Chapter 2
Chapter Two
REESE
After we finish our alterations, we stroll out into the autumn air and on to our next destination, the Denver Bazaar.
Music echoes down the streets, still blocks away, but the notes are like a beacon signaling our destination.
The others are still chatting and giggling about their dresses, but I’m lost in my thoughts, still stewing over my reaction to Tristen.
I let out a pent-up sigh and tuck my hands in the front of my jeans pockets.
Once again, I let my emotions get the better of me.
Just because the man knows how to press my buttons doesn’t mean I need to give him the satisfaction of reacting to him.
Especially if Tristen is going to be around more because of the wedding.
My temper is another problem area in my life that I know needs improvement.
Before, I blamed my faults on the alcohol, but now I have no excuse for my actions.
Oh man . . . I’m going to have to apologize to him, aren’t I?
It’s Step Five of the twelve steps for my Alcoholics Anonymous program.
When I commit a wrong, I must promptly admit it.
And boy, have I had to apologize to this man and a ton of others in the last eighteen months.
I mentally remind myself to text him as soon as I get back to Rocosa.
For now, I want to enjoy this crisp, sunny afternoon with someone other than my cankerous boss I spend six days a week with.
We cross another intersection, and I speed up to match the others, trying not to disappear in the crowd heading toward the roped-off street. I slip in next to Lola, knowing I have one more apology to make.
“Hey,” I say, catching her attention. “I’m sorry about what I said before . . . about your glasses. That was rude of me.”
Lola bumps my shoulder playfully and grins. “Don’t even sweat it. You know we were just joking back at the boutique, right?”
“Yeah. Of course . . . of course.”
“Though I’m beginning to wonder if you might need glasses for not being attracted to that hottie. If you’re not interested, maybe you can put in a good word for me.” She laughs and bumps me again.
My eyebrows shoot up. Tristen and Lola? Together?
“If you want, I will,” I say, my voice high-pitched and overly bright.
My lips pull tight when I try to smile, dry and rough even when I brush my tongue over them.
The parched feeling is like a jack-in-the-box, springing open and reminding me of all the horrific memories of those first weeks in withdrawal.
Memories permanently burned into my mind.
I dig in my purse for my watermelon lip gloss and swipe it on for instant relief.
“Thanks, Reese.”
“Of course.”
A sluggish sensation twists in my stomach. Something isn’t sitting right. Perhaps the egg salad sandwiches from our luncheon had gone bad?
As we head under the entrance banner, the music increases to blaring decibels.
A local DJ jams in his booth, headphones on and shaking his head along with the bass thumping through the speakers scattered throughout the event.
Pennant flags are strung above us, multicolored and bright, dancing to the beat in the breeze.
Even though the event is almost over, the streets are packed with shoppers.
We twist through the maze of people, their arms full of shopping bags or drinks from pop-up vendors as they leisurely wander from booth to booth.
Normally, the delicious aromas from food trucks and bakeries would have enticed me over, but I frown, still not feeling like myself.
“Oh, those sandwiches look so good.” Julia gestures to Club Sandwich. The food truck’s disco ball flashes lights over their picnic benches and menu signs. “Anyone else still hungry? Their tuna tango is calling my name.”
My stomach revolts at the suggestion, and I shake my head.
“I’m still full from earlier,” Nia replies.
Mia pats her flat Pilates stomach. “I’m watching my carbs.”
Lola lifts a shoulder, jostling her multicolored boho scarf. “Maybe in a bit. Those sandwiches did look delish.”
“There’s another place you—” Nia’s sentence ends with a shriek when a small chihuahua darts out from behind an artist stall beside us, barking furiously at a passerby’s fur-lined boots.
Surprised, the woman leaps back from the commotion, knocking into a retractable banner from a local honey vendor.
The owner dives to catch the falling banner in time but ends up launching it forward and into the couple sipping wine at the booth closest to us.
One minute the glass is on the table, the next it is airborne, sailing in slow motion toward me like a heat-seeking missile.
The chilled liquid splatters across my blouse with mind-boggling accuracy, stealing my breath away and invading my nostrils like an old friend.
“Reese,” the others whisper in horror.
“Don’t move.” Maya is already in motion, running to gather a stack of napkins from a nearby table, then dabs furiously at the darkening stain. “Someone bring us a water.”
