41. Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
Leavenworth, two months later in early August: Jonathan
T he mid-summer sun was setting on another beautiful day in Leavenworth when Jonathan pulled into the gravel lot at Off the Beaten Adventures. His guides were rolling in and out of the office, closing out excursions, and dropping off gear to be put away for the night. He hopped out of the car and headed in the back door to check on the events of the day.
Janet feverishly plucked away on her keyboard with a stack of invoices to her left and a hot cup of tea to her right. No less than five pens stuck out of her frazzled gray bun as she squinted through her readers at the computer screen.
“Am I working you too hard?” Jonathan asked, leaning back against the front desk, one foot crossed over the other, arms folded. He took in her frantic pace and felt a pang of guilt.
His office manager’s attention remained on her work. She replied without turning, “Of course not, Johnny. Mayhem keeps me young.”
The hurricane of business hadn’t let up the whole summer. Every guide and excursion were booked from open to close through the end of September. Surprisingly, the commotion around the landslide and him and Lucy being stranded for a few days had boosted reservations. The Leavenworth Tribune even ran a story about the incident, making Jonathan—against his adamant claims to the contrary—into a local hero and further bolstering the influx of customers.
“But you’d tell me if it got to be too much, right?” Janet had worked tirelessly for his family’s business since his father had opened it all those years ago, and he honestly didn’t know what he’d do without her. Still, when he saw her maniacally plugging away, he worried she was wasting her golden years in that stuffy office.
“I’m sure I would if it ever got to that point.” She hazarded a glance at the man she treated like family and grinned. “But I’ve never been there, so I wouldn’t know what to look for anyway.”
“Have you and Jerry decided where you’re going at the end of September?”
“Two-week Caribbean cruise.” She flipped over another invoice. “Try not to muck the place up too much while I’m gone.”
Jonathan raised both hands. “No, ma’am. We’ll keep everything tip-top ’til you return.” He looked around and turned back to Janet. “Have you seen my bratty sister?”
“Supply room.”
He followed the short hall and found Frankie, clipboard in hand, asking one of the newer guides how her climbing trip went. Waiting by the door, Jonathan stayed out of his sister’s way or “relinquished responsibility” like Dr. Reuben regularly reminded him to do.
A moment later, they were alone in the large room, and Jonathan knocked on the door frame. “How’d the rest of the day go?” he asked, doing his best to don his boss hat.
Frankie turned and smiled. “Great. How’d your session go?”
Over the last two months, Jonathan had been seeing a grief and trauma counselor to deal with his old (and more recent) emotional baggage. It was a struggle at first to open up to some random guy, but he found he gained a lot from each meeting and always left with a new tool to try out. Slowly, he was dealing with everything he’d managed to bury over the last four years and forgive himself for what everyone else kept saying wasn’t his fault to begin with.
Cynthia’s death and Lucy’s accident.
“It was good.” Hands in his pockets, he shrugged noncommittally. “The usual: couch, tissues, tell me about your childhood. Blah, blah, blah.”
His sister stepped closer, brows furrowed. “Hey. Therapy won’t do you any good if you don’t take it seriously.”
“I know, and I am. Just being dumb.”
“I worry about you.” She walked over and squeezed her brother in a quick side hug. “But lucky you, you’re just in time to help me finish inventory.”
An hour later, they locked up the darkened building.
“Night, sis,” Jonathan waved as he strode to his car.
“Have you called her yet?”
He stopped, shoulders tense, but didn’t turn around. “You know I haven’t.”
“Fucking idiot,” she muttered under her breath yet intentionally loud enough so he’d hear. She’d asked him the same question every day since Lucy had left town.
“Francesca.” He finally faced her. “She doesn’t want to hear from me.”
“I get that you think that, but I don’t know why you do.”
“Because I hurt her.” His voice rose, feeling gravely in his throat. He relived that moment multiple times a day. The very second when Lucy’s heart busted in two and he ran out of her room like a coward. He should have stayed with her. Should have fought his inner demons and found a way to keep her in his life. But, alas . . . coward.
