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

by Ryan, Shari J.

  I close my eyes, trying to comprehend every word she said, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. I only know she has a major science project coming up. “Oh,” I say. “It’s Sunday.” Great parenting right here. I shouldn’t persuade my daughter to stop doing homework on Sunday.

  “Yeah, I know. I just woke up and thought of an idea I needed to try.”

  “I don’t know when you became smarter than me, but I don’t hate it,” I say.

  Hannah spins around in her desk chair and smirks. “Dad, I became smarter than you at three years old, but it’s okay. We all reach our peak at different times, right?” Yup. My Hannah in a nutshell.

  “Can I steal you away from the computer for an hour or so. There’s something I want to show you and talk to you about. I know you hate going anywhere with me, but I promise no one you know will be there, and it’s important to me.”

  Hannah looks confused. Usually, she’d argue and tell me she doesn’t want to go anywhere. Leaving the house, unless it’s with a girlfriend, isn’t her thing. I will say, she’s been amazing helping with Isla. She babysits and plays with her when Journey needs to work. Our family blended seamlessly, but there’s still something behind Hannah’s eyes that leaves me feeling unsettled every day. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s my personal fears I’m silently holding her accountable for.

  But if it’s not, I may not get a second chance to try to make things right for her.

  “Um,” she says, twisting back around to look at her monitor. “Yeah, okay. Just us?”

  “Yeah, just us.”

  “Why aren’t Journey and Isla coming?”

  “I want to spend some time with you, okay?”

  Hannah clicks a few buttons with her mouse, putting her computer to sleep and stands up from her chair. “Okay.”

  She grabs her phone and drops it into her back pocket and is ready to go. I don’t know how I lucked out that neither Hannah nor Journey needs an hour to get ready in the morning before leaving the house, but Kristy was at least a ninety-minute ordeal before going anywhere. Hannah prefers to shower at night and tie her hair up when it’s wet, so she wakes up with dried wavy hair. What’s better is that it’s her natural caramel brown color again. Thank goodness. The gothic days seem to be behind us.

  As per our norm, Hannah is quiet while climbing into the passenger seat of the truck and mostly silent throughout the ride. She messes with the radio several times, which she knows I hate, but I’ve somehow managed to figure out how to avoid meaningless arguments with a teenager over the last few years. It was quite an intense training period.

  “Dad, why are we pulling in here?” Hannah asks. She’s clearly uncomfortable and most likely worried about why I brought her here. Thankfully, she hasn’t had to experience much of what surrounds us, and for that, I’m grateful.

  “You’ll see,” I say. I pull up to a spot where I can park the truck and lift the gear into park. “I need to take it easy on myself for a few minutes, okay?”

  She doesn’t have a response as she steps out of the truck and follows me across a patch of grass. There’s a tree that hovers over the spot where I sit. I come so often there’s no grass in the one area. I plop down as I always do and tug Hannah’s hand to sit down next to me. “Dad …”

  I pull in a deep breath and tell myself I can do this. “There’s something I never told you—about something I went through when I was your age.”

  “Who is Peter Kevan?” Hannah asks.

  My heart aches to hear his name said out loud. It’s been a while since anyone has e spoke it to me. “Pete was my best friend. We started kindergarten together and were pretty much inseparable until our junior year of high school.”

  Hannah’s looking at the dates etched into the stone, likely doing the math in her head. “What happened?” she asks, her voice soft and unsure.

  “His parents weren’t the greatest. They were going through a pretty ugly divorce, and I think there was some emotional abuse happening at home. I have still some questions about what caused him to end up where he did, but for the most part, I’ve put the pieces together.”

  “So what if his parents got divorced? Everyone’s parents get divorced now. It’s like a trend, isn’t it?”

  I shake my head and chuckle, wishing the statistics weren’t so black and white, but unfortunately, they are. “Yeah, but every situation is different—yours, for example. Most mothers don’t leave the state and their children hundreds of miles away. It’s draining and traumatizing for anyone, especially a child. But you’ve been strong and dealt with the situation better than I ever could.”

