Chapter 8 Said No One Ever
Eight
Said No One Ever
Logan
For two straight days, sunrise to well past sunset, minus the couple of hours I went tree shopping with Josie today, I’ve been at the carnival.
The original plan was a two-week run up to Christmas—finish on the twenty-fifth with skating, roasting marshmallows by the fire pits, and families spending the day together.
It’s what Brooke always wanted. Unfortunately, I underestimated what all goes into organizing a carnival, and the two weeks of holiday fun is now cut to one.
If there’s a silver lining, work has been a good distraction from thinking about Brie and why she was secretly watching me at Reindeer Ridge. The way my body sparked to life when I pulled her up… yeah. Not helpful.
“What should we start with?” Josie’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. She has been hounding me to decorate the tree since we picked it up, so I promised her we’d spend the afternoon fully immersed in decorations.
“Blue ornaments.” I cue up a YouTube fireplace, playing a soft Christmas melody because our new place lacks the real thing. Ten out of ten for the ambiance. Zero on the heat, or lack thereof.
She pops the flaps on a box and hands me a blue and silver swirled ornament.
I hold it up in the air. “Where should this one go?”
Josie taps her chin as she contemplates the perfect spot. It’s something her mom would always do. She would meticulously place every ornament in the best spot for optimal viewing pleasure.
“How about there?” She points to a spot on the top right side of the tree.
“Perfect.” I secure the ornament to the end of the branch. We fall into a rhythm of passing and placing ornaments on the tree.
At the bottom of the next box, she pulls out one last ornament. A frosted white star edged in gold. “We have one more.”
All the air is sucked from my lungs. I’ve avoided hanging that ornament on the tree for the past two Christmases, and I actually forgot about it, until now.
“That was your mom’s favorite,” I say, my voice rough.
“She said it reminded her of you— her brightest star.” Every year, Brooke would buy a new ornament for Josie.
The instant she saw the star, she knew it was perfect and refused to continue looking. “Where should we hang it?”
She holds up the ornament, tapping her finger against her lips. “I think it should go up there.” She points toward the top of the six-foot tree.
“Alright, you’re the boss.” I hoist her up, and she slides the hook over one branch until it dangles in place. It’s the exact same spot where her mom liked to hang it as well.
Once we’re finished, we place the empty ornament boxes back in the plastic bins until it’s time to take the tree down.
“I’m going to FaceTime Grandma so I can show her the tree!” Josie dashes out of the room, up the stairs, and toward her bedroom.
My gaze wanders over the tree. Brooke would be proud. God, I wish she could see it. Another year, and it still doesn’t get easier.
Josie returns to the living room with her tablet in front of her. “See Grandma? This is the tree.” She turns the screen around. “It’s pretty.”
“It’s so beautiful,” my mom says.
While they chat, I slip upstairs. When I reach my bedroom, I sit on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees and comb my fingers through my hair.
They say time heals all wounds, but it’s been three years, and my wounds are still gaping open.
I thought moving from the house we shared and closer to my family would help, but so far, nothing.
The grief counselor I saw after Brooke passed away told me everyone heals at their own pace.
There’s no set time limit, but right now I wish there was and that I’m nearing the end.
Sitting up, I slide open the nightstand drawer and pull out a picture of Brooke.
I run my fingers over the smooth glass covering her bright, warm smile.
I took the picture four years ago, right after Josie’s seventh birthday party.
We finished cleaning up, and Josie went to a friend’s house for a sleepover, so we had the night to ourselves.
I started a fire in the fire pit on the patio just as the sun dipped below the horizon.
She had a glass of red wine in her hand.
The reflection of the firelight across her face was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.
It made her glow, so I snapped a picture.
Something I did often. I joked that she never looked at me the way she does at a glass of wine.
She said the wine is a quick burst of happiness, but I was her forever.
Moisture burns my eyes. Now, they’re only memories. There’ll never be a new picture. Not after that late summer day when meningococcal meningitis took her away from us. She fought hard, though. Just like everything she did, she gave two hundred percent.
“Daddy!”
I flinch and catch the picture frame before it crashes to the floor. Quickly, I shove it in the nightstand drawer and slam it closed.
“Yeah.” I rub away the moisture in my eyes.
Josie hovers in the doorway, pink tablet clutched to her chest. “Grandma says I can come over and watch movies.” She turns her tablet around, and my mom’s face fills the screen.
“Yeah, okay.” A night to myself will give me time alone to wallow in self-pity. “Pack a bag and I’ll drop you off.”
Josie turns the tablet around. “Yay! I’ll be over soon, Grandma.”
“Okay sweetheart. See you soon.” My mom’s voice sounds through the speakers.
She runs over to me, tosses her tablet on my bed, and wraps her arms around me. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Peanut.”
Josie pushes off me and scampers down the hallway.
With my elbows on my knees, I scrub my palms over my face, trying to stitch my thoughts together.
A big reason we moved to Mount Holly was so my parents could help me raise Josie.
I tried to do it on my own for three years.
Mostly because I was stubborn and didn’t want the help or to burden anyone else.
I thought I had something to prove. That I could do this on my own.
Needing help doesn’t make me a terrible father.
In fact, asking for help was the best thing for Josie.
She was grieving just as much as I was, so the support was not only for me, but for her as well.
Plus, Brooke always dreamed of creating a big Christmas carnival.
It wasn’t my thing, but she loved it. And I loved her.
It never fully developed because she got sick.
So I want to do it for her. To make her dream come true.
I thought I was doing better at letting go of Brooke.
Even my therapist said I was making great strides.
