5. Will
CHAPTER 5
WILL
“I REMEMBER YOU” – SKID ROW
G ravel crunches under the tires of the Uber van we commandeered as Smith, Ruiz, and Butler yammer on to Amy about the Waterin’ Hole.
“So it’s like this, Amy. It’s a country bar with line dancing, but it’s also at the beach. You can spin around while listening to the musical sounds of the ocean, sweetheart.” Smith smiles at her, making my instincts shout in discomfort.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s enough. She might be dancing, but it won’t be with any of you knuckleheads,” I remind them with a warning and a look that could kill.
“Oh Will, I can handle myself.” Amy pouts from her seat, squished between Ruiz and me in the middle row.
When we arrive, we pour out of the van, making our way to the end of the line. There must be fifty people waiting to get in. I sit on an old wooden pylon, making myself comfortable as this might be a while. The guys continue asking Amy questions about how long she will be in town, where she is working, really all the things I want to know the answers to. But for some reason I can’t pay attention. The air is buzzing with something I can’t quite put my finger on.
My eyes are honed in on people pouring out of various car services, some heading to the line like respectable folks, others trying to butter up the security guards in hopes of skipping. I grumble to myself about the lack of respect for others. What makes some people think they deserve to go in while everyone else waits is beyond me. The entitlement of it all has always rubbed me the wrong way.
“Dammmnnn. Do you see that?” Smith knocks me on the shoulder to get my attention.
“See what?” I ask, looking around for whatever’s caught his attention.
“That.” He points at a gorgeous tall girl in cutoff shorts and a sparkly tank top. She looks almost out a movie with her brown hair swaying in the breeze, long sculpted tan legs shifting easily with each step. Of course she and her friend are heading right to the door, not caring for the line of suckers, including me, waiting patiently to get in. Her friend has a magnetism about her. Maybe it’s the way her long blonde hair swishes back and forth or the sashaying of her hips. I can’t stop staring.
“Do you need a rag?” Amy snarks, rolling her eyes at me.
“W-what?” I snap my head in her direction.
“For the drool, bonehead. You are staring like a creep.” She swats her hand across the back of my head to emphasize just how blatantly dumb I am being in her eyes.
“Who are we talking about? Going to clue us in?” Butler asks, crossing his arms like he doesn’t want to be the one left out of whatever revelation we’re having.
“He’s staring at that girl. The one with the brunette. It’s disgusting...I can practically see his eyes popping out of his head,” Amy huffs, crossing her arms. Nothing like a younger sibling to call you on your shit.
“Bro, this could be the one. Get over there and talk to her.” Smith shoves me, trying to push me out of line and in the blonde’s direction.
“No.” One single word, emphatic and definitive.
“Why the hell not?” Ruiz looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. It’s unfathomable that I would find someone physically attractive and not be hounding her for a chance.
“What good would that do? I don’t do relationships, remember?” Shifting my eyes to the back of the line, I notice it is getting longer by the minute. We picked the wrong night to come, crowded places amplify my anxiety.
“So, let me get this straight. We are just supposed to sit here and act like it’s not a big deal that this is the first time we’ve seen you go ‘moon-eyed’ over a girl?” Smith makes air quotes to emphasize how ridiculous he thinks I am being.
“Yep, pretty much. Nothing good could come out of us talking.” I defend my actions despite the protest happening in my belly. My heart is thumping out of my chest. I haven’t felt the spark or desire to even talk to someone in longer than I can remember. Why now?
“What are you so afraid of?” My sister throws her arms up in frustration.
“You...You know the answer to that, and do not make me go there.” I point at her in frustration. Of all the people in the world, she should know we are the castaways. The ones who will never be enough, my sister and I. I’ve heard it a thousand times: If we hadn’t made life so painfully dull, he wouldn’t have sought out something more exciting.
“For fuck’s sake. Is this about dad? You seriously still believe that if you had been more perfect he would have stayed? Or is it that you’re afraid to commit and end up cheating? Both are bullshit, by the way.” Amy is practically shouting at this point.
“Enough, the line is moving. We aren’t here to worry about my love life or lack thereof. Let’s stick to the plan and nurse your broken heart back to health, Aims.” We shuffle forward, silence radiating from our group. I know the guys don’t understand it, but they don’t have to. I’m not willing to risk it. Logically, I know there isn’t any proof that I would be like my dad, but is it really worth finding out? I tried dating when I first joined up. It went okay but I always found myself wondering when the other shoe would drop, when would they find out I’m not all they hoped and dreamed of. The first time I pictured my ex when hooking up with another woman, I called it. I won’t lose another person I care for, and I won’t become my dad, longing for something or someone else.
After what feels like forever, we finally make our way inside, beelining for the bar with our sink-or-swim wristbands. While I love country music, and being so close to the ocean is a vibe, the best part of coming to the Hole is their drinking program. Fifteen bucks for bottom-shelf liquor and Jell-O shots. It’s honestly criminal how much they are giving away. They’ll try to get you, though, always asking if you want an upgrade.
“What can I get you handsome?” a cute-enough redhead bartender wearing a shameless low-cut top shouts at me.
“Whiskey and ginger ale for me, a beer for the lady,” I say, pointing at Amy to indicate who the beer’s for before realizing how much it looks like we’re on a date. See, terrible with women, case in point.