  “Is this about Mom?” Hannah asks. We don’t talk about Kristy too often anymore. Hannah has a phone call with her once every few weeks, and that’s about it. It’s an awkward ten minutes back and forth about her classes—nothing too heartfelt, which is better off for Hannah at this point.

  “No, it’s not about Mom.” I reach down and place my hand on top of Hannah’s, needing to hold her hand more than she’d ever need to hold mine. “Pete came to me when he was having trouble. I tried to do the right thing and be there for him. I listened when he wanted to talk. I tried. Then, one night, he went to the top of this high tower in the woods and—”

  “A high tower in the woods?” Hannah interrupts. “Razor’s Edge?”

  There’s one way to give me a heart attack. I was sure Hannah’s generation didn’t know a thing about Razor’s Edge. I actually spent countless nights staring out at the stars, wishing the place would just disappear, but it hasn’t—clearly. “I didn’t know you knew about that place.”

  Hannah scoffs. “Dad, everyone knows about Razor’s Edge. It’s fun.”

  “Yeah, I had a lot of fun there until Pete chose the tower to try and take his own life.”

  Hannah covers her hand over her mouth. “Was it an accident?” I wish she could hold onto her innocence forever, but I know she already knows too much about life.

  “No. He asked me to meet him. I got there just in time to stop him.” Hannah looks back over to the gravestone, tilting her head with a look of wonder in her eyes.

  “So, what happened?”

  “He never forgave me after that night. He hated me and blamed me for saving him—for not allowing him to take his life. He basically told me we couldn’t be friends anymore, but I stuck by his side despite his animosity toward me. It took months before he would talk to me again.”

  “Why would someone hate you for saving them? Obviously, he wanted to be saved if he called you to meet him,” Hannah says.

  I shrug because I still don’t understand. “No clue, kiddo. Anyway, it took a long time before I considered Pete to be in a better place and past the days of considering taking his own life.”

  “That’s when he did it, isn’t it? The second everyone stopped worrying?” Hannah asks.

  I hate that she understands or assumes—maybe even knows for sure. “Yeah. I let my guard down, but in reality, it wasn’t my responsibility to watch over him. I just felt like I had to do whatever I could to keep him on the right path, you know?”

  “Did he jump off the tower?” Hannah asks.

  I squeeze her hand and swallow the lump in my throat. “No, he asked me to pick him up before a football game. He said he’d be waiting in front of his house for me, but he wasn't outside when I got there. Instead, I found him unconscious on his bed, lying beside an empty bottle of pills. He wasn’t breathing, and he had no pulse. I dialed 9-1-1, watched them take him away, and followed them to the hospital. Then I sat in the waiting room for two hours.”

  Hannah squeezes my hand back. “You tried to save him,” she says.

  “His parents didn’t get my messages until three hours later—an hour after a doctor came out to tell me how sorry he was that they couldn’t revive him. I had to tell Pete’s parents that their son had killed himself.”

  “Dad, I—” There’s nothing I expect Hannah to say. I still don’t know if this was the right thing to tell her
or share with her at this point in her life, but I couldn’t save him—maybe I can make her understand the implications of silent thoughts and quiet pain. I want her to know why I try to get into her head and ask her a million questions every day. I want her to be honest with me and tell me how she feels, knowing I won’t judge her—unless it has to do with a guy I don’t approve of. That doesn’t count. It can’t count.

  “I don’t want you to have to say anything. I don’t need empathy. I just want you to understand why I hover—why I worry and care as much as I do. I need for you to understand that even when life seems like it can’t get any better, it can. I was the one who had to live with the pain after. He passed it on to me —the guilt, the never-ending ache in my chest. There were other ways to ease his pain but he didn’t know.”

