicks together, and I realize that I’ve just slept in Eamon’s arms, I don’t want to move. Ever.

  I roll toward him and rest my head on his chest. His sturdy arms tighten as he sighs into my hair. Still asleep, or right on the edges.

  Eamon is a very dangerous thing for me to want. Even when I will myself not to, jealousy still slides in my chest like a razor when I see him with someone else. I know they won’t last. They never do. And I’d rather have whatever it is we have now than nothing--or another round of pure awkwardness like after my idiotic confession to him months ago.

  “I gotta go,” I whisper quietly enough that I hope he doesn’t hear. It’s just nice to pretend he really wanted to be with me last night and hold me the way he did. To think about him not wanting to be away from me for the day. “See you soon.”

  I lean in and brush my lips against his stubbly cheek, which brings a huge smile to my face. I remember when he first started growing facial hair, and he wouldn’t shave for weeks, just to try and give me burns on my cheeks or arms as he held me down. I’d laugh so hard I never could fight him off.