“And she’ll forgive you. If your connection was as once-in-a-lifetime, hills-are-alive-with-music magical like Three Beer Jonathan keeps confessing to me, then she feels it too.” She marched around the car, standing toe to toe with her much larger brother, volume matching his. “Don’t you owe it to her to see what she wants? She went through a lot too. It wasn’t just you out there.”
“Her boyfriend showed up at the hospital. She’s not even single anymore.”
“So fight for her, you big, selfish chicken.”
“I’m the chicken?!”
“Feathers. Beak. The whole nine.”
“Who’s been sitting on their grad school application for the last six months?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
Jonathan gestured to himself then splayed his arms out wide, brows raised, eyes bugging out. “Hello?! Same here.”
“Ok, I’ll make a deal with you.” Frankie plopped her hands on her hips and chewed on the inside of her cheek. “As soon as you talk to her—like really lay it all out there—I’ll mail off my application. I’ll even send you the confirmation email as proof.”
“What if she hangs up on me before I can get two words out?”
“So don’t give her the option.”
“You’re saying I should go to Seattle and do this in person?”
“Absolutely.”
“How would I even find her?”
“Clearly, I’m the brains of the family.” She pointed back to the darkened office where they kept all customer records, including waivers, emergency contacts, and . . . addresses.
Jonathan turned back to his sister. She was right. He’d been terrified of what would happen if he talked to Lucy and confessed his feelings for her. Sitting in his current state of limbo, the door remained cracked. A tiny ripple of hope wobbled in his brain. But if he confronted her in search of a definitive answer . . . whack . That door could slam in his face. He looked at his sister, considering the trepidation she was also walking through about applying to grad school. The thought of her second-guessing herself didn’t sit well with him because he knew Frankie was capable of anything she set her mind to. The woman had no quit in her.
“Deal.” Jonathan reached out to shake on the agreement, but Frankie had already snatched the keys from his other hand and sprinted for the office door.
Sweat beaded on the back of Jonathan’s neck as he knocked on the sleek apartment door. After he and Francesca found Lucy’s address, he’d run home to pack a few things then hit the road. It was after midnight when he parked outside her building. He should have held off until morning, but his nerves threatened to vacate if he waited too long.
Rubbing clammy hands on his jeans, he gave it a minute then knocked again, harder this time.
A woman’s voice, muffled by the door, drowsily called, “I’m coming. Hold your horses.” Lucy? Jonathan’s heart galloped in response.
The door swung open. “Yeah, what do you want?”
Jonathan froze then looked at the apartment number again. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh. I’m looking for Lucy. Shit. I must have gotten the address wrong.”
A tall woman with fiery, bed-rumpled hair stood leaning against the door. She wore a large men’s shirt, fastened with only a couple of buttons. Yawning, she raised a hand to her mouth, long cherry red nails shining in the hallway lights.
“Babe,” Jonathan heard a man call as he neared the door. “Who is it?”
“He’s looking for your ex.”
“Which one?” The man stopped beside his bedmate, wearing socks and a pair of black boxers. He scratched his gym-crafted abs and inclined his head in greeting. “’Sup?” Jonathan had never seen a more punchable face.
Brodan.
“I’m trying to find Lucy.”
“Sorry, bro. She doesn’t live here anymore. We broke up, like, three months ago.”
If this is Lucy’s ex, then who was the guy at the hospital?
“Do . . . Do you know where I can find her?”
Brodan laughed, a snide rattling sound. “Nah, man. Surprisingly, I haven’t heard from her since she moved out. Sorry.” He and the redhead retreated into the apartment and shut the door.
Jonathan heaved a sigh of relief, feeling a bit more confident that things might go his way. She was single. Or at least she wasn’t with that asshat anymore. Hadn’t been with him since the initial split. His hope dipped. How was he supposed to find her now? Resigned, he pulled up the picture he’d taken of her contact information back in Leavenworth. Nothing left but to call her. His finger hovered over the Send button just as an idea sparked. Picking up the pace back to his car, Jonathan googled an address and grinned.
Bingo.
