Chapter 38
chapter
thirty-eight
MAREN
I have the best, most understanding and loyal friends.
But they have terrible ideas sometimes.
“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this,” I grumble as we come to a stop, side by side just inside the door.
“It’s festive.” Addie adjusts the ridiculous felt hat on her head.
Caroline giggles. “And fun.”
The smell of spicy wings singes my nostrils, and the explosion of cheers from one corner makes me nearly jump out of my skin.
“Plus, no one even knows us here,” Addie says.
“Not that it would matter if they did.” Caroline loops her arm through mine and leads us through the crowd. “We’re doing this for us and no one else.”
“You, especially.” Addie nudges me with her shoulder, and I lean on Caroline for balance. “You need to take your anger out on something, so might as well do it by launching sharp weapons at a wooden target.”
“Nothing better for your adrenaline,” Caroline adds. She has stars in her eyes like she just stepped into Tiffany’s.
“Could we not have gone to a boxing ring or something? Where there isn’t an audience?” I sigh as they drag me toward the other side of the bar.
Punching something would’ve been better than this. Hell, Tiffany’s would’ve been more preferable, and I’m not crazy about jewelry to begin with.
Instead, my friends chose a place that could get us killed, or at the very least, seriously injured.
We’re at a dusty old bar with too much wooden decor. What did they do—tear down an entire forest for their counters, floors, and walls?
On the far end of the bar, a few bays are set up with wooden beams and targets propped several yards away for people to throw axes.
One guy looms over the rest of his friends, the plaid sleeves frayed at his shoulders, and his muscles bulge like a cartoon’s as he raises the axe over his head, rears back, and hurls it toward the big red circle.
The axe spins so fast and hard in the air that if it weren’t so loud in here, I’d probably hear it whistle.
Half of the head disappears into the wood, and applause rings out from his group.
They’re mostly women, like he has groupies, as if this lumberjack is a pro.
The couple on the other side of this guy matches his expertise, and it’s clear that I don’t belong here.
And not just because I’m wearing a felt turkey hat with large red glasses on my head, like the one Monica surprises Chandler with in a Thanksgiving episode of Friends.
As if it weren’t outrageous enough on its own, Caroline spotted pajama sets that we also just had to have.
The tops read “Let’s Get Basted,” and the bottoms are plaid with dizzying colors of green, orange, and brown.
We found all this at a store on our way into Savannah an hour ago, and now, we’re here to showcase our spontaneous decisions.
“Everyone is looking at us,” I mutter through one side of my mouth as countless pairs of eyes swing our way, one by one, and the urge to drive an axe through my hat is something fierce.
“They’re just jealous.” Caroline shrugs and continues leading us toward the line around the entrance to the bays. Smearing mud across her cheeks and over her head wouldn’t deter Caroline from waltzing through a crowd like she’s on a runway.
By the time we cross the bar, people have returned their attention to their own tables, with most of them following whatever is on TV.
It doesn’t put me at ease, though. I still feel like I’m on display. I didn’t feel this out of sorts when I dressed up as Wonder Woman for Halloween, for fuck’s sake.
But that was last month. That was before Addie and Caroline cracked me open and threw me under a microscope.
That was before things came to a head with Nate.
The severe vulnerability coursing through me has me on edge and ready to flee the building the second the girls give me the green light.
“Why is everyone so good at this?” I’m still eyeing the lumberjack and his friends.
As soon as I ask the question, a new couple steps up to the plate, and… they aren’t as skilled. The girl doesn’t hit any spot on the target, and the guy merely chips the edge of the board.
“I take it back,” I mutter to the girls, then pin them under my wide-eyed gaze. “But what if I throw the damn thing, and it bounces off the board, and it hits me in the head, and I have a concussion? It happened in a movie I saw.”
“Pretty sure that was for theatrics.” Addie laughs.
“What if I drop the axe and cut off my pinkie toe like Monica did to Chandler in this episode?” I point to my turkey hat.