I don’t have to forget her, but I need to move on.
I did that for a while, mostly because I had hockey to occupy my time.
But retiring and moving back to Mount Holly to put this carnival together is opening old wounds.
I just need a night. I’ll be back to my normal self tomorrow.
A few minutes later, Josie barrels into my bedroom with a backpack slung over her shoulder. “I’m ready!”
“I think you’re the fastest packer I know.”
She latches onto my hand and tugs. “Hurry. I want to watch as many movies as I can before bedtime.”
“Alright. I’m coming.”
After dropping Josie off at my mom and John’s, I drive back toward my house.
But two blocks down the road, I think better of it and turn around in the next driveway to head in the opposite direction toward the Crooked Reindeer.
Maybe it’s best I’m around other people for a bit.
It has to be better than sitting alone in misery.
Inside, the bar’s relatively quiet. A few regulars all wave and say hello to me. At the far end of the bar, I claim a seat on an empty stool, hoping to have a little time to myself. Simon gives me a chin nod as he finishes with a customer.
A few seconds later, he greets me. “Hey, man. Want a spiked eggnog or Tom and Jerry?”
I grimace at my options.
He laughs. “Too festive for you? How about a beer?”
I eye the taps but know they won’t cut it. “Give me a scotch on the rocks.” Simon’s brows raise. “Make it a double.”
“Well, that’s not a casual drink for six o’clock at night.”
“It’s been a day. And it’s still not over.”
Simon plants his hands on the bar and leans in. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“Not especially.”
“Alright. Well just know I’m here if you need anything.”
“Just make sure my glass isn’t empty.”
“Got it.” He raps his knuckles against the bar as he pushes off and pours my drink. Once he’s finished, he slides the lowball of scotch in front of me.
The first sip burns clean—like it might cauterize whatever’s fraying inside.
This carnival was a dumb idea. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
If I didn’t have a crew of guys to help me get everything set up, I’d still be sitting in an empty field.
This was Brooke’s passion. Not mine. God, I miss her.
Her smile. The way she wouldn’t let me get away with anything.
I wish I could have done something. I wish I had tried harder to convince her to go to the doctor sooner.
Maybe she’d still be here. I just never expected it to happen so fast. In the blink of an eye, she was gone.
True to his word, Simon keeps the refills coming. Two rounds in, my glass never hits empty. I roll the glass on the round base, staring as the amber liquid swirls around. I came to Mount Holly for a change. Maybe I’ll do something about it.
“Screw it,” I say, rolling the glass between my palms. “Buy the bar a round on me. We’re celebrating.” I throw back the last drop of my drink and swallow it down.
The bar erupts in cheers.
Simon chuckles. “Celebrating what?”
“New beginnings.” I push my empty glass toward him.
He pours three fingers of scotch into my glass before pouring himself water. He holds up his glass. “To new beginnings.”
We tap our drinks on the bar top before I take a sip. Over the next hour, people send drinks back my way in thanks—beer here, a shot there. Now I’m anchored to the stool with my elbows propped on the bar, pretending it’s the floor swaying and not me.
Her sweet laughter fills the bar before I see her.
Slowly, I glance over my shoulder. With one eye closed, the silhouettes of Brie, Willa, and Sloane manifest as they stroll through the door.
I track them as they land at a high-top table on the opposite side of the bar.
As she sits, her gaze lifts in my direction.
Our eyes meet. A tingle races through me.
She looks away first—not away, but just past me, and the corner of her lips lift into a smile.
“If you crane your neck any farther, you’re going to fall off that stool,”
Busted. So much for being discreet. I spin around, and Simon lifts his brows, a wide grin on his face.
Wait? Was she checking out Simon? No, that’s not possible. Well, it is possible, but she’s not his type. At least, not the type he liked in high school. He was more into leggy redheads, much like Sloane. I shove the thought of Simon and Brie together out of my head.
“You know what surprises me the most?” I take a sip of my scotch.
“What’s that?”
“When did Brie become such a firecracker?” She’s someone you can’t forget, but somehow, I forgot her.
“You left,” he says, chuckling. “She didn’t. But she always had a little sass.”
“Yeah, she certainly does like to sass me.”
“The older we get, the less we care what other people think of us. We just do our thing.”
“Was I a jerk to her in high school?”
He shrugs. “Shit. I don’t know. Maybe a little. You mostly ignored her. Does it matter now? If you really want an answer, you could always ask her.”
“She’s better at giving me death glares than dialogue. I’m pretty sure she’s hoping I spontaneously combust or something.”
“She’d be first in line with marshmallows, passing out roasting sticks.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She hated me first, so it was only natural for me to hate her back.
Then why do we always find ourselves running into each other?
Sure, Mount Holly is small, but the next town isn’t too far away.
She could go to the bar there. The bar run-ins aside, the real question is why does my dick twitch every time she’s near?
And why do I want to feel her soft, pillowy lips against mine?
Does she taste as sweet as she smells? Why can’t I stop picturing what she looks like wearing that red lace underwear?
Most importantly, why do I want to rip them off her body with my teeth?
Some things are just unexplainable. Like Bigfoot.
Damn. I hope she’s not hairy like Bigfoot.
I spare a glance her way again. Nah. Her skin looks silky smooth.
No excess hair in sight. Her lips curve into a smile as she laughs at something Willa says.
Images of her pink lips wrapped around the head of my dick flash before me.
Fuck. I peel my gaze away. If I can’t stop thinking about her on my own, I’ll drink her out of my system. Said no one ever.
“Simon?” I tap the bar lightly. “Give me another.”