Bourbon on the Rocks: The Barrel House Series - Book 2

by Ryan, Shari J.

  * * *

  My Dearest Journey—my life-changing journey,

  You aren’t the sentimental, sensitive little girl I once thought you were. For a long time, I waited for my stories about dragons and knights in armor to make you realize the type of strength you owned was the same as a knight fighting a dragon. You have always been relentless in everything you do, whether it may be devotion, love, or doing the right thing. Except once. This letter should be advice and words to make you understand and remember how much I love you, but this letter needs to do more than give my strong-willed daughter advice because I need to set you free, sweetheart.

  I know you have secrets, ones you would take with you to your grave, seventy years from now. But, as a parent, sometimes it’s our job to learn about those secrets and keep them just as safe. Not every lesson in life needs to be a permanent reminder. I knew about your New Year’s Eve party, the one responsible for supplying alcohol to minors, which ultimately led to Adam’s accident. You told the world a different story to protect me and The Barrel House, and maybe I was as wrong as you for keeping the truth a secret, but I appreciate you trying to protect me even though it was my job to protect you. I don’t want you going through life, thinking you kept anything from me, and I don’t want you to feel guilty. Life is full of lessons—some good, some ugly, and very few in between. We take those lessons and apply them to our future, ensuring to do better and never repeat a mistake.

  I have watched you devote years of your life to be the person with a heart larger than life. You get that from your mother, but your determination and will to never give up—that’s from me.

  I won’t tell you what to do with your future because it’s your life and your choice, but I want you to know: you were born with a gift to see the fine details of beauty and color. Therefore, the decisions you make should never be black and white. Create a version of life unique to you, one just for you, then add the details, allow them to blend in and create a masterpiece you can be proud of.

  Life is short, sweetie, but the journey from beginning to end is different for each of us, and though you think yours ended a long time ago, it has yet to start. Pieces will fall into place, and you will know when to continue forward, living for the meaning of your existence. You will be proud someday, and you will forgive yourself, but you need to navigate your way to that pin on your map.

  If you feel lost, look up toward the stars because they’ll guide you back home. Plus, I’ll be up there, waiting with answers.

  I love you, Journey.

  So much.

  —Dad

  * * *

  I wish his words offered more clarity tonight, but all I can assume is, I’m still waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

  Tears fall from my eyes, ones I wish I had control over. Maybe no one will understand why I am the person I am, and if so, my pieces may look different from everyone else’s life.

  I fold Dad’s note back up and place it back under my pillowcase and roll over to stare up at the sky, wishing there were fewer clouds tonight because I’m feeling lost.

  My phone buzzes somewhere on the floor, wherever I left my pants. I spot the glow from the pocket of my jeans. I debate climbing out of my cocoon to retrieve the device. The second buzz forces me to clamber out of my bed and grab the phone before rushing back to my covers. I check the display:

  * * *

  Brody: I hope you locked your door.

  Brody: Also, I’m sorry.

  * * *

  I’m not sure what Brody is apologizing for, and I don’t have the strength to ask. It might be easiest to assume he’s sorry for walking away from a situation he can’t fathom being a part of.

  I didn’t lock my door because on nights like this, I lose my sense of care for safety, security, and comfort because living by the rules won’t offer me safety, security, or comfort. It’s reckless and stupid, just as all the other poor vices in my life but being reckless and stupid landed my life where it is today, so maybe it’s the only way to end up in the next place I’m supposed to be.

  16

  At no point in the past few days had I considered my decision of hitchhiking to be a poor choice. Tucker was a nice guy and had kept me entertained with stories from his years of trucking experience. He didn’t ask much about my life, which I appreciated, but there had been one question he wanted an answer to. Was I running from something, and if so, from who or what? Without offering him a clear answer, he didn't trust me. He wouldn't leave me unattended in the truck and always made sure I followed him to the restrooms or into the stores of the travel plazas. I guess he was afraid I'd drive off with this eighteen-wheeler.

  What I learned was, Tucker’s parents passed away when he was young. He hardly remembered them, and he grew up moving from foster home to group home, never being in one place for more than a few months and never being chosen by anyone for adoption. It was hard to imagine a life like he had after realizing how simple my life was while growing up. However, he did not seem to focus on his past. It should have been a good lesson for me to follow, but I also came to the conclusion he likely stayed on the road to avoid planting roots. Essentially, I was on the road for the same reason. I needed to keep moving.

  “Two-hundred miles until the Nevada border,” Tucker said, pointing out the sign we had been passing.

  “Never been,” I told him.

  “You haven’t visited Vegas?”

  “I’m twenty.” For another four hours. Birthdays had never been a big deal to me, not like Melody, who lives for the spotlight and well-wishes.

  “Well, when do you turn twenty-one?”

  I glanced out the window, past the barren land of dirt and spinning hay barrels—a much different scene than maple and pine trees. “Maybe timing is everything,” I told him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll be twenty-one tomorrow.”

  “Get out of here,” he said, slapping the steering wheel. “So, is this like your twenty-first birthday adventure? Trekking across the country with a stranger?”

