Chapter 1 - Harper
The whiskey burns, but not nearly enough.
I stare at the amber liquid in my glass, watching the ice cubes slowly melt and dilute what little courage I managed to swallow. One drink. I've been nursing this single goddamn drink for the past forty minutes, and I'm still stone-cold sober. Still feeling everything. Still seeing Derek's face when I walked in on him. Still hearing my best friend—ex-best friend—moaning his name.
The Blackwater Falls Saloon is exactly what I expected from a small Montana town. Dark wood everywhere, neon beer signs casting colored shadows across scarred tables, and a jukebox in the corner playing something twangy that I don't recognize.
The place smells like stale beer, fried food, and too many years of cigarette smoke that no amount of cleaning will ever eliminate. It's perfect. Nobody here knows me. Nobody here gives a shit about the runaway bride who became the town's favorite scandal back in Denver.
My phone buzzes in my purse for what has to be the hundredth time today. I don't even look. I know who it is. Derek. My mother. Derek's mother. Maybe even Jessica, if that skinny bitch has the audacity to call me after I caught her fucking my fiancé in our bed. *Our bed.* The one we picked out together at that overpriced furniture store where Derek insisted we needed Egyptian cotton sheets.
I take another sip, bigger this time, and force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat. I will not cry. Not here. Not anywhere. I've done enough crying in the past twenty-four hours to last me a lifetime. My eyes are already puffy, my nose red despite the makeup I tried to cover it with. I look like exactly what I am: a woman who just had her entire life implode.
The music shifts to something with a faster beat, and I notice movement on the small dance floor near the jukebox. A group of people, laughing and spinning, obviously regulars who know each other well. And right in the center of them is a man who immediately catches my attention, though I wish to God he didn't.
Tall. That's the first thing I notice. Probably around six feet, with broad shoulders stretching a worn flannel shirt that looks soft from a thousand washes. Dark hair that's just long enough to be tousled, like he's been running his hands through it all day. And a smile. Jesus Christ, that smile. The kind that probably gets him anything he wants, from free drinks to phone numbers scrawled on napkins.
He's dancing with two women at once, an arm around each of their waists, spinning them in turns that make their hair fly and their laughter ring out above the music. They're eating it up, both of them pressing close, touching his chest, his arms, anywhere they can reach. And he's loving every second of it.
I clock him immediately.
*That type.*
The type who thinks he's God's gift to women. The type who believes his smile is currency and his attention is a prize to be won. The type who probably has a different girl in his bed every weekend and never calls them back. The type who thinks women owe him something just for existing in his presence.
Fuck him. And fuck all men like him.
Even if he is hot. Even if that smile does something stupid to my pussy that I refuse to acknowledge. Even if he moves like he knows exactly what he's doing with his body, confident and loose and completely at ease.
Especially because of all that.
I tear my gaze away and focus on my drink again. The last thing I need is to notice any man, let alone one who's clearly a fuckboy. I came here to forget, to disappear, to start over in the town where my dad grew up. This was supposed to be safe. Anonymous. A place where I could lick my wounds in peace and figure out what the hell I'm going to do with the rest of my life now that the future I planned is gone.
My phone buzzes again. And again. I pull it out just long enough to hit the power button and watch the screen go dark. There. Better.
"You look like you need another one of those."
The voice comes from my left, a woman about my age with kind eyes and a bartender's apron. She gestures to my nearly empty glass with a sympathetic smile.
"I'm good," I say, even though I'm not. Even though I want to order the whole bottle and forget my own name.
She doesn't push, just nods and moves on to the next customer. I appreciate that. The last thing I can handle right now is pity or questions or someone trying to "help."
The song changes again, something slower this time, and I risk another glance at the dance floor. The man has switched to just one woman now, pulling her close as they sway. She's gorgeous, of course. Long blonde hair, perfect figure, the kind of woman who probably never had to wonder if her fiancé was satisfied.
Unlike me.
I look down at myself. My curves that have always been "generous." My height that tops out at five-foot-two on a good day. My dimples that Derek used to say were cute but maybe hewas lying about that too. Maybe he always preferred women like Jessica. Tall. Thin. Perfect.
I drain the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp and slam the glass down harder than I mean to. The bartender glances over, and I shake my head before she can ask. I should go. Back to the cheap motel room I rented for the week while I figure out my next move. Back to staring at the ceiling and wondering how I missed all the signs.
But I don't move. Because going back to that room means being alone with my thoughts, and I'm not ready for that yet. At least here there's noise. Distraction. Other people's happiness to envy instead of my own misery to drown in.
The player spins his partner again, dipping her low enough to make her squeal with delight. He laughs, and even from here I can see how it lights up his whole face. He's probably never had his heart broken in his life. Probably never trusted someone enough to even risk it. Just bounces from woman to woman, keeping everything light and easy and consequence-free.
Part of me hates him for it. And part of me, the part I absolutely refuse to acknowledge, wonders what that must be like. To live without the weight of expectations. To take what you want and move on before it can hurt you.
I'm not that person. I believe in commitment. In loyalty. In love, even if love just proved it doesn't believe in me.