“He survived, and so will you,” Caroline chirps. It’s a little too enthusiastic, as if she doesn’t believe such a thing could happen.
But when sharp objects are involved, anything can happen.
“You’re not going to get out of this.” Addie nudges me forward as a bay frees up. “We are here, and we’re going to drink—”
“Because axes and drinks are the perfect combo?” I lift a brow and frown at the guy who asks for our names. He launches into a spiel about safety precautions and presents us with waivers to sign before we get our hands on the axes.
The teenage-looking guy barely removes his focus from the iPad in front of him, and I have a strong suspicion he’s not brushing up on his emergency procedures.
If he’s this relaxed, maybe I should be too.
Or maybe this should worry me more.
He guides us toward the open bay, where an older guy asks if we need instructions. I open my mouth to vehemently accept a detailed tutorial, but Addie props the axe over her shoulder, more calm and collected than I’ve ever seen her.
“Does it look like this is my first time?” she asks the guy.
Although it was obviously meant rhetorically, the guy still gives her a once-over, then studies Caroline and me as well. His dubious gaze lingers on our hats as he answers, “Definitely.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Addie tosses over her shoulder with the confidence of Black Widow.
I take stock of the target and all the circles outlining one another. “How does—”
Thwack.
“Shit!” I hiss and jump back.
Addie’s axe bobs from its spot just outside the center of the target. “A practice throw, if you will.”
The condescending man whistles. “I stand corrected.” He backs away clapping, and Addie skips in our direction.
Once she reaches us, she pinches the sides of her oversized pajama pants like it’s a ball gown and curtsies.
My laughter bubbles out of me with more gusto than I’ve felt in the last twenty-four hours.
We might’ve come here so I could work on my unresolved issues, but even if I never touch an axe—or a beer—my best friends have already given me a lot to be grateful for.
“My turn, my turn!” Caroline bounces up to the target and yanks the axe from the middle. She repeats the motions as Addie did, but she’s not as smooth.
The axe still lands on the target, grazing the outermost circle.
“Impressive,” I say as a server pops up behind me.
“The first round is on me, ladies.” Caroline waves a shiny credit card over her head and orders three IPAs .
“Maren, you’re up.” Addie claps, but apprehension meanders down my spine.
There’s no way I’m going to throw it as good as them. I probably won’t even hit the board, and it appears as wide as my coffee truck.
“It’s not about being good,” Addie says, as if she reads my freaking mind. “That’s kind of the whole point, which is something I’m still grappling with myself, so we can work on it together.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“All my life, I’ve tried to be perfect in my own way, but in the end, the right person will love us for what we are, flaws and all.
” She spreads her arms, and it puts me at ease.
If Addie Lockhart has learned to let go every now and then, it’s certainly possible that I can too.
“You need to stop putting so much pressure on yourself to be perfect,” she adds.
“What does perfect even mean?” Caroline poses. “There’s no such thing. Unless we’re talking about my mother’s apple pie. The shit is magic.”
“Or Maren’s cookies. Also magic.” Addie nods. “But the point is—when it comes to humans, we’re not perfect.”
“But if I can make the perfect cookie, doesn’t that kind of make me perfect? In a way?” I tease.
Caroline and Addie narrow their eyes at me.
“You get what we’re saying.” Addie jerks the axe free from the board and places it in my hand. “This is about getting out of your comfort zone and being happy with the outcome, no matter what. Just have fun tonight, okay?”
“Owen has definitely rubbed off on you.” I give her a small smile, happy for my friend.
Then I stare at the axe, and I swallow—hard.
It’s rather small in size, but it feels heavy in my hand.
Not perfection. Just fun.
I repeat that in my head, but I hear it in Addie and Caroline’s voices.
It’s not until the voice eventually transforms into my own that I rear back with one arm, lunge forward, and use all my might—all my anger toward every man who’s disappointed me in the past and never atoned for any of their sins—to hurl the axe toward the board.
Instead of curving into an arch-shape flight pattern as I saw from others, it zips straight ahead and smacks the target board with a thump before falling to its death on the ground underneath it.