  “Kind of, I guess.” I left home more than a week earlier, and I didn’t consider where I would be for my birthday. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Not much had been consuming my mind aside from Adam’s condition. The idea of celebrating my birthday in a nursing facility with an unconscious man didn’t feel like a memory I would want to store, so maybe the timing was a small part of my plan.

  “In about five hours, we’ll be over near Vegas. You’ll be twenty-one, and I think we should make a stop and get you a birthday drink.”

  I hadn’t had a drink since the night of the accident. “Don’t you have to get to Sacramento?”

  “I’m running ahead of schedule. We have a little time.”

  Maybe Vegas wasn’t a bad idea. I could even get off the ride there.

  “Okay, I’ll take you up on that offer,” I said.

  “One condition, though …”

  I figured he would want the answer to his one and only question; why I was running away. “What’s the condition?” I asked, hoping I was wrong.

  “Tell me the truth. What are you running from, beside yourself?”

  My gaze dropped to my trembling hands, resting on my lap. I picked at my fingernails, wishing I remembered my nail clippers and nail polish remover because I had splotches of maroon polish that I had been picking off since I left home.

  “The New Year’s before last was about a week after I broke up with my boyfriend. I threw a party because it was my senior year. I wanted a night to remember without feeling the guilt of breaking someone’s heart. I still loved him, so I was feeling pain too. My ex showed up at the party even though I didn’t invite him. To make a long story short, my New Year’s kiss was with a childhood acquaintance in a closet where I thought we were hidden. One thing led to the next, and my ex found us, fled the party, drunk, and drove off a cliff. Now he’s in a coma and has been for about eighteen months. I have sat by his side every day, but I needed
a break.”

  Tucker was quiet for a minute, probably digesting the story. “Of all the thoughts that crossed my mind as a potential story for your reason of running away, I didn’t see this one coming,” he said. “I understand why you’re running.”

  “I’m not sure I understand but thank you for saying so.”

  “I’m sure you’ve been told this already, but you know the accident wasn’t your fault, right? You did nothing wrong. You two broke up, and you didn’t drink and drive his car off a cliff.”

  I shrugged while still staring at my fingernails. “I know. Hearing this or reminding myself of where to place blame, doesn’t help.”

  “Do the doctors think he has a chance of coming out of the coma?”

  “No one has a good answer, but his parents aren’t ready to give up.”

  “What about your family? Do they know where you are? I notice you don’t have a phone or anything.”

  “Yes, and no, but I didn’t say goodbye, and I left my phone behind. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it without chains attached.”

  I don’t know if what I said was too much to digest all at once or if he needed more time to collect his thoughts, but the following hours were filled with static-filled music and the view of an endless dark highway.

  I fell asleep for a bit, but when lights brighter than the sun shone through the windows, I woke up to Vegas.

  “Happy Birthday,” Tucker said when he noticed I was awake. “Let’s forget about the road and our pasts and enjoy a couple of hours of clean, wholesome fun.”

  It sounded like the best idea in the world, but I was the type who didn’t always learn a hard lesson the first time around.

  The week has gone by slowly. I had lunch with Mom twice, listened to her chat about town gossip while doing my best to appear interested so she wouldn’t ask me questions like “What’s wrong?” Nothing should be wrong. I should be focusing on work, edits, and moving along in my typical daily routine. But Brody got into my head. I assumed I wouldn’t hear from him after my confession, but part of me thought he might be different, which ultimately led to a letdown. I regret starting my flirtatious game with him the night of the bake sale, then answering his calls, and allowing him to cook my cheating chicken parm. Worst, I regret letting him into my bed, then enjoying a night out with him and his daughter, who apparently hates everyone but kind of likes me a little. I didn’t think my heart and brain were capable of feeling a slight bit of happiness. My refusal of allowing myself to have feelings for him was taken over by the thought of wanting what I can’t have. Damn him for doing it to me. I knew better.

  I stare at the mirror in my bathroom and shake off my unsettling feelings before lining my eyes with a layer of mascara. A client meeting means business, and I have to look alert and a little less depressed. Although, it’s just another wedding, which I’m over at the moment. Watching happy couples doesn’t spark joy.

  After applying a coat of lip gloss, I press my fingers to the sides of my eyes, stretching my skin toward my ears, wishing I could erase ten years. Although, stretching my skin highlights my prominent cheekbones, allowing me to see why I’m being questioned about my health by everyone. I turn around and step on the scale that’s collecting dust, then wait for the truth. Twenty pounds down over the course of six months. I was hardly at an average weight before Dad passed. I guess it’s time to check-in with the doc. Maybe he’ll tell me I’m dying too. It’s probably in our genes, anyway.

  With a few minutes to spare before I have to leave, I place the call to my primary care, telling them my concerns. What was hardly a concern to me an hour ago has been moved up to a code red as the receptionist booked me an emergency appointment for this afternoon.

  Back to trying to look upbeat … for a happy couple.

