Page 22 of When The Mountains Held Us

“Bye, Levi.” She’s gone in a flurry of billowing flannel and swinging hips.

I watch her for a moment as she leaves, my thoughts centering not on the words she said, but the ones she didn’t. There’s more to her than meets the eye. That much was obvious right from the start.

But that’s the thing about puzzles.

You can stare at the pieces all you like. But until you fit them together? Only then will you actually know what you’re looking at.

It’s not only her words that are the pieces, but the emotions she wears blatantly on her sleeve, whether she means to or not. I’m determined to figure her out, one piece at a time.

When she makes her way over to the untouched glass of bourbon, she pauses and, with shaking fingers, picks up the tip I left on the counter for her. She stares down at the bills in her hand for a moment before discreetly tucking them into her back pocket.

Attagirl.

That tip wasn’t meant for anyone but her, and she knows it.

I spend the rest of the night laughing with the guys, switching to water when Layla comes back around. The familiar buzz of alcohol sets a low fire in my veins and muddles my thoughts.

This is the fine line I walk. I’ve witnessed first hand what the bottle can do to a person, and I have absolutely no interest in becoming my father. In my heart, I know I could never be anything like him, despite sharing his last name, but deep down inside of me, there’s the scared little boy who knows that all it would take is one too many to bring out the beast inside of me.

Still, another small part of me wonders if the buzz is a result of the alcohol or of her.

Eleven

Oakley

Idrag myself back to the motel a little after three in the morning, my feet and back aching as I shove off my shoes, discard my clothes, and climb into the shower. I let the hot water soothe my aching muscles, and when I emerge a little while later, I’m more relaxed than I’ve been since arriving in North Creek.

I check my phone as I plug it in, surprised but relieved to see that there are no new calls or texts from Travis, but the relief is short-lived as I consider why that might be. While I know there is no part of me that still loves the man he turned out to be, I think a tiny pocket of my heart will always mourn for the man he was when I met him, before the real monster emerged from the shadows.

His silence, while a welcome reprieve from the anxiety-inducing flood of messages, sends a jolt of fear through me. There’s no knowing what waits in the silence until the thing you fear most jumps out and grabs you by the throat.

I scroll through my messages, texting my mom back that I’m okay and I’ll call her soon, before I land on a text from my study buddy, Danielle, asking if I’ve gotten my books for the semester yet. I stare at the message, only just now realizing that in my haste to get out of town, I missed the deadline to register for classes. I swipe out of the message, deciding that I can deal with figuring out what to tell her tomorrow after I’ve slept.

I pull the wad of cash from my shift tonight out of the back pocket of the jeans I left rumpled in a heap on the floor and count my earnings. Two hundred and seventy-six dollars.

I stare at the money like it’ll catch fire and disintegrate in a puff of smoke if I look away and marvel at how it’s possible this was my share of the earnings tonight. I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected Joe’s to be as busy as it was tonight. Then again, it’s Friday night, and Joe’s is the only joint in town.

I tuck the cash into the small safe below the television, set the passcode, and spin the dial before grabbing my jeans off the floor to put them in the cheap pop-up laundry basket I grabbed at the store earlier.

Something in the other pocket is stiff beneath my fingers, and I plunge my hand into the pocket to pull out the tip that Levi left me. Forty-three dollars. I was surprised when he left the cash sitting on the bar, and I’m lucky that no one else grabbed it before I had a chance to go back for it. I eyed it out of the corner of my eye, figuring he left it behind by mistake because there is no way he had actually intended to leave me a tip well over six times the cost of the drink he didn’t touch.

I should have put it in the shared tip jar, but I didn’t want to share this with Layla. Something told me he left it specifically for me.

He watched me the rest of the night from his corner booth, never seeming to take his eyes off me but never missing a beat when one of the guys said something to him. His darkened, yet pleased, expression when I grabbed the tip sent a flurry of butterflies through my core—yeah, I’m not planning to contemplate that any further tonight—and I quickly shoved the money into my back pocket before Layla could see it and get any ideas.

He had left it for me.

I didn’t care about splitting the other tips, but the thought of splitting his with Layla, who I swear was trying her damndest to make my night as miserable as possible, made my skin crawl with a spark of fierce indignation.

I place the cash in the safe with the rest of my earnings and climb beneath the covers, flicking off the bedside lamp and settling into the scratchy sheets. Exhaustion overwhelms me and I close my eyes, letting the blissful lull of sleep take me as I ponder what awaits me tomorrow.

I wake around mid-morning the next day, the sun sending blinding rays of light in through the two front windows. I lie in bed for a minute, watching the dust motes dance around in the beam of sunshine, feeling more rested than I expected to, considering I went to bed at nearly four o’clock in the morning. A headache pounds in my temples, signaling my body’s temper tantrum at not having my morning caffeine yet, and I throw the covers off and scramble out of bed.

Plugging in the small coffee pot next to the TV, I busy myself with getting the coffee brewing. I pad over to use the bathroom and brush my teeth, and when I reenter the bedroom, the smell of coffee permeates the air and makes my mouth water. I pour some into a plastic solo cup and make a note to pick up a real coffee mug as I stir in a bit of the French vanilla creamer I picked up yesterday.

The memory of Levi bringing me coffee yesterday morning pauses my stirring, the plastic spoon left momentarily forgotten in the dark liquid. If I try hard enough, I can even recall the feeling of his fingers brushing mine as he handed me the travel mug, but I quickly shake the thought away. It’s too early to let my mind wander down that mental road.

I sip my coffee at the small table in front of the window and scroll aimlessly through my phone, wondering if I have enough time to explore one of the nearby hiking trails and still get back in time to shower and get ready for my shift at the bar.