“No, no. I’m okay.” Or at least I think I am.
While wine wasn’t my drink of choice, the irresistible scent grips me around my throat, tight tendril fingers I haven’t felt this strongly in months.
It’s what I not-so-affectionately call a monster craving.
Those spring on me when I least expect it, whispering dark promises of “just one sip” that drive a person to insanity.
But just like any craving I have had, I only need to wait it out.
“It’s Nova’s shirt anyway.” I laugh, anything to break the tension building in my chest. I’m wobbling between the desperate need to be normal again and wanting to inhale the scent from my shirt like a parched man in the desert.
My stubbornness rears up, my usual tactic for avoiding a relapse, and I begin repeating one of my favorite mantras under my breath until my heartbeat slows.
You’ll never regret the drink you don’t take.
But what if the drink was thrown on me? There aren’t any instructions about this in my twelve-step program . . .
“I’m so sorry,” the dog’s owner says, offering me a small bottle of water.
Julia snatches it from his hand and shoots him a stern teacher glare that’s known to silence her third-grade classroom in seconds. She twists off the cap and dumps half of the contents down my front.
“Hey,” I protest as more ice-cold liquid soaks through my shirt and bra. But in an instant, the intensity of the alcohol dilutes, and the thirsty scratch in my throat lessens to a more tolerable level.
A small audience of onlookers forms a circle around me like drama vultures, their eyes locked on me like I’m the main course.
Why am I such a walking train wreck? My cheeks heat as I resist the urge to tell them to mind their own business.
Instead I bite my tongue to the point of pain, refusing to make a bigger spectacle of myself.
Mia and Nia have no such worry, barking at a few gawkers to mind their own business and swatting a woman’s phone from her hand before she can capture the moment. Even the chihuahua scampers back to his owner with its tail between its legs.
“Here,” Lola says, quickly untying her scarf and wrapping it around me so that the long ends cover my soiled shirt. “Use this until it dries.”
“Thanks. All of you.” Their worried faces build my resolve. “I’m not going to drink.”
Julia’s sharp gaze locks on my shaking hands, and I tuck them into my pockets.
“I’m not,” I repeat. “I just wasn’t prepared to be sprayed in it. It caught me a little off guard.”
“Let’s get you some fresh air.” Mia parts the crowd, leading the rest of us to a quieter area on the sidewalk.
“I’m sorry, Maya,” I mumble, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Do not apologize. You did nothing wrong.”
“But I ruined your shopping trip.”
The other girls shake their heads, and Julia adds a resounding, “Absolutely not.”
“See? You didn’t ruin anything. How were you supposed to know there would be a domino effect that would end in you covered in wine? But you handled it with grace and resilience.”
“I bet it’s not easy to fight temptation every day like you do either,” Julia adds.
“Some days, it isn’t too bad. The mood swings still hit me. But today was . . . intense.” Five pairs of eyes soften into something akin to pity. “But I don’t want to dwell on it anymore. Change of scenery or topic usually helps. I’m okay.”
Maya slings an arm over my shoulder for a side hug. “You know, if it ever isn’t okay, I want you to let me know so I can help. Because that’s what sisters do.”
Sisters.
My eyes blur at the sentiment. Forget what I said before. I’ll wear a thousand dresses for this girl—in any shade of pink she wants.
“Same goes for me,” Julia adds.
“Eres familia—Maya is our family, so you are too,” Mia says.
Nia pats my shoulder in agreement.
Blinking, I can barely see through the tears. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
“Feeling better?” Julia hands me another napkin.
I dab it under my eyes, cringing when the paper comes back with smears of mascara. “Much . . . and I think the slap of cool water helped too.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
I raise a brow at Julia’s gleeful expression. “You know not every situation will require me getting doused with water, right?”
Julia’s grin widens. “We’ll see. I could get a Super Soaker and make this a thing.”
The sound of laughter eases the knot of worry in my chest.
“All right, let’s get to the shopping part. Where is that shop you wanted to stop at, Maya? The one with aspen-shaped candles you want by the wedding guest book.”
Maya waits a beat, chewing on her lip. “Reese . . . you can’t walk around drenched in wine. You’re asking for trouble. We should probably head back home after we drop Lola off.”
“What? Please don’t leave because of me.” I tug on the hemline of my wet blouse, the fabric sticking to me like glue. “I’m fine.”