Neon pink halogens illuminated the swirly text of The Tackle Boxx sign. The street outside of the drag bar scuttled with energy and life, and it amplified as he paid cover to the bouncer and stepped into the entryway. Music thumped, voices cheered, and Jonathan weaved his way around tables toward the crowded bar in the back. A massive blond man, who bore an impressively striking resemblance to Thor, mixed drinks and poured beers. After a few minutes, he stepped in front of Jonathan, straightened his silk vest, and asked, “What’ll it be, handsome?” He adjusted his rolled-up sleeves and braced two massive hands on the bar top.
Jonathan leaned in and propelled his voice through the thumping base. “I’m looking for Todd. I was told he works here.”
The sturdy tree of a man looked Jonathan up and down, clocking his plaid button-up and thick beard. He flipped a pint glass from one hand to the other then filled it from a beer tap. Setting it down, he called, “Stardust IPA. Drink up while I look into that for you.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan smiled back, grateful for the bartender’s help and for a splash of liquid courage. It had already been a long night, and he was quickly losing steam. The only thing urging him on was the possibility that Todd might be able to help him find Lucy. Her best friend was his second-to-last hope. He could still call her after all, but Jonathan needed to see her, even if it was for the last time. Eyes stinging, he gulped down half the beer.
A cocktail server sauntered over. “Follow me, sweet-cheeks.” Jonathan pulled out a twenty and placed it under his half-drunk beer, calling a quick thank you to the flaxen-haired Avenger before following through the crowd and back behind a thick velvet curtain .
A row of five square mirrors, surrounded by lightbulbs, lined one wall of the back room. Makeup, pantyhose, and duct tape lay scattered across the vanity that stretched the entire length. A tall—very tall—queen crouched in front of the middle station, expertly applying shimmering lip gloss.
“Well, who do we have—oh!” Turning from the mirror, the queen stared, mouth agape. “You’re Lucy’s guide.”
How would she know? Wait. “You were at the hospital.” The heavy makeup disguised masculine features, but enough similarities showed that Jonathan was certain of it. “I thought . . . when we met . . . I thought you were Brodan.”
Perfectly arched eyebrows shot up twice as high as where they were drawn on. “Bite your tongue! Gross. Can’t stand that weasel.”
“I one-hundred percent agree with you.” Jonathan snorted derisively.
Setting down the gloss, the queen walked closer. “Dirty O’Feelya.” She reached out her hand, which Jonathan took for a gentle shake, being careful of her long fingernails. “And we’ve already established that you’re the guide . What brings you here?”
“Jonathan,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Sure.” Dirty O’Feelya crossed her arms and gave him a bored expression. Clearly, Lucy’s friend wasn’t a fan, which meant Lucy told her everything. Shit . It was critical to play this right. “I need your help.”
“With what, exactly?” She analyzed him, head to toe, through thick lashes.
“I need to talk to Lucy.”
“You have her number, don’t you?”
“Yes, but . . .” Jonathan shifted from foot to foot. “I need to do it in person.”
“Look, pal,” Dirty O’Feelya growled, poking a long nail into Jonathan’s chest. “If you came here to make her feel even shittier, then you got another thing coming. She was a wreck after you broke her heart, and she’s just now starting to get back to her usual, vivacious self.”
Guilt ricocheted inside Jonathan’s chest. He assumed he’d hurt her, and he hated himself for it. But her friend’s confirmation made him sick all over again. “No, I came here to fight for her. Please, you have to help me. I was a complete idiot. I’m desperate to fix things. I need to win her back.”
The queen stepped back and smiled a satisfied grin. “Good. I’m glad you decided to pull your fat head out of your ass.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jonathan felt a glimmer of hope. With Dirty O’Feelya in his corner, he could pull this off. “All I need is her address, and I can . . .”
“Like hell!”
“But I thought you were going to help me.”
“I am. But if you think for one second I’m going to let you get away with some basic bitch apology, then you came to the wrong queen for help. Our girl deserves a grand gesture.”
“I drove all the way from Leavenworth unannounced.”
“Look at me and tell me if you think I’d count a three-hour drive as ‘grand’.”
“Fair enough. What do I do?”
After a long pause, a slow, mischievous grin spread across Dirty O’Feelya’s glossy lips, giving Jonathan pause. “Go find a hotel and get some sleep. Meet me back here tomorrow afternoon at three. Bring lunch. A Monte Cristo . . . with fries. Then, we’ll get to work.”