There was no hope.
Even when it felt impossible to give it up.
Kale had always been the one who carried us through. He was an ER doctor over at the local hospital. He worked his ass off and usually did it with a smile on his face.
He was the kind of guy who would walk through hot coals for a friend. Hell, he’d stand right in the middle of the flames if it meant he could help a man out. Make your load lighter. The guy carried around the weight of the world, thinking it was his duty to offer relief.
Kale, Ollie, and I? We’d been through hell together. Each of us were so different, sometimes I wondered if we would have grown apart if it hadn’t happened. Had to wonder if that fateful day had forged something indestructible between us. A bond and a burden that never should have been shaped.
A blessing given just the same as the curse.
Ollie groaned then fiercely shook his head, like he was shaking off the memories, the horror, before he strode across the small area and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. He poured it across the shot glasses and passed one to me and Kale.
He lifted his in the air. “To Sydney. We’ll never forget.”
I lifted mine, Kale did the same, the three glasses clinking in the middle. “We’ll never forget.”
I tossed back my shot, the burn of it sliding down my throat and filling my stomach with flames.
No.
There was no chance I would ever forget.
Ten minutes later, Kale and I had moved out into the front of the bar. I grabbed our regular table, which was tucked in the back, while Kale went to grab us drinks.
A blur of voices echoed off the red brick walls of the bottom floor. Olive’s was all the rage in Gingham Lakes. Trendy and popular and packed.
A place I probably wouldn’t step foot in if it weren’t for the fact Ollie was the owner.
The din was a mind-numbing thrum that dulled the senses in the same way the dimmed, muted lights hanging from the ceiling somehow slowed the atmosphere, the band playing tonight super mellow and adding to the laid-back vibe.
Made me feel like I was right in the middle of everything without setting foot in the throng, this impression that the night might go on forever and it was all gonna end in the blink of an eye.
Raucous laughter and shouting seeped down from the upstairs area that housed a bunch of pool tables and led to the huge balcony that overlooked the river.
Tonight was no different than most nights at Olive’s. The bar was packed, crawling with people out seeking a good time. A few minutes to cast aside their worries and cares.
I fought the urge brimming in my gut to pack it up and head home.
Truth was, I hated the idea of that, too. I knew my daughter was undoubtedly curled up on the couch next to my mom, who was all too happy to have her spend the night. Frankie Fridays, as she liked to call them, were their standing sleepover date.
If I showed up, Mom would shove me right back out her door. The woman was constantly nagging me to get out more. Insisting I needed time to “find myself” and figure out just how it was I was going to live my life.
She just had no clue I didn’t need this bullshit. I had zero interest in the women who were watching the men who crawled the bar like hawks and the men who were watching them like prey.
That fucking game they always liked to play.
So, week after week, I sat back and pretended like I wasn’t even there. Oblivious to it all.
I’d managed it for years. Until tonight. All that self-control fled the second the door swung open.
Twilight billowed in and the goddamned air was sucked from the room.
For fuck’s sake.
Was she stalking me?
There had to be no other explanation. The woman kept popping up everywhere. Invading my space. Conjuring thoughts I couldn’t entertain.
