“Be my guest. I appreciate you digging around.”
She pulled out her phone. I learned her name was Melissa, and we exchanged phone numbers. She promised to text if she heard back from her sister. I reached the truck right as the rain started.
SIX
Julia
Sheets of rain pelted the window next to my booth. I’d arrived before most of the Saturday night crowd, and a few waitresses were giving me the side-eye for hogging a four-top while I sipped my sweet tea. A ripple of chills raced down my bare legs. The AC in the dining room was doing more than its fair share of chasing out the mugginess. I would’ve put my sweatshirt on, but it was still damp from my earlier walk through the rain. I tucked my chilly hands under my thighs and slumped back in the cushioned seat.
The creep a few booths down had asked me to play pool a few times. He looked over and smiled. I rolled my eyes. Really didn’t want to tell him no again. Billiards and crap were only fun when I was drunk. A loud countdown jerked my attention toward the bar as a noisy group of sorority-type girls did shots together. That was a sure-fire way to make anything fun. A few of those and I’d be joining the creeper, having the time of my life.
I fiddled with the straw wrapper as I tried to decide whether I was going to drink or not. Usually, I sat at the bar, but letting my eyes roam over the liquor selection would make the decision for me. Replacing my boring old tea with a Long-Island Iced Tea sounded preferable. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I checked the time on my phone.
I’d been fretting for half an hour already.
The internal war waged, and it was exhausting. As I watched the people around me morph—from quiet to rowdy and carefree—I felt my defenses slipping. That morphing always felt like freedom, and I wanted it. Badly.
Just one won’t hurt anything. It’s not like Kenzie will find out.
Options were sparse. I could sit here and fret, go home and battle anxiety all night, or I could drink.
As I was sliding to the edge of my seat to go to the bar, the door opened. My booth was in full view of the entry. A man wearing a black rain jacket strolled in. When he pulled the hood down, I almost laughed out loud. It was Patrick of all people. Instead of going up, I scooted back into my booth. I wanted to watch and see what my fellow AA member would do.
It was comical seeing him here. There was only one reason people came to dump-hole places like this: to get hammered. Was there a way to report members to group sponsors or something and tattle on them? Because if there was, he was so in for it.
I taunted him inwardly.Naughty, naughty Patrick.
He claimed a stool as far from the sorority girls as the bar allowed. He leaned onto the table, wringing his hands, and then asked for a drink menu. Another laugh formed in my throat. What alcoholic needs a menu? He looked at it for a few minutes and rubbed the back of his neck. He ordered something. I couldn’t wait to see what it was.
Thirty seconds later, the bartender set a tea down in front of him.
A freaking sweet tea.
For reasons I didn’t understand, my heart squeezed with pain.
I glanced at the condensation forming on my own glass, then back at Patrick. Suddenly, the idea of a drink sickened me. My stomach twisted in disgust at my gawking. Here I was, amused by our shared dilemma, when he was obviously conflicted and feeling lost. Maybe he felt as lost as I did.
Had alcohol ruined his life too?
I grabbed my tea, slipped out of the booth, and made my way across the establishment. He had slipped his fingers into his hair and was resting his forehead in his palms. Distressed or maybe depressed.
My heart squeezed again.
When I sat on the stool beside him, he didn’t move. I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the fact I was intruding on a private, perhaps embarrassing, moment. I said lamely, “Hey.”
Patrick looked up, quickly smoothing his hair back into place. His eyes met mine for a millisecond. They were tired—bloodshot with dark circles. He straightened as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His voice sounded raw—deep and throaty. “Ah, hey.”
“What cha doing?”
He didn’t answer, but reached for his straw, tapping the end against the counter to rip through the paper.
“I got tea too.”
He glanced at my drink out of the corner of his eye and nodded once.
“I didn’t really want tea though.” He took a long swig as I continued my monologue. “I’ve been sitting in a booth for about thirty minutes, trying to decide if I was going to join the sorority girls over there.”
He looked to the group of young ladies getting wasted, then back to me. He huffed. “Thirty minutes? Must have some high stakes.”
