The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball

by Ryan, Shari J.

* * *

  Parker thinks you are …

  * * *

  Me: I know, but it’s okay to be a damsel with a broken truck. Be there soon.

  With the morning town traffic, it takes me longer than I’d like to get to Melody’s house. I see the truck in the driveway with the hood up, and the front door open with the storm door blocking the cold air from getting inside. I sent her a quick text to let her know I’m here.

  * * *

  Me: I’m outside.

  * * *

  After five minutes and no response, I knock on the door since she must not have her phone with her. I wait a couple more minutes in front of her door, and there is no answer, so I ring the bell, and while it doesn’t seem to be too loud, there’s still no answer.

  I open the storm door, find it unlocked, and call into the house, “Anyone home?”

  No answer. What the hell is going on?

  I walk down the main foyer, poking my head down the hall and into the TV room and dining room before finding my way into the kitchen where Melody is flat on her back on the floor with her eyes closed. Jesus. I drop to my knees, checking to see if she’s breathing but I notice a semi-smile on her face, and she’s doing that cute girl snore that I will not mention after she wakes up.

  “Hey, you left your front door open. Are you okay?” I ask loud enough to wake her, but not so loud to startle her into having a heart attack.

  Her eyes flash open, and she sits up, brushing her hair out of her face. “Oh my God, I fell asleep.”

  She’s adorable even when she’s a mess. I tilt my head to the side. “On the kitchen floor?”

  She forces me to try out the radiant heating on her kitchen floor as she explains her reason for falling asleep in such an odd place. Being distracted by the thought that Melody was unconscious on the kitchen floor, I almost forgot why I came here in the first place. It isn’t to make-out on her mother’s kitchen floor. That would be hard to explain if she came home and walked in on us. “If you want to stay warm, I can take care of the truck. I just need the keys.”

  “Don’t you need two people to jump a car?” she asks.

  “I can handle it. Stay warm.”

  “Thank you,” she says, standing up with me from the floor.

  Maybe it wouldn't be appropriate to take advantage of her on the kitchen floor, but it’s okay to lean over and kiss her cheek. It means more than “I think I like you” but less than “I’d like to take you right here and have my way with you.”

  “Anything for you,” I say.

  I tend to the truck outside, doing my best to pretend that I don’t see her watching me from the window like a lovesick woman gawking at a hot, shirtless landscaper. I don’t mind the attention. I’m just going to pray that the jumper cables work so I don’t look like a moron who can’t jump a car. Of course, the battery could be completely dead, and I’d be out of luck, but here’s to hoping.

  It takes me about ten minutes to give the battery enough juice to run, but I don’t think it’s going to recover completely. She will need a new battery. I flip the vanity light off so she doesn’t realize that checking her make-up in the mirror and leaving the light on may have contributed to the battery dying. Old batteries can die when the temperature outside is cold, so I’ll let her go with that thought.

  I make my way back into the house where Melody is waiting with two mugs. “All set, but I think the battery is a goner. The cold air was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. It’s time for a new one, but I can help you out, so you don’t have to pay an arm and a leg to a mechanic.”

  She’s giving me that loving look like I just saved her day. If only she were in a tower, I’d tell Parker everything about Disney is real. “You’re a sweet guy, you know?” Melody hands over one of the mugs, and I look inside to find hot chocolate.

  “Only to the people I like,” I say, making her blush.

  The time quickly passes as we finish our hot drinks, and she takes the mug from my hand and brings it to the sink before turning around to face me as if there’s something she needs to say.

  I have never felt so damn out of control in my life. “Yesterday, I enjoyed showing you where the labels were,” I say before realizing how ridiculous I sound.

  “I’m glad I know where to find them now,” she says, sounding breathless as I take a couple of steps in toward her. I enjoy making her squirm a bit. It’s nice to know the feelings are mutual.

  I lean forward and reach my arm over her shoulder, and she closes her eyes, preparing for something other than me, turning the faucet on behind her. “Do you mind if I rinse my hands off really quick? I have some grease on my fingers and I don’t want to mess up your mom’s house.”

  Melody’s mouth falls open with shock and maybe a little anger or embarrassment. It’s okay to tease as long as I follow up on it after. She tries to step to the side, so I can wash my hands, but I press my body against hers and press my lips to the side of her neck.

  I’m going to hell, but it will be worth it.

  She lets out a soft noise that sounds like a cry and a plea mixed together. I can’t take it. I straighten my posture and touch my nose to hers, staring into her eyes before moving any further. She loops her arms around my neck and scratches her fingernails along the base of my hairline. I feel like I’m losing control which I’m a little uneasy about as we are still in the kitchen, on display for whoever else may walk in.

  I take her lips as if I own them and show her what she’s doing to me with so little effort. I feel like I can’t get close enough, yet there’s no space left between us. I devour her tongue and tug on her bottom lip, tasting the sweetness from her hot cocoa. “You taste like chocolate,” I mutter into her mouth.

  “You are the happiness I need,” she responds.

  I trace my fingers down the side of her face, wanting only to offer her a permanent form of happiness.