  “You don’t think I would—”

  “Does any parent? No. Could it happen to any child? Yes. For that, I’m being proactive and sharing this with you after going years and years with only one other person knowing the magnitude of this story.”

  “Journey?” Hannah asks.

  “Journey hasn’t had the easiest of roads either. She has an amazing mother, and her father was incredible, but he passed. She’s had things—sad things that happened to her, which is why we understand each other on a deeper level than most. That’s her story to share with you, though when she’s ready.” I’m getting sidetracked. “Hannah, my point is—would I assume you would do something like this? No. Am I afraid of the possibility? Yes. I don’t want this silent barrier between us. I need to know how you feel and be able to help you with your pain if it weighs heavily on you. I’m your dad, and it’s what I will always do for you.“

  “Dad, I’d never hurt myself. I’m sorry if my moods cause you to fear for my life, but I’m not as miserable as you think I am. I just like to be in my head a lot, I guess.”

  “You’re not in pain?”

  Hannah shakes her head and turns to look into my eyes. “How could I be in pain when you’ve done nothing but make me a priority since the day I was born. It sounds like Pete had two parents who kind of sucked. I have one parent who sucks, but I have the best dad in the entire world, making up for the other half. I’d rather have one amazing parent than two mediocre parents. Plus, Journey—she’s like a best friend and a stepmom, and I feel kind of lucky to get a second chance at being a part of a normal family, you know?”

  I am not an emotional guy. Nothing much gets to me. I laugh at the world when I get mad, but tears are filling my eyes. I don’t know if my heart is so overwhelmed with relief or love, but I feel like all the years I thought I was screwing everything up, I was actually doing something right.

  Hannah places her head on my chest and snuggles under my arm like she used to when she was little. “I couldn’t imagine leaving you, Dad. You’re my world. Maybe Pete was in your life to teach you how to be someone’s world when life begins to shatter into pieces. You never skipped a beat, and you never let me down.”

  Relief fills my chest. I will never eliminate the thought of worry, the thought of what could happen, but there’s truth behind Hannah’s words, and I needed to hear them more than I needed to feel myself breathe.

  22

  For the second time in the last few years, I’ve gotten wind—happened to see a note on her desk—about Hannah attending a party at Razor’s Edge. The thought of her being there feels like a nail driving into the side of my head.

  When we spoke about Pete a few weeks ago at the cemetery, I acted like I had no idea she even knew about the place. In truth, I dragged Brett down there a few years ago and removed the ropes and boarded up the tower. The thought of Hannah hanging out there, knowing what could go through someone’s mind, was horrifying. She’s older now, though. I’m getting to a point where I can’t stop her from making her own decisions, which makes me feel like I’ve lost control, and I don’t like it.

  “Brody?” Journey calls over as she walks into our bedroom.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” I reply, holding my focus on the area rug beneath my feet.

  “Um, you’re going to be late for work, and I need to get Isla to my mom’s so I can get to my gig. Why are you sitting here staring at the floor like a zombie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Journey plops down beside me and pulls her black-legging clad legs up into a pretzel. “I just dropped a load of laundry off in Hannah’s room, so I bet I can take a stab at what you don’t know.” I press my palms into my temples, trying to alleviate the pressure. “You can tell her no. I can tell her no. Either way … we can tell her no.”

  “Am I going overboard? I don’t want my fears to make her question her ability to make good decisions.” I want her to be strong and independent, not afraid of life.

  Journey releases a sigh and pulls her long strands of waves behind her shoulders. “Yes and no.”

  “That’s not helpful,” I say. “What if she or Isla told you they were going to have a New Years Party at the Barrel House. Or what if you randomly found out? You wouldn’t be worried after what you went through?”

  With her elbows pressed into her thighs, she rests her chin on her balled up fists. “Our daughters will never have a party at The Bourbon House. I have armed that place better than a bank on Wall Street. However, I realize you can’t do that with Razor’s Edge.”

