The burn of tears floods my eyes, making my nose tingle.
“Thanks, Dad,” I whisper.
He reaches out, gently gripping my forearm and giving it a squeeze.
“While you’re busy making Hannah’s dreams come true, don’t forget to chase your own dreams. Don’t be afraid to live life, Wren. We know how fragile and short life can be.”
I nod, blinking back my tears. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, Pumpkin.”
Taking a breath, I gather my laptop, sketchbook, and the rest of my supplies. “I need to take off for a bit.”
Dread and anxiety pool in my stomach as reality starts to set in. Waking up and being reminded of the date, I knew I needed to keep myself busy, but the urge to forget has scared away any remaining creativity.
Grams eyes me skeptically, as if she can tell there’s a shift in my mood. The woman has always had a sixth sense. I used to think she could read minds. She doesn’t press the matter, simply waves me off as Dad tells me to enjoy my night.
I’m not sure how much I’ll enjoy this night.
I never do.
But at least I can forget for a little while.
The Spillway on a Wednesday night isn't where I was expecting to be. But the smell of spilled beer, fried food, and nostalgia greets me like a warm hug.
It’s early enough, the crowd’s thin, a few regulars hunched over the pool table, drinking bottles of domestic beers. A group is in the back corner, celebrating the end of a workday. There isn’t a town hall meeting this week, so the bar should stay pretty sparse.
I flip my loose curls over my shoulder, smooth down my flowy, high-low floral dress, and let my boots carry me straight to the bar.
Russ’s back is pressed against the back wall of the bar as he scrolls on his phone. I take a second to admire how much he’s changed—no longer the scrawny loner with black hair that dusted his shoulders. No, Russ has grown into a rugged man with muscles on muscles. His hair is still black, but croppedon the sides and longer on the top. In school, Russ would cut class to sneak behind the multi-purpose building where the weight room was located to smoke pot. Somehow, he managed to graduate.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Silo Bay princess.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname as I press myself onto a barstool. “Hey, Russ.”
He pushes off the counter and steps closer to this side of the bar. “The usual?”
“Make it a double, please.”
His eyebrows lift with curiosity, but he gets to pouring.
As soon as he sets my drink in front of me, I bring the glass to my lips and take a hefty sip. The whiskey burns all the way down, and I let out a sigh.
“You okay?”
I paste on a grin, and I know he can see through it. “Define okay.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head and dive into my purse. Pulling out my wallet, I place a handful of twenties on the bar.
“That’s way too much.” Russ pushes the stack of bills back toward me. I have no idea how much I laid out, but I don’t care. I need this. I need tonight.
“You haven’t heard my demands.”
He huffs a laugh. “Look at Princess Drummond walking into my bar like she owns the damn place.”
I snort a laugh as he continues. “What’re your demands?”