“You got it.” She goes to work preparing our drinks as I spin to take in the sights. My eyes search for the parking lot blonde, but she’s nowhere to be found. I don’t have any business looking since I’m not prepared to make a move. A little peek never hurt though.
“Here you go,” Miss Bartender shouts, shoving drinks across the bar in a hurry. I slide a few dollars toward her, grab the drinks, and follow in the direction that Amy headed, finding her circled up at a table with the guys and watching the dancing ensue.
“Will, let’s dance.” She tugs me toward the floor while the guys follow.
We make our way through a few songs, laughing and talking over the music like we do this every day. The guys are bad at line dancing but Smith is by far the worst. My man has zero rhythm. During “Watermelon Crawl,” I tried to show him how to do the famous slide onto his belly...He’s going to have a bruised face tomorrow.
“We’re gonna head back to the table, get a couple drinks,” Smith shouts to Amy and me. We start following them, but then the classic barn-dance music begins to play.
“Will, please do this with me. It reminds me of nights at Chuck’s with mom.” The barn dance is a traditional partner dance where you form a circle and do a couple of stomps, kicks, and spins before switching partners. Our mom used to take us to Chuck’s Dancing Dive on Sundays for lessons. I hated it and Amy loved it.
“Fine, but only because I don’t get to see you enough, and you supposedly have a broken heart.” Grabbing her hand, I move us into position in the circle. “You’re buying my next drink though.” We shake on it and she laughs.
“Deal! Cheapest one I’ve ever made.” Throwing her head back, she giggles harder.
“What do you mean? Oh right, the drinks are free.” I wink and begin to stomp with the beat.
“Will, thanks for bringing me out. I know we need to talk, but maybe tomorrow? I’m having so much fun.” I twirl her for the first time, preparing to switch partners on the next one.
“Yeah, of course. I’m glad you’re here.” The final spin commences and off she goes to the man next to me. He looks harmless enough, a portly man with classic Wranglers and a flannel so tight on his beer belly he might pop a button.
“Hey, I’m Brittany.” My new partner smiles brightly, introducing herself. She’s cute in a girl-next-door kind of way. I could flirt with her, maybe I should, but that damn blonde is stuck in my mind.
“Will,” I say on a nod. We go through the motions without more conversation, my eyes trained on Amy to make sure she’s not about to be paired with anyone unsavory. Also so I don’t miss the chance to leave if she’s done strolling down memory lane.
After a few partner switches, I’m ready to be done. A break on the patio overlooking the crashing waves is calling my name. Shifting slightly to the right, I crane my neck toward my sister in an attempt to get her attention, and I don’t notice my next partner approaching.
A dainty hand slips gracefully into mine, sending electric sparks up my arm. Whipping my head toward the unsuspecting stranger as if I’ve been burned...I am beyond stunned. The parking lot blonde isn’t a stranger at all. It’s Cam. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and bile races up my throat with my nerves.
“W-wh-what are you doing here?” Her perfect pouty lips are painted cherry red, accentuating their bow shape. Words are difficult to form. How is this possible?
“I-I . . . How? This must be a joke,” she stammers.
“N-not a joke. Last time I checked anyway,” I retort.
“Of course I would move away to finally escape the memories, and you would be here. Been haunting me for years, for the love of Pete. Can’t I get a break? Why is this happening?” Cam rambles, I think to herself but maybe to me. I’m powerless to stop the smile that whispers across my lips. I’ve always thought it was adorable how she could go on and on to no one and everyone at the same time.
“I live here. The question is why are you here?” I ask, not as smoothly as I would have hoped. Not that I’m trying to be smooth. I am definitely not desperate to win anyone over, and I’m absolutely lying about it.
She scoffs. “No. I live here. You can’t! And do not grin at me, Rambo. Not even for a second.”
“Not grinning, promise.” I force my mouth to form the straightest line possible, but I can’t help it if my dimple insists on popping. Did she just call me Rambo? “I can’t not live here. This is where I work.”
“Well...ugh! Well...work somewhere else.” A small giggle bursts free. She’s always had an uncanny ability to laugh at herself when she says something immature or ridiculously outrageous.
“Sorry, no can do. Looks like maybe you’re following me, Wright.” If she’s going to call me an annoying nickname, I’m certainly going to call her one too. She hates her last name, and giving her shit is my favorite pastime. I shouldn’t do it but it’s too easy. Too familiar.
“I-I’m not following you! I’m over you. You know what, fine. Live here, be around, it’s fine. I’m totally unbothered.” She’s swinging our joined hands to prove how not bothered she is, but has she noticed she’s clutching onto me like her life depends on it?
Neither of us has let go, our fingers are still meshed together as if they were always meant to be. She couldn’t have not noticed. I’m not mad about it, I’ve dreamed of linking my fingers just one more time with hers for years. But I realize I have to let go, nothing has changed.
I untangle myself from her, dropping her hand. Understanding smacks her in the face as she looks from her palm to my face and back again as if she has been burned. One more glance, a silky sheen to her striking green eyes, hits me before she’s turning to run. I can feel the absence, the loss in my soul. This is why I can’t go back. Less than a minute of touching her and my heart has shattered all over again. I didn’t break one heart that day five years ago, I broke two.