Countdown: Ethan

by Boniface, Allie

  That’s for damn sure. Ethan finished his beer and waved the waitress to bring him another. “Exactly. Just the ball and the hoops. You against the other guy. Sweat, a little blood, a few elbows here and there—”

  “So who’s your favorite player? Of all time?”

  Ethan sat back in his chair. “You’re kidding, right?” He paused a moment. “LeBron James is making a run for it. He’s a hell of a player. But I still argue it has to be Michael Jordan.”

  She mirrored his actions, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Fair enough. What about football? Best quarterback.”

  Ethan shook his head. She wanted to talk sports with him? Stats? All-star players? He’d be out here all night and most of tomorrow. She wants to talk sports with me... He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened to him in a bar. Well, actually, he could, and—

  “Hello? Earth to Ethan.”

  “Sorry. Quarterback? You’re talking to someone who covers sports in Tennessee. So it’s Peyton Manning, naturally.”

  “Oh, naturally,” she teased. “I say Tom Brady. He’s got five Super Bowl rings.”

  “And a few controversies in past games.” He shrugged but smiled. “Call it a tie.”

  “What about hockey?”

  “Tough call. I’ll go with Gretzky. Mario Lemieux a close second.”

  “Baseball?”

  “Greg Maddux for pitching, Hank Aaron for hitting. Yeah, I’m old school. Haven’t seen anyone in the last decade who can make a run for it against those two.” Ethan leaned forward. “Soccer?” he asked, before she could say anything else.

  She paused for just a moment. “That’s a toss-up. But I’ll take David Beckham if we’re talking talent and marketability.”

  He laughed out loud. “Impressive. How do you know so much about sports?”

  “Please. I’ve waited tables for the last six years. The only thing that’s on TV in the restaurant is ESPN. All the time.”

  Ethan smiled. A journalist. A waitress. They both got paid to listen to people talk. Yet here he was talking more than he could remember in the last six months. His fingers twitched, and suddenly the desire rushed back, whole and hot, and all he wanted to do was reach across the table and touch her. Work that halter-top away from her skin. See how that collarbone tasted. See how other parts of her tasted. He stuffed his hands into his lap instead and took a long, slow breath.

  “So you’re happy at the paper?” Dakota asked after a moment. “Don’t want to do anything else?”

  And just like that, the desire went away and the guilt came back. Seesawing, the two emotions sat on his shoulders. For a moment, he didn’t answer her question. “Most people would say I’m the reliable guy,” he finally said. “You know, turn in the piece before deadline, every week. Pick up the slack if I need to. I’m the one everyone can count on. It’s been that way for years.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Sure. I guess.” Ethan prided himself on his reliability, actually. “Not a lot of fire, just a lot of discipline, I used to tell my boss. That’s what you need out of me, and what you’ll get.” But he fell silent as another memory washed over him. Only Lydia had ever pushed him to do more. Try it. Ask Barney. Worst he can say is no. Best that can happen is you’ll end up your own boss. Change a little corner of the world. Just ask him. And Ethan almost had.

  But with Lydia gone, he wasn’t sure that dream still existed. Or if it ever had. Maybe, he used to think, she took that with her when she left.

  He studied the buttons on his shirt. “To be honest, I’ve thought about leaving the paper.”

  “What would you do?” Dakota’s fingers traced the beads of condensation on her glass, and when he looked up again, it was all he could do to keep from imagining them tracing his spine instead.

  He cleared his throat. She was so easy to talk to. “In an ideal world? I’d like to be editor of a small paper, actually.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. And suddenly, with Dakota sitting opposite him, the idea didn’t seem far-fetched at all. In fact, it seemed like a possibility that had been hanging there on the edge of his life all along, waiting for him to open his eyes and look, really look, at it.

  “Here? Or somewhere else?”

  He leaned back and looked at the sky, shot through with stars and lights and smoke. “Somewhere else. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Memphis is a great city, but sometimes I think it’s not really for me. I think I could do more, oversee more, in a town where less happens. I could be involved with every part of the paper. Not just a single column that half the people in the city never even read.”