  22

  One-and-a-half years later

  As a teenager, it’s rare to look at someone and see a future mapped out with them, and the thought of marriage isn’t a typical subject to cross a young man’s mind, but after seeing death and destruction year after year, then experiencing loss, I’ve come to realize a new truth. The promise of what happens tomorrow is not written in permanent ink because forever is not etched in stone for everyone.

  When Melody stepped back into my life, I knew there was a greater reason than being there to hold her up in a time of need. It wasn’t long after our first interaction that something in my head said, “She’s the one. Marry her. Spend forever with her.”

  Like any good romance, there was the first kiss and then the second kiss that trumped the first. Of course, there are always ups and downs that prove the strength of our feelings. One of those downs was having to fight off her ex, who wanted to come claim his “girl” a week after Harold died. It wasn’t a hard battle to fight, even though I was nervous at the time. I proved that sometimes a little space and quiet mean more than the pleas of someone who has already ruined his chances.

  In truth, I won without a battle. There was no contest and it was proof that Melody and I were meant for each other.

  Though life was anything but simple over the last year, we had each other. I was there for Melody in every way possible and each day we spent together was better than the one before. Our passion grew increasingly strong, day by day. It was amazing. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and it was more than initial lust, it was caged love—love that had been sitting and waiting to be released between us.

  I fell in love with Melody Quinn fast and hard, and it was the most incredible feeling I have experienced. I am her rock and I hold her up when times get tough. She has bonded with Parker, and the two have formed a relationship I only dreamt about for my daughter. So, all in all, life has been my version of perfection, and I knew there was only one step left.

  Marry her.

  I need to marry Melody Quinn, make her mine, keep her forever.

  Ther
e wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Melody would say yes when I proposed. We are best friends, lovers, and soulmates, and we spend more time together than most couples, enjoying every minute of it. I know without a doubt I cannot spend a day without her by my side. I need her forever.

  We’ve worried about today, our wedding day—how one of the most important people in Melody’s life will be missing, but we are determined to create a version of perfection that would make Harold proud.

  With the priest on my left and Brody on my right, I feel like I’ve won a jackpot as I wait for the double doors across the church to open.

  “Are you nervous?” Brody asks, elbowing me in the side.

  “No,” I tell him. “Why would I be?”

  “Uh, forever, hello?”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t scare me.” I glance over at him. “You are seriously the worst best man.”

  “Then my job here is complete,” he says with a grin.

  The music bellows from the church organ and my heart races with anticipation, waiting impatiently to see the large white doors open, revealing the girl of my dreams. Both girls, I should say.

  The doors open and Parker is the first to make her way through the bright sunlight pouring in from the floor to ceiling windows in the foyer. She’s dressed in a beautiful white princess gown, one she and Melody spent weeks shopping for. Parker is beaming with Abby’s smile as she times each step and scatters a handfuls of rose petals on the red runner.

  She’s been practicing for weeks, perfecting her march down the aisle. Pops stands from his seat to snag her up at the end and I hear a silent cheer of, “I did it!”

  The music changes to the Wedding March, a slow orchestral version of the traditional song Melody has dreamed of hearing while she walks down the aisle, linked at the arms by Mrs. Quinn and Journey.

  Melody is beaming in every way possible. Her cheeks are flushed and glowing from the slight shimmer in her makeup, and the green color of her eyes flash and sparkle in the sunlight. A choky feeling rushes through my throat as she approaches me, and all I can think is, I can’t believe how lucky I am after everything I’ve been through. If someone told me twelve years ago what I would have to go through to win the girl of my dreams, I’d do it all again for this moment.

  Mrs. Quinn kisses Melody’s cheek and takes a seat, second chair in from the right side, leaving the first chair open for Harold.

  Journey takes the bouquet of sun gazer lilies from Melody’s hand and steps to the side, opposite of Brody and I take my girl’s hands, knowing I never have to let her go again.

  The words that Melody and I wrote and promise to live by, float through air as the minister recites them just before our final vows. We take turns slipping rings onto each other’s fingers, and our kiss is full with the promise of tomorrow and currents of electricity striking every nerve in my body. We won. It’s the finale, and a new beginning.

  “I love you,” I whisper just before hearing the announcement that we are husband and wife.

  “I love you,” she replies, “forever.”

  There isn’t a dry face in the church as Melody and I step hand in hand down toward the aisle. I don’t know who arranged this but I notice a bottle of bourbon resting in a plush bed of roses on Harold’s seat. There is a bow neatly wrapped around the neck, and the label is stark white with the words “Mr. & Mrs.” scripted in black ink. Beneath, are the words: “Here is my blessing.”

  Melody notices the bottle at the same time, and we pause to take in the sight. “He’s here. He’s smiling down on us.”

  Parker runs to our side and I lift her up as the three of us make our way toward the sun filled foyer, beginning our beautiful future together as a family.

  23

  Six Months Later

  For once, things have been easy, allowing us to move forward on our journey together as a family. My relationship with Melody is beautiful and unbelievably flawless. It seems easy to have only one job; being here for my love, being her rock and showing unconditional love.