A beat of silence passes between us. It even feels like the rest of the bar quiets.
And I burst into laughter. “Let’s do that again,” I call over my shoulder in the general direction of the girls.
I’m not sure where they’re standing, nor do I see anything but this damn target. I march toward it and hoist the axe up from the ground, ready for another round.
Except I don’t wait my turn.
I simply rear back and throw it over and over again until beads of sweat gather above my brow. With a swipe of my hand, I remove my hat and abandon it on the table next to our untouched beer.
My heartbeat pulses in my ears harder and harder with every throw. I’m not sure how many turns I take before my shoulder screams, but it doesn’t stop me—I just switch arms.
I’m a terrible axe thrower with my dominant hand, but there’s not a word in the English dictionary to describe how horrible I am with my left hand.
With my first toss, it flops onto the ground a mere two yards from my feet, and the laugh that bubbles out of me echoes with maniacal undertones that should concern me.
But this feels too good.
Adrenaline courses through me, replacing the hot anger that’s been boiling under my skin, perhaps for years. If ever there was a possibility of a human flying on their own, I’d believe I am that human right now.
My friends were right. I needed to do something different. Something that scared me. Something that I’m not good at—and I’m okay. More than that, I’m enjoying myself.
“Feel better?” Caroline asks, her soft, knowing gaze locked onto me. It’s the first thing that’s been said between us since Addie put the axe in my hand.
“I feel amazing,” I breathe.
My two friends high-five each other, and Addie says, “Our work here is done.”
“Ready to talk to Nate now?” Caroline’s smile is gentle and reassuring. “For what it’s worth, I trust he’s going to stay in Sapphire Creek. I really think he’s living his best life there. I saw him at the DMV—”
“It’s the Department of Driver Services down here, okay, New Yorker?” Addie playfully pinches her side.
“The DDS, I mean.” Caroline rolls her eyes. “I saw him there when I was getting my new driver’s license last week. He was doing the same. And you know as well as I do that you don’t suffer through the stress of DDS for shits and giggles.”
This draws another laugh from me.
“Amen.” Addie throws an arm over my shoulders.
“And when I dropped off a bottle of wine for him and a stuffy for Teagan, he was rearranging furniture and picking paints for the walls. You don’t undertake a home reno for yourself and your kid if you’re not planning to stick around long enough to enjoy it. ”
“You’re right,” I whisper.
And my heart rate doubles. Not because I’m scared. I’m not even nervous at the prospect of facing Nate after the way we left things.
It’s because I’m excited to talk to him, no matter where it might lead.
He’s proven time and again that I mean something to him—more than something, even. He’s constantly showing me that he’s in this with me, and I’ve questioned and resisted him every step of the way.
Sure, I was cautious at first, with good reason, but after everything we’ve shared, I shouldn’t have kept pushing and fighting.
A ball of emotions catapults itself from my stomach. Everything from hope, optimism, and a little delirium pitch a tent and camp out in my throat.
“I’m ready.” I square my shoulders, slip the turkey hat back onto my head, and start to make my way out of the bay. But I abruptly stop and spin around. “Wait. Did you guys want to throw axes some more? I stole all your turns, and we—”
Addie and Caroline place a hand on either shoulder, nudging me forward. “Go!” they call out in unison.
We file out of the bar, arms linked, with more eyes on us than before.
But I don’t care.
I might not have made any new friends lately, but who needs them when I have the two best of friends right here?
They came to my rescue when I needed them most, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
Now, just to bring it all to fruition with Nate.
Maybe my mother was right about chasing feelings, after all.
She never got her happily ever after, but she kept taking the leap. While I didn’t understand it when I was younger—or even more recently—I’m starting to see the beauty of it now. The unyielding sense of faith she had in love. The wistful hope of spending forever with her soulmate.
There’s something special about the will to keep searching and never give up, no matter where it leads.
It’s all about trust.
And I trust Nate. I always have, and it’s time I show him.