  I slip my coat on and grab my bag, holding my car key between my teeth as I open the front door. My key falls from my clenched jaw when I find Brody sitting against the wall with two coffees again. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting,” he says.

  “What if I didn’t have anywhere to be today?”

  “I planned to knock at nine-thirty.” Brody stands up, careful not to tip either coffee. “Got a minute?”

  As if I didn’t know what time it was, I check my watch. “Nope, I have a meeting.”

  Brody hands me a coffee. “Okay, well, I got you a coffee.”

  I shuffle my bag higher on my shoulder so I can take the cup from his hand. “You didn’t have to.”

  “Yeah.”

  I close my door behind me and take the lead down the stairs. “What time is your meeting over?”

  “Don’t you need to be at work?”

  “Yes,” he responds.

  “I don’t know. Probably eleven.”

  “Where’s your meeting?”

  “Betsy’s.”

  “Can I meet you there for an early lunch?” Brody sounds pitiful, and I don’t give into sad eyes easily, but if I were to, it’s the reason I refuse to look at him.

  “Why do you want me to have lunch with you?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “There isn’t anything to talk about.” He should have some understanding after going silent for the last three days. Not that I’ve attempted to reach out to him either, but I left the ball in his court, and he left me with an apology and a reminder to lock my door.

  “Journey, come on,” he says, taking my elbow into his hand, so I stop walking ahead.

  “I can’t do this. I don’t want to play this up and down game.”

  Brody huffs with frustration. “You admitted to dropping a bomb on me. Am I not allowed to digest information and think things through without pissing you off?”

  “I didn’t realize you were thinking. Honestly, I didn’t think you were capable of such a skill.”

  “Quit it with being a jerk for a minute,” he says. It’s the first time he hasn’t had a snippy response to one of my insults, which informs me of his seriousness. Still, I’m not sure I’m up for this round of ping pong.

  “What do you want, Brody?” I look him in the eyes, which I immediately regret because he has beautiful eyes, and we’re outside, and the sun fills the warmth of his browns with vibrant copper tones. I notice faint reddish highlights in his dark hair too. His cheeks are pink from the cold, and he’s blowing plumes of fog from his parted lips. I hate that he could hurt any part of me within such a short period.

  “You, Journey. I want to make things work for both of us.” I’m not sure what he means by “both of us.”

  “It’s taken you three days to say this?”

  “Yes, it has, because I’m not about to tell you to stop loving another man.” He understands me. I didn’t think he would comprehend what I was trying to explain the other night on a level as deep as I’m on. Being in my shoes isn’t normal, and I wouldn’t expect anyone to feel the way I do.

  “What are you about to tell me?” I ask.

  “Stuff,” he says.

  I roll my eyes and tilt my head back, peering up at the clear blue sky. “Fine, I’ll see you at eleven. Betsy’s.”

  “Thank you,” he says, stepping in to wrap his arms around my neck. I don’t hug him back, though. I’m not ready to offer a response to his simple words.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” I offer while unlocking the door to my jeep.

  “I’m glad your Jeep was safe and secure all night. Was your apartment?” I give him a look to avoid his question. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Good luck with your meeting.”

  I figured it was coming—the day I would finally turn down a job. Taking photos in a non-heated barn that has poor lighting is not my cup of tea. To each their own but freezing while taking photographs of people wearing winter coats to a wedding under orange lights will not make my portfolio look any better. I have a hard time saying no to potential clients, but I’ve been regularly filling up my schedule, giving me the option to pass on events I’d rather avoid. I still spoke to
the couple for over forty-five minutes, offering them advice without overstepping my bounds. I told them I was booked for the same day, rather than offensively telling them I’d rather not freeze my butt off for you and your marital bliss.

  The couple leaves five minutes before eleven, passing Brody at the cafe door. He hasn’t seen me yet, but he’s looking in every direction, saving the second table to the right for last. A smile stretches across his cheeks after he spots me. He peels his coat off while preparing to snag the chair across from me. “How did it go?” he asks.

  I scrunch my nose and shake my head. “I passed on the job.”

  “It’s better than being passed by for a job,” he counters.

  “True.”

  Brody takes one of the two menus and scans the list for a quick second. I already know what I’m having, and part of me wonders if he knows what he’s having but needs a minute to prepare his speech.

  He places the menu down and crosses his hands on top of the ad-covered paper placement. “I’m sorry for going a few days without saying anything to you,” he begins. “I don’t typically use my past as an excuse for anything in life, but after I was cheated on and found out my wife loved someone else more than me, it was a hard pill to swallow.”

  His original rendition of the story didn’t sound as painful, but I’m sure it was a cover-up. I can’t imagine finding a spouse cheating.

  “I understand,” I tell him because I do understand.

  “I’ve tried to analyze the situation a little and put myself in your shoes, but I concluded that you’re a better human being than me.”

  “Well, I could have told you that,” I add, smirking to accent my comment.

  He doesn’t bite back again. “If Adam miraculously got up and started walking and talking tomorrow, how would it make you feel?” The question has never been asked of me before. I don’t put one foot in front of the other if I can’t balance properly in the first place.