  “Well, then I think you should.” Dakota leaned against the table and met his gaze. “If that’s what you want.”

  He chuckled. She sounded so certain, as though he could just pick up and leave. Abandon the job, the memories, the thousand little things that still tied him to this place. “It’s just a pipe dream. Nothing that would ever really happen.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “I think it sounds great.”

  “Awfully big change. Awful lot of work, to just pick up and leave. Go somewhere else. Look for a new job.”

  “You afraid of change?”

  “Maybe a little. You aren’t?”

  At that, Dakota studied her hands. “Sure. Isn’t everyone? But change happens whether or not you’re afraid of it. It’s how you deal with it that matters.”

  He grinned. “You didn’t tell me you were a philosopher as well as a waitress. You’ve been holding out.”

  She looked up with a smile. “You guessed my secret. Being a philosopher goes with the different colored eyes. Didn’t you know?”

  He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. It was as if she’d scrambled his brain and his voice. Ethan didn’t know many women who would just up and leave for a day or two. Just hop on a plane and fly one thousand miles for a change of scenery. You don’t know many women, period. Mike’s voice rang inside his head. He had to say something. She sat there waiting, watching him.

  “Any special reason you chose Memphis?” he finally blurted out. “Besides visiting Sarah?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You want the long or the short version?”

  “Short. I’m a writer, remember. Quick and painless.”

  “I wish it were painless.” She sighed. “There’s this guy, Sean...”

  “Ah.” A guy. Of course.

  “We just broke up.” Her mouth snapped shut, as if she meant to say more and then changed her mind. “It’s a mess, really. He told me he was getting divorced, and then he didn’t, and I was tired of waiting, so I broke up with him. I didn’t want to stick around and deal with the fallout. So I left.”

  Well, that explained the downward curve in her mouth every so often. “Break-ups can do that. Knock you down. Bum you out.” Ethan knew that better than anyone. Suddenly, he wanted to wrap his arms around Dakota, comfort her, brush away her frown.

  “I don’t always make the best choices when it comes to guys,” she confessed. “Sean...he’s the police chief in our town. You’d think I’d know better than to pick someone in the public eye.”

  “I don’t know,” Ethan said. “I think it’s kind of hard to decide who you’re going to fall for. It just happens.”

  She looked at him, through him, and read the meaning behind his words. He felt his cheeks burn.

  “Anyway, this morning, I decided I’d book the first flight to Memphis. Just to get out

  of town.”

  “What’s it like, your hometown?”

  She shrugged. “Like every other small town in the northeast. Not much in southern New Hampshire except a couple of pizza places and a driving range. Oh, and the big stone church in the center of town. That’s where everyone comes to get married.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  She made a face, and he laughed. “I guess. If you’re the one getting married, maybe, instead of the one waiting on the happy couple and all their friends at the local res
taurant.”

  “You work there full time?”

  “Yeah. I started college a few years back, made it through a couple of semesters. I wanted to be a designer. Fashion. Maybe interior design. I don’t really know.”

  “So what happened?”

  She shrugged. “My mom moved across the country to shack up with some painter. I had to find my own place, get a job full-time. School sort of took a backseat to paying the bills.”

  “Wow. Sorry.” Ethan wasn’t sure what to say. You could never tell what people hid, what pain and lousy breaks had shaped them. He wondered suddenly what might have happened if the world had spun in a different direction years ago. Would he still be single? Would he and Dakota have crossed paths somewhere else? Would she have finished school? Would he have walked by Lydia in the bar, gone home instead of sitting down next to her and buying the drink that led to the rest of his life? And would he be sitting here right now across from a woman he couldn’t stop staring at?

  “It’s okay,” Dakota said, breaking into his thoughts. “Things happen. I’ll go back to college sometime.”

