It’s better not to argue. It will prolong the visit and moments of trying to lift my burden.
I’m not brave. I’m not courageous. I’m weak, and I gave up on someone who needed my help.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chance
I’d be lyingif I said I wasn’t looking forward to having dinner with August tonight. I’ve been thinking about her a lot this past week and felt disappointed each night I didn’t see her at Kenny’s. Though, at the same time, I was glad she wasn’t there filling up on whiskey.
I’ve been sitting here at the bar waiting for her to show up. It’s just after eight, and I’m starving. I sent her a message, asking if she’s still coming, but there was no response.
Any level-headed person would have just eaten their damn burger by now, but I’ve been holding out hope that she had a last-minute thing at work and was running late.
I promised myself if she didn’t show by eight-thirty, I’d order my dinner.
Eight-twenty-five rolls around, and the door swings open. I casually glance over my shoulder to see who’s walking in, and I’m surprised to see her. I’m even more surprised to see the glassy look in her eyes, the stumble in her step, and the crooked path she’s walking in.
August takes the seat next to me, releasing a loud sigh as she plops down. “Good Lord, what a day.”
“Hey,” I say.
“I am starving,” she continues. “Luke, could I have a Maker’s Mark on the rocks?”
Luke’s focus zig-zags to mine. I can imagine what he thinks after a week has passed with no hint of August.
He does what he’s supposed to and brings her the drink, placing it down on a cardboard coaster. “Can I get you something to eat?” Luke asks.
“I’ll have the dry, dark burger,” she says, snickering.
“Two, please,” I tell him.
“No problem,” Luke replies, keeping quiet with his thoughts.
“Have you been drinking?” I ask August.
She lets out a loud yawn and stretches her arms out to the side. “Just a smidge,” she says, pinching her fingers together in front of her squinting eyes.
“I thought—” I begin.
“You thought wrong,” she corrects me.
She is frustrating the hell out of me, but the problem seems to have grown bigger than she might realize, which is concerning. I miss the sober version of her. The only idea I have is to eat quickly and get her out of the bar before she ends up in a situation like she did last week.
We’re finishing our burgers when she blurts out, “Keegan’s parents came to collect his things today and took the opportunity to layer on a little more blame—you know how it goes. It was a bad afternoon, and I’m fairly sure I’m about to get fired. So, yay me!”
I figured something had happened. “I know why you think it’s all your fault, August, but it’s not the case.”
“Whatever,” she says. “I’m the only one left to blame, you know?”
“Keegan made his decision,” I remind her.
“So had I.”
She polished off her second drink just minutes after we finished eating. “Want to go somewhere?”
She jitters her eyebrows and smirks. “I didn’t think you were like that, Chance Miller.”
I nod at the door. “Come on. Come with me.”
