by Kacey Shea
“And finding joy,” Jill says.
Their gazes land on me, waiting.
“Chasing dreams,” I add, my heart fluttering with anticipation as we clink our glasses and take a drink. I feel as though I’m on the edge of something better—a life I’ve always wanted and never felt worthy or deserving of. But I’m taking back my power. I’m making a way despite a rocky start.
“So, which county is it in?” Callie asks. “Don’t tell me it’s the Rockwell YMCA. Remember that volunteer day we did sophomore year?”
Jill shakes her head. “I remember the naked retirees.”
Callie nods. “It takes bold confidence to go butt naked in a community shower.”
“I need that kind of zero fucks energy in my life.” Jill lifts her glass again.
Callie laughs. “Don’t we all.”
“It’s in Kitty Hawk,” I blurt. Nerves tumble in my gut as I realize this could change their approval. It’s one thing to be happy for me when I’m just down the street. Another when I’m three hours away.
“Huh?” Jill says.
Callie’s brows crinkle with her frown. “Wait. Where?”
“My summer internship. It’s in the Outer Banks.”
Their smiles freeze for a split second, and I read their disappointment. It’s as clear as the night sky.
“You’re leaving for the entire summer?” Callie keeps her voice light and filled with positivity, but I think it’s more to not hurt my feelings.
“Only twelve weeks.” I wince and force the smile on my lips to stay put. I get it’s inconvenient. We won’t be able to meet for a quick dinner or weekend brunch. But half the time Callie and Jill are too busy anyway. I need my own life. “This is what I want.” What I need.
“We’ll come visit,” Jill says, glancing at Callie in a way that silently communicates Act happy, damn it!
“Of course we will!” Callie gushes.
They’re the worst actors, but I appreciate the effort.
“This is a good opportunity,” I explain. God, I ache for their approval. Understanding. Maybe a little excitement too. My desire for approval is a hard habit to break.
Jill reaches over to squeeze my hand. “You’re going to do great things there. They’re lucky to have you.” Her words are genuine, as if she really means them.
“Yes.” Callie nods, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. “Tell us all about it.”
My heart warms, emotion overwhelming me. I should’ve never doubted they’d be anything but supportive. I swallow back the lump in my throat and fill them in on the details. From when I move in, to my responsibilities at the center, and what I’m most eager about. They share in my excitement and I bask in the attention. Of knowing these two will always have my back. Support my choices, even if it takes me a state away.
“When will you hear about grad school?” Jill asks.
I’ve applied to several. “I’m on the wait list for JMU and George Mason. The rest I haven’t heard from. But we’ll see. I applied late so I might not get in this year. I’ll have to work harder for next year.”
“You’ll get in,” Jill says. I want to believe her.
“I’m so proud of you,” Callie says. “This summer internship. Grad school. Staying sober. You’re a pimped out version of your former self.”
“Yeah.” Jill laughs. “Don’t forget us little people when you’re some top psychologist running research for an entire fucking department at a prestigious university.”
“I could never forget my best bitches.” I wink.
“Ugh. Stop.” Callie shakes her head and fans her face. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Get out your calendar,” Jill says to Callie. “Let’s pick a weekend to visit her.” She turns to me. “Is that okay? Or should we wait until you’re all settled in.”
“No.” Now I’m the one blinking back tears. “I would love that.”
I stare in awe at these two women I call friends, ones who’ve seen me through my worst, who I’ve hurt and who’ve forgiven me, and who still show up for me in the biggest of ways. I’m undeserving. I’m a broken mess. But they make me believe I am worthy of love and goodness. They want the best for me even if it means I’m moving away for the summer. They really are my best bitches, and nothing’s ever going to change that.
4
Chase
I don’t know how much time passes, an hour or maybe two, but my eyelids are heavy and the game’s over when Charles slaps my shoulder. I glance down to find a receipt with my credit card resting next to my hand. Fuck. I don’t even remember paying the tab.
“We’re heading out,” he says.