  He folded his arms on the table and watched the way her face moved in and out of the light. Inside the club, the music swelled, and a few people sang along with it. Above them, the moon continued its path through the sky. Dakota looked at Ethan and smiled. She laced her fingers under her chin and closed her eyes, swaying to the music. Who are you? he thought. Tell me all the things that make you up.

  And he realized with surprise that he wanted to keep talking to her just to find out.

  11:00 p.m.

  Dakota stepped back into the club. Five minutes of talking to Ethan had turned into an hour of listening to him tell stories and wanting him to wind his fingers through hers instead of squirming in his chair to avoid the current that sizzled between them.

  It made no sense. They’d just met. She didn’t know his last name. But when his gaze fell upon her, uncertain and wanting all at once, she knew how he felt: as if a spark from the fireworks above them had come down and set her aflame. She didn’t know where this was going—maybe nowhere, probably nowhere—but she couldn’t shrug off the shiver that was working its way down her spine at the moment.

  ”Hey, Gunnar.” He was easy to find in the crowd, a head taller than anyone else. “Where’s Sarah?”

  “Not sure. We split up about fifteen minutes ago, when I ran into someone from my office. I think she was going to wait at the bar.” He looked around, the concern bare on his face.

  He’s in love with her, Dakota thought. And he has no idea what to do about it.

  “How’s the guy you were talking to?” he asked. “Sarah warned me not to go over and rescue you. ’He looks nice,’ she said. I wanted to tell her, ‘Yeah, well, Ted Bundy looked nice to a lot of women, too, right before he tied them up and hit them over the head.”

  Dakota laughed. “That sounds like Sarah.” Her cheeks warmed. “But she was right this time. He is nice. And I don’t think he’s about to kidnap me. But thanks for keeping an eye out.”

  The television announced the score at the top of the eighth inning as seven-four, Braves leading the Cubs. A few people cheered.

  “Hey!” A tall guy with a mop of red hair waved a fistful of bills in the air. Dakota glanced over. Ethan hadn’t mentioned his friend from the park coming out with him, but it sure looked like the same stocky build and arrogant profile.

  “Hey!” The guy yelled again, louder than before. “Over here.” Conversation dimmed for a moment as heads turned in his direction.

  “What’ll you have?” yelled the bartender in return.

  “Another round of beers. And a margarita for the pretty one here.”

  Dakota watched Gunnar freeze and followed his gaze. There sat Sarah, smiling at a group of guys that included the idiot making all the noise. Dakota frowned. Sarah must have had more than a few margaritas, to be putting up with that nonsense. As they both watched, the redhead clinked bottles with a dark-haired guy chatting up the female bartender. Then he slid Sarah’s margarita across the bar, but not before taking a swipe at the salt around the edge. He raised his finger to his mouth and made a deliberate show of licking off the salt. Dakota cringed. Gunnar stiffened beside her. Sarah reached for her glass in slow motion. A flash of anger mixed with discomfort until she fixed a dangerous smile in its place. Dakota could just hear her next words over the crowd.

  “Watch it.” Sarah shook a playful finger.

  “Oh, come on,” said the guy and wrapped an arm around her.

  Sarah slid away. “I mean it. Don’t push your luck.”

  But he didn’t give up. Instead he ran a hand down Sarah’s bare arm.

  Gunnar closed the space between them in two seconds, before Dakota even knew he was moving. “Leave her alone. She told you she’s not interested.”

  Unfazed, the guy drew up his skinny six-foot frame and jutted out his chin. “Why don’t you let your friend make her own decisions?”

  Dakota took a few steps closer. Please don’t let this turn into a fight. The last thing she wanted tonight was to witness more anger and ugliness.

  “She did make her own decision,” Gunnar said. “She told you to back off. And I’m telling you to listen to her.”

  “If you’re so worried about who she’s talking to, why weren’t you sitting here with her instead of sneaking up and watching her like a fucking bodyguard?” Spittle flew from the redhead’s lips, and two circles of red burned in his face. His words slurred.