“Look at your hands—they’re still shaking. Your health is more important than candles. Besides, we all rode here together, so we should all leave together.”
“You’ve been planning this for weeks. I’ll catch a rideshare or call a friend.”
“Or I could call—”
I don’t even let her finish the rest of the sentence. “Don’t call Des.”
Her lips pinch.
“He will overreact, and I will lose his trust again.”
“Okay, I won’t. Then let’s head back so you can change out of that.”
“You can stop by my place,” Lola offers.
“No need. There are a few people I know still in the area that can give me a ride back. Ana, Winston, Cameron—oh, Teagan lives about five minutes from here. She owes me a favor since I helped her fix the dent in her rear bumper. She didn’t want her husband to find out she reversed into a pole.
” I pull out my phone and fumble with a few of the buttons, my hands trembling.
The more the others stare, the harder it is for the tremors to stop and for me to relax.
“It’s my nerves. Once I calm down, the shaking will stop. ”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Maya mumbles, glancing at the others.
Hey, T. I’m hoping I can cash that favor from yiu right now. There was a crazt accident at the Bazaar today, and I could use a ride baclk to Rocosa.
Ignorw the typos. My hands are a litttle shaky.
My fingers freeze when my phone starts to ring, the screen filling with Tristen’s face.
Odd. I don’t even remember taking this picture.
He’s scowling at me from behind the bar, his messy black hair stuck to the sweat of his forehead from a busy shift.
Something Drunk-Reese must have taken. With a flick of my thumb, I send his call to voicemail and return to my message.
“Did you hang up on her?” Julia asks.
“No, uh, that was Tristen.”
“What? Why didn’t you answer it?” Lola peers over my shoulder.
I don’t have time to respond before his face pops up again. What in the world? Why is he calling me?
“Do you think it’s about Des?” Maya pushes closer, twisting the cross around her neck. “Answer it just in case.”
The call goes to voicemail, saving me from an awkward conversation with him.
Teagan
Reese! Where are you?
“Oh, good. She responded and asked where to pick me up.”
Sorrry. Someone was trying to call in while I was tryung to type. I’m in Larimer Square. Are you close>
“?Ay! This is too painful to watch.” Nia plucks the phone from my grip. “I’ll do it. Tell me what to say.”
Teagan
Someone? If this is a prank, it’s not funny.
Nia clicks her tongue. “She’s a bit feisty.”
“Sounds like you,” Mia says under her breath, earning herself a sharp look.
This seems like a bad time for you. I can ask someone else.
Teagan
Don’t you dare. I’ve already turned around to come get you. Call me right now.
“Uh, rude.” Nia’s eyes narrow. “Want me to tell her off?”
“No, just call her. Maybe I did something and forgot to apologize.” I sigh.
She hits the call button with her long nails, and all of us scream when Tristen’s face fills my screen again.
“End the call, end the call.” I try to grab my phone back, but Maya snags it before I can.
“Hello?” she answers on speakerphone.
“Reese? Are you all right?” His voice is low, breathy, and already at the end of his patience. “What the heck is up with the weird text messages?”
Text messages? What is he talking about? I haven’t . . .
Oh, no.
Please, no.
“I think . . . I’ve been texting the wrong person,” I mumble through numb lips. Did I somehow fat-finger Tristen’s contact information by mistake? I scrub a hand down my face with a groan.
“Hey there, Tristen, it’s Maya.” She cups the phone, hoping to block out my cry of anguish from the receiver. “We had a bit of a mix-up. We thought you were Reese’s friend Teagan.”
“Wait, Maya? Why do you have Reese’s phone? Where is she? What accident was she talking about before?” His tone builds in intensity with each question.
“She’s fine. Nothing to panic over.”
“A little late for that,” he growls. A car horn blares through the speakerphone. “Move it, buddy. The light is green.”
Maya clears her throat. “Anyway, we’re sorry for the confusion. You’re off the hook. We’re going to give Teagan a call now.”
“Why? To give Reese a lift back home? I said I was on the way.”
She glances at me, her brown eyes wide as she silently pleads for guidance.
“Tell him not to come,” I grumble through the fingers over my face. At this point, I’d rather walk home than catch a ride with him.
“Too late. I’m already here. Tell her to meet me at the entrance,” he says and ends the call.