“Come on, man.” Troy jostles Maverick awake. “Time to go.”
Maverick grumbles, blinking awake from where he’s curled up in the far corner of the booth.
I don’t want to leave, but most of the guys are shuffling out of the booth to do just that. “I need to eat.” I glance around the table of empty glasses. Jesus. When was the last time someone came by to bus our table?
“I’ve got to get some sleep. My brother’s picking me up at the ass crack of dawn for our fishing trip,” Troy says and pats my shoulder. He and I share an apartment with two others from the department. “You need a ride?”
“No, man, I’m good.” Or at least I will be once I get some food. I look around for a server but none are around. I wave my good-bye to Troy and then shout, “Who do I have to blow to get some damn service?”
Ace shoots me a glare.
“What?” I shoot to my feet and throw my arms wide, puffing out my chest. “You got something to say?”
For a second I think he might fight me. I kinda want him to. He’s a hothead and I could use the rush of adrenaline. The thought of knocking that smug look off his face is enough to light up my senses.
“Come on, man.” Charles pushes between us and slaps Ace on the chest. “No one needs to be throwing fists around. Not tonight.”
Ace’s jaw tightens and he grits his teeth. He wants to hit me, it’s clear in his glare, but he’s clearly not as drunk as I am. “Not fucking worth it anyway.” He shoves away from Charles and gives me one last glare. “Later, Captain.”
I open my mouth to taunt him but he’s already walking away.
“Get an Uber when you’re ready to leave.” Charles pulls me in for a side hug and slap on the back. “I mean it, brother.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off and turn back to the table. I pick up my drink, frowning when I find it empty. Maverick’s the only one left, a few seconds from passing out again by the look of it. I slide across the booth and bang the table with my fist.
His gaze shoots up, his body startled. “Fuck!”
When his stare collides with mine, we break into a fit of laughter.
“You’re such a douchebag,” he says. Looking around the table, his brow crinkles with a frown. “I thought I ordered mozzarella sticks.”
That was a while ago. I think we ate them while he was passed out. I glance around the packed brewery, but still find no sign of our server. “This place sucks.”
“I need to eat something, man.” He blinks pointedly, then scrubs a hand over his face. “Vanessa will kill me if I come home like this.”
I’m starving, too, but if we stay here it’ll be another hour before we get anything. “Let’s go.” I push back out of the booth and steady myself by gripping the table. My gaze lands on an unfinished beer—I think it was Ace’s—and I pick up the glass, tilting it back to chug the contents.
Maverick stumbles next to me and he drops a few bills on the table.
I slap him on the back, shaking my head. “You’re a good man.” After the shit service we had, I wouldn’t have tipped.
“I need pizza.”
“I gotchu, brother.” The words roll from my tongue and squish together. I try again. “I. Got. You.”
“Babe,” my friend says, chuckling at his reference to the iconic song lyric.
The even
ing breeze stings my face as we stumble out of the restaurant and make our way down the street. The crisp air sobers my mind a bit. Maverick staggers and blunders much more than I do.
“You okay?” I ask, reaching out to steady him.
“Thanks,” he mutters, leaning in to balance his weight against mine. “Vanessa is seriously going to kill me.”
“That’s your problem, man,” I say. “Get engaged and all the fun stops. That’s why I keep it single and sexy.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “But I love ‘er, man. You’ll understand when it happens.”
Love. “Nope. No fucking way. Not in the cards.” It doesn’t exist. Not for me anyway.
“That’s what they all say.” He stops short, shoving away from my body. “Shit.” It’s the last word out of his mouth before he drops to the curb and retches behind a parked Hyundai.
“Fuck.” I shake my head. I need to feed him and get him home ASAP. There’s a late-night pizza joint a few miles from here, roughly on the way to his and Vanessa’s place.
He finishes puking, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and stumbles back to where I’m waiting.
“Where’d you park?”