  Gunnar grabbed Howie’s hand and bent it back. Hard. Until even Dakota could hear the knuckles crack. Howie turned white. “Don’t touch me,” Gunnar said. “Ever. Or you’ll spend the next month lying in a hospital bed.”

  The bouncer appeared from nowhere and stepped between them. “Guys, take it outside.”

  The redhead’s face turned from white to bright red. “He started it!”

  “I don’t care who started it,” the bouncer said. “You’re all outta here in a minute if you can’t settle down.”

  Gunnar stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  The redhead shoved the barstool away. “I’m outta here anyway. Asshole.” Jaw set, eyes flashing, he strode for the door. His friend followed.

  “You okay?” Gunnar asked Sarah when they’d gone.

  “I’m fine. I can handle myself, you know,” she said. “You didn’t have to come over and play Prince Charming.”

  But Dakota read the expression on Gunnar’s face plain as day: What if I wanted to?

  “I know,” he said. “But that guy didn’t look like he was going to stop.”

  “When do they ever? It’s over,” Sarah said. “He’s gone. We won’t see them again.”

  “I hope you’re right.” But Gunnar frowned and kept one eye on the door, and Dakota didn’t blame him. If she’d learned anything at all in the last twelve hours, it was that guys like that never disappeared as quickly or as quietly as you hoped they would.

  ONE BLOCK AWAY, SEAN left a giggling Amber sitting at the bar with her girlfriends. Over two hours wasted with her, and all she’d done was polish off four Cosmopolitans on his dime. She barely looked up when he mumbled something about going to the bathroom and slipped out the club’s side door instead. Almost midnight. He needed to sharpen his intuition and find Dakota. Enough was enough.

  Outside, he breathed in clean air and took a slow survey of the street. Busy. Far too busy for his taste. People spilled from one bar to the next and stood on every corner. Women stood in groups, giggling, or teetered on high heels while their dates held them up. Cars drove by, taxis lingered and a bicycle cop pedaled up the opposite side of the block. Way too much visibility. For a minute, he thought about abandoning his whole plan and getting the hell out of town.

  Except he needed that flash drive.

  And he needed to take Dakota down a peg or two. Her damn attitude had been getting in the way far too much lately.

  Patience, Sean reminded himself. It
had been in short supply the last few weeks, but tonight he needed it more than ever. He and Amber had stopped in a total of three clubs so far, and he’d watched the windows of each all night. He still hadn’t seen Dakota or either of her friends walk by. His eyes narrowed. But they were here. He’d been a cop for almost twenty years and he could feel it: that quickening of pulse that meant he was onto the scent, that his instincts were right, that discovery lay just up ahead.

  He crossed the street and slowed. Here in the heart of Beale Street, the crowd grew thicker. He forced himself to slow down, to amble with his hands in his pockets as if just out for some air. I’m waiting for my girl, he’d say to anyone who asked. Careful not to meet anyone’s gaze head-on, he scanned faces as he walked. Used his peripheral vision to measure builds and body types. Listened for the cadence of Dakota’s voice.

  He paused outside Pat O’Brien’s. This place he’d heard of. Popular, from all accounts, and the line outside confirmed that. She’s in there, he thought suddenly. The best place to hide was always the middle of the thickest group of people you could find, right out in public. He used to tell Dakota that, along with other pieces of police trivia, in between rounds of sex. Gotta be smart. Gotta protect yourself. He scowled. For once, she’d probably listened to him.

  He counted a good fifteen people waiting to get inside, which meant at least thirty minutes before he could get close to the door. But he had no intention of waiting. Sean’s fingers drifted toward his back pocket. He didn’t want to pull out his badge, didn’t want to call attention to himself that way. But how the hell was he going to find Dakota and that damn flash drive otherwise?

  “Hey, buddy, you in line?” Sean turned to see a couple of kids standing behind him, shiny-faced and probably under-aged. They both sported ridiculous smiles. If you want to control a situation, never smile so that your teeth or your gums show. He remembered telling Dakota that, too. Makes you look weak.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, move up then.”