  “I think you should tell her about Adam—what happened after drinking at the New Year’s Party. Maybe it will make her think twice, especially hearing it from you.r.”

  “Brody,” she argues. “Hannah doesn’t need to think the world could end with every decision she makes. The odds of her driving off a cliff after walking in on her ex-boyfriend kissing some attractive girl is pretty slim.”

  I lift my head and look over at her. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, grinning. “How are you so cocky?”

  “Years of practice,” she says. “It’s the same reason I chose not to talk about bulimia with her. We all go through stuff, but it doesn’t mean the same thing will happen to her. She’s probably going to experience things we’ve never thought of.”

  “But you overcame bulimia, and you have found ways to live with the outcome of that New Year's eve. Isn’t that an important lesson? Like Pete?”

  “No, I think you’re trying to instill fear into her life that she doesn’t need. We’ve talked to her about the dangers of drinking and driving. We’ve talked to her about going too far with her diet and working out, and we’ve handled her depression with medication. She’s barely seventeen. She should still be able to live with a little innocence. We’ve given her the necessary tools to keep herself safe. If she thinks everyone around her is a broken mess, she’ll feel the same, and we’ve been trying to free her from that feeling for so many years.”

  Everything Journey is saying is true and makes sense, but the dad in me just wants to scare her out of making stupid decisions, and I don’t want her at Razor’s Edge. It’s a dangerous place. “Yeah,” I say.

  “You’re not listening, and I have a feeling you’re going to end up at Razor’s Edge tonight.”

  I turn away from Journey because sometimes I hate how well she knows me, even though it’s what I love most about her. “I can’t just turn it off, babe.”

  “I get it.”

  “You were doing so much better after your talk with her a few weeks ago. Don’t let this one thing bring you back to that place.”

  “Why would she want to go there after I told her about Pete?”

  Journey shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe just curiosity.”

  As the day goes by, I convince myself I can take a step back and allow Hannah to be a seventeen-year-old and make responsible decisions, except, it’s now eight o’clock, and I’m parked behind Journey’s old Jeep she handed down to Hannah when she got a new one. It’s dark, and there is nothing but woods in front of me. If there is a party here, why is Hannah’s Jeep the only vehicle parked in this spot?

  I try to breathe through the pa
nic rushing through me. Why would Hannah write down her plans on a sticky note? It’s like she wanted me to see it—if she assumes I invade her privacy by going through her room every morning after she leaves for school. I grab my flashlight and hop out of the truck, trying my best to remember the trail that leads to the tower. Those boards better still be intact.

  When I shine the light toward the tower, I confirm that the boards are still in place, and I see Hannah sitting alone beneath the tower on a rock. There’s no party here.

  She holds her arm up to her forehead, blocking out the light. She might not know it’s me, so I make my way over to her quickly to prevent her from panicking … even though I want to let her have it for coming to this place alone, at night. What the hell is she thinking?

  “Dad?” she questions when I pull the flashlight away.

  “You sound surprised to see me, which I find odd,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  She blinks slowly, looking up at me and reminding me of when she was just a little girl. ng. “Waiting for you,” she replies.

  My hand holding the flashlight drops to my side. “What are you talking about?”

  “I left the note for you. I knew it was the only way to get you here. I also know you go through my room every morning.”

  “What? What are you talking about? I haven’t been in your room—”

  “Since this morning?” she finishes my sentence.

  “Yeah, I had laundry.”

  “Journey was doing the laundry,” she says.

  “You tuck my desk chair in every single morning and move my mouse one inch to the right to see if anything pops up on my screen.”

  I’m mildly disturbed that she knows this, never realizing I was leaving breadcrumbs behind. “Have you considered majoring in forensics?”

  “Yup,” she says with a grin.

  I take a seat next to her on the rock, trying to remember why I ever thought this was the most comfortable place in the world. The water smells like dew mixed with rain, and it’s pungent, especially beneath the tower. “Why did you want me to meet you here, without a proper invitation?”