He points and I notice the red bumper of his Jeep behind an oversized pickup. He sighs as if it’s taking everything to not fall over. “I can’t drive.”
No shit. “Give me the keys.” I open my palm.
He digs in his pockets and turns them over. We make it the rest of the way without any more puke breaks, which is a success in itself.
I open the passenger door and help shove his heavy ass inside, then round the front bumper. My foot catches on the pavement and I stumble a little. “Fucking roads,” I mutter. The city really needs to get on that. For as much as they take in taxes, it’s the least they can do. Pulling myself into the seat behind the wheel, I slide the key in the ignition and turn it over, loving the way the engine rumbles to life. This thing’s not as sweet as my Camaro, but still fun as hell to drive.
I strap on my seat belt, adjust the mirrors, and swing out of the space. “Let’s get you some food, yeah?”
“Thanks, brother.” Maverick reaches out to pat my shoulder as I pull out onto the road. “You’re the best.”
“Anything for you, man.” It’s the truest thing I’ve said all day. Because my crew, I’d do anything for them, day-drinking and late-night pizza slices included. Vanessa will probably still chew his ass out for coming home wasted, but at least he’s got someone waiting at home who cares. Yeah, I give him shit for being shackled down, but we both know he’s the lucky one. At the end of the day he doesn’t have to be alone. With his thoughts. With his past. With himself.
The roads are practically empty at this hour and I take full advantage. Gunning the engine at the next stretch of road, I send us flying back into our seats with a jolt.
“Shit.” He laughs.
I take the turns a little faster than necessary and crank up the tunes. The wind rushes, the music blares, and I feel completely alive. Reckless even, the same as when I’m about to rush into a burning building.
Maverick sings along at the top of his lungs.
I relish in the power beneath the hood of his Jeep. I turn onto the next street, another wide stretch of open road, and floor it. We’re laughing. Happy. Free. These are the moments I live for. Being a firefighter, part of a brotherhood, is the place I belong. We work hard. We respond to the worst of situations. But we survive.
“You doing okay, man?” I check in with Maverick, assessing his color to ensure he’s not about to puke.
“Yeah.” He flashes me a loopy smile and rests his head back on the head rest. “I’m fucking fabulous.”
We both laugh and I fix my gaze back on the road. I should slow down soon to make our next turn but I gun it one last time. Only there’s a flash of movement up ahead.
An object.
In the road.
A dear.
Buck.
The laughter in my throat dies and I slam my foot on the brake. The squeal of gears, or maybe it’s the tires, screeches as I jerk the wheel to avoid a collision. In a flash we’re off the road. Shit. Fuck!
I yank the wheel but it’s too much.
I overcorrect my mistake.
Then we’re sailing. Weightless. Defying gravity. The Jeep lands with a crunch and flips, turning over and over again. Glass shatters. The world becomes a kaleidoscope of images I can’t process. I clench my eyes against the chaos. Shouts. Pain. Everything splinters through my brain.
Then there’s complete silence.
A cricket chirps, eerie against the cold night. My pulse races but there’s nothing but darkness when I open my eyes.
“Mav,” I croak, my throat feeling odd. My body tingles, or maybe it aches. I feel as if I’m watching myself from outside of my own body. My head pulses with pain and a soft buzzing comes from somewhere that causes alarm to spark inside me. “Maverick. Mav, we gotta get out,” I rasp, attempting to shout.
I turn my head to the side to find my friend, but the passenger seat is empty. He’s gone. Completely gone and I’m alone. The sinking fear in the pit of my gut explodes. Dread mixes with a foreboding sense of danger as seconds tick by. I have to get out. I have to find Maverick. I reach for my phone but it’s not in the cup holder. Fuck, who knows where it could be. I grab for the release button on my seat belt buckle and pain pricks my finger as it scrapes against a piece of jagged metal.
The pressing feeling in my chest roars with the fear of being trapped. I need to get out. Now. I’m transported back in time to when I was a boy, terrified and unable to move from bed after another horrid dream. Claustrophobic in my own skin. Of not being able to get help. I can’t get my limbs to move. From the alcohol or shock? I don’t know.