  I know without a doubt, I will always be here for her.

  But, there’s one thing ...

  Blinded by love and the reality I buried behind me, I failed to ask an important question: what happens when life falls onto its side for me? Is Melody strong enough to pick me back up and be my rock? I naively assumed she wouldn’t have to step up to a role because I convinced myself I’m strong enough for the both of us.

  I was sure I was.

  I was so sure of it—until today.

  “Through thick and thin, health and sickness …” Did she understand what she agreed to when she said: “I do?” If she didn’t, it was my fault for not being more transparent. Then again, I thought I could hide the reality of what lives inside of me, from Melody and Parker. I had locked it away for so long, I convinced myself that part of me was gone forever .

  A murderer. A killer.

  I’ve let her down—the woman I love, the stepmother to my adopted daughter, and I’ve let Parker down too because I am a monster. Some kind of perfect monster.

  I told myself it wouldn’t happen, and that I wasn’t like the others going through endless battles of unhinged thoughts and feelings. I was sure I had more control.

  But here we are. Facing the truth, one I’ve chosen to turn a blind eye to.

  My knees are bouncing, and my fingers are tapping against my thighs. I am trying my best to sit still in this family-style restaurant. Parker is staring at me like I’ve gone mad, and Melody—her eyebrows furrow as she reaches across the table, nudging the salt and pepper to the side. “Give me your hands,” she says.

  I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I say, feeling a twitch in my left eye.

  “Brett, what is going on?”

  I notice Parker’s gaze falls to her lap. She knows. She’s only seen it a few times, but she knows. I hate that she knows.

  We’ve been together, Melody and me, for two years—married for six months. We’re still in our honeymoon phase.

  I’m not looking at Melody. I’m staring over her shoulder as she continues to reach for my shaking hands hidden beneath the table.

  Melody retracts her reach and pulls her phone out of her purse, handing it to Parker. “Here, sweetie, why don’t you find a game to play while I talk to Dad for a minute.”

  Parker doesn’t say anything. She takes Melody’s phone and thumbs in her password to find Candy Crush, her favorite game.

  Melody stands up and sits next to me on my side of the booth, locking me in the middle between her and Parker.

  She grabs my hands and notices they are covered in sweat.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” she asks through a whisper.

  “Can you go back to your seat?” I ask, trying to remain calm.

  Melody seems to recoil at my words like I hurt her. “Why?”

  “Please.”

  She stands up from the booth and returns to her seat. “You’re scaring me,” she says, leaning over the table, trying to keep her words soft, so no one else hears.

  I want to tell her, but I would never want to subject her to the horrors in my mind at the moment.

  Melody notices I’m not looking at her and turns around to see what or who I’m staring at, but she wouldn’t know because I don’t talk about the things that scare me. She scans the area and returns her focus to my face. “Should we leave?” she asks. “We can get our food to go and eat at home.”

  “No, you wanted to go out tonight,” I remind her. I realize I sound as if I’m blaming the unknown situation on her, but she just seems more confused rather than hurt by what I didn’t mean to say.

  “Look at me,” Melody says, her words more forceful than before. “Brett Pearson.”

  * * *

  I close my eyes.

  I see him.

  He’s two feet away, standing above my tired body, and it’s dark.

  I can’t make out much of his figure, but I see the red and white shemagh scarf with only the whites of his eyes s
taring down at me.

  He’s carrying a tactical knife in one hand and has an AK-47 draped over his shoulder. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I recognize him as one of our translators.

  But he wants to fight. He wants to kill.

  Was someone in his family hurt or taken from him today? Is he seeking revenge on me?

  He wants to kill me.

  It’s him or me.

  I pull my sidearm out from the holster on my leg. I kick him in the knees and jump to my feet. He barely loses his balance but there is one-second of surprise and I knock him down with an elbow to his nose. I press my boot against his throat and stare him in the eyes, searching for the fear I don’t see. He doesn’t care that I have the ability to win or that he could die. I point my sidearm closer to his forehead and he pulls out a small pistol, aiming it at me. I pull my trigger into his forehead just before he pulls his into mine.

  He’s dead. His eyes are still open, looking as fearless as he was before. The men in my battalion surround me, some on the lookout for more, other’s panicking for being thirty-seconds too late to the sneak attack.

  We thought we were safe. We have guards watching our area. You can never be too safe.

  Two of the other guys grab me by the arms to help me away from the scene. “Come up, bro. Let’s walk away.”

  “We got this taken care of,” another guy says.

  I should be numb.

  He was number five. That’s five too many.

  * * *

  “Yes, could we possibly have our food to go? I’m not feeling very well,” I hear Melody tell the waitress.

  “Is he okay?” the waitress asks.

  “Oh yeah, he’s just had a long day at work.”

  A long day? I work in a bourbon shop now. I’ve experienced the raw definition of a long day; An endless hummer ride through an Afghanistan sandstorm with a mortar attack blocking us in. Melody doesn’t need to know about that kind of “long day.”