I open my mouth and shout, a mangled, animalistic cry my own ears don’t recognize. But this is real. This isn’t a bad dream I can wake up from. Fuck! I will my body to move toward the open window. To get out. To find Maverick. To do something other than lie here and give in to defeat. But even as I crawl out of the totaled vehicle, a part of me comprehends that whatever comes next is about to be worse than any nightmare.
5
Chase
Three weeks later
Bang. Bang. Bang. The hammering of a closed fist at the door barely registers from my spot on the couch. My head pounds. My mouth is dry. Must’ve passed out again. I hardly ever make it to my bed anymore. I can’t take the suffocating feeling from my own four walls. Of being stuck with my own thoughts.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Fuck. What time is it? More importantly, who the hell is at our door? I wince when I crack my eyes open, hating the way the throbbing in my skull worsens at the brightness.
Everything comes to light under the illumination of a new day. Memories cut like a fresh wound. I squeeze my eyes shut. My gut twists. It hurts too much. Everything does.
It’s easier to hide from reality under the darkness that comes with night. The haze of ambiguity I melt into aided by a six pack of beer and a bottle of gin helps. They take off the edge. Numb my racing thoughts. Provide the closest thing to peace I’ll ever find after what I did.
Because I don’t deserve forgiveness.
I don’t even deserve to be alive. Not after what I did.
Everyone hates me.
I don’t blame them. I hate myself, too. I wish every damn day that I was the one thrown through the windshield. I don’t know why I don’t just end it all. I’ve thought about it so many damn times. It’d probably be better for everyone if I did.
Fuck this shit.
I pat around the floor, and when my fingers wrap around the neck of a familiar glass bottle, I lift it onto the couch and twist off the cap. Not bothering to sit up, I tip the contents into my mouth and swallow. The burn of the first couple of gulps chases away all remnants of sleep. But it’s faster this way, if I drink it straight. Thankfully, the sorry sob at the door gives up and there are no more angry kno
cks coming from outside. My roommates are all working or sleeping. Fuck, I don’t even know, but it’s quiet and within a few seconds my eyelids grow heavy and I start to nod off.
The slam of the door as it bangs against the wall knocks me back awake. I crack an eyelid to see my stepbrother step inside. Fucking great.
“Jesus. Fuck.” Cam stomps through the apartment, an irritated scowl twisting his features as he takes everything in. His boots kick away the cans I didn’t bother picking up last night.
I pull my head from the couch and rub my eyelids. “‘Sup.”
He glares, holding my stare until I break first. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds before I fold. I lift the bottle of gin to my lips.
“Jesus. Chase.” He rips it from my fingers before I get a sip.
“Hey,” I say, not bothering to mask my annoyance. “Just ask if you want some. I’ll share.”
He scoffs, contempt and disgust thick in his tone. “You can’t keep doing this.” He walks the liquor bottle to the kitchen. A few cabinets slam open and shut. I wonder if he knows how much the sound slices though my skull. Probably.
“I can do whatever I want,” I grumble and push myself up to a sitting position. My head feels too heavy and I let it fall back onto the head rest. I glance longingly at the kitchen, wishing he hadn’t taken my bottle and knowing I won’t get it back. Not until he’s gone.
He marches back with a glass in one hand. “Get the fuck up and drink this.” It’s water.
“No.” I hold back the urge to gag and wave him off. “Just go away.”
“I’m not leaving. Get up.” His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Too loud. Too rough. “This place looks like shit. You look like shit.”
I chuckle, but it’s devoid of humor. “Always with the compliments.”
“You’re gonna kill yourself,” he says as if it’s a threat.
“Good,” I mumble and sink further into the couch. It’d be easier. I don’t want to deal with my know-it-all brother, or anything for that matter. I shut my eyes and hope for sleep to take me away from the pounding headache of my hangover.
