Chapter 6 #2
“What a blast from the past. I forgot about that. I was such a pain, wasn’t I? Stealing all of Cliffys’s coasters until you thought the bar was haunted.” She barely gets the sentence out, wheezing through her laughter. “One of my most epic pranks.”
I shake my head, chuckling along with her.
For three weeks, I thought I was in the Twilight Zone because all the coasters randomly disappeared right before each shift started.
Not just one or two, or even a dozen, but boxes of them.
In those weeks, she somehow snuck out almost a thousand coasters. How she did it, I still don’t know.
“I gave them back. Crisis averted.”
“Right . . . Only things destroyed were my pride and sanity.”
She pats my arm and my bicep flexes at her touch. “It builds character.”
“I should send you my therapy bill.”
“Oof. There’s not enough money in the world to cover that. I’d be in debt forever.”
“Man, Reese. Always keeping me humble.”
A text message from Dede chimes on my phone but I ignore it. One added benefit of being on vacation—no Dede.
“Aren’t you going to get that? Wait. It’s Friday. Why aren’t you at the bar?”
“Uncle Ted showed up out of the blue yesterday. Told me I could take the weekend off. I actually have a duffle and gear packed in the back. I haven’t camped at Flat Tops Wilderness in forever.”
And this vacation couldn’t have come at a better time.
Life had taken an unexpected turn a year and a half ago.
Chantelle, one of Des’s biker friends, asked me if I’d consider narrating one of her audiobooks.
As flattered as I was, I naturally turned down the offer until she slid the paycheck across the bar counter.
For a side gig, it wasn’t bad at all. She even purchased a few items and helped me set up a home recording studio in my bedroom closet.
Like Chantelle writes under the pen name Evie Chandler, I record under my middle name, Austin Davis.
And it was a secret I had planned to keep until Nicole, a talent agent, reached out and begged to represent me.
I did one romance book. For fun. With a talent I didn’t even know I had.
How could I turn that into a career? But according to Nicole, I could.
And she was right. My calendar quickly filled up with audiobooks, voiceovers, and commercial deadlines—to the point I had to start declining opportunities.
Then her most recent call knocked the wind out of me.
An animation studio wants me to audition for one of the side characters in a new anime series on Netflix.
The catch? I have to move to Los Angeles.
I’ve lived on this mountain my whole life. Could I leave Rocosa and everyone I know behind?
But if that’s what God is calling me to do?
This camping trip is not just a breather from the bar, but a soul-searching weekend to help me resolve one of the biggest decisions of my life. A weekend to lie out under the stars and pray for God’s guidance at this crossroads in my career.
“Camping?” Reese asks, taking a sip from her mug. “I thought it’s usually an all men on deck situation during a holiday weekend?”
“Between Uncle Ted, Mark, and Dede, they have it covered. Hopefully it’ll be an eye-opening experience to see Dede in action.”
“Maybe she’ll be gone when you get back.” She lifts her coffee in a toast.
“One can hope. But I’m just happy to have time off. It’s been nonstop lately.”
“I don’t think I ever asked—do you like working at the bar? Or is there another profession you wished for? You’ve been behind Cliffys’s counter for so long that I’ve never considered that you might not like it.”
I sigh. “Family business, you know how that is. It’s hard to say no without letting my uncle down. But yeah, I’ve considered changing things up.”
I debate how much I want to share. Nobody in Rocosa knows about my narrating job—not even Des.
It’s not an easy topic to slip into a conversation.
How does one explain that my deep, rumbly voice has readers swooning on social media?
Or that the voice on the annoying rash cream commercial listing all the side effects is me?
And if Reese found out? Lord, help me. She’d laugh me out of the state.
Clearing my throat, I say, “But for now, I’ll stick with bartending. It pays the bills.”
“Hey, it’s a great profession. And it looks really cool when you spin the bottles in the air.” Her eyebrows slant upward into a sad expression. “So don’t talk down about it. Nothing wrong with being a bartender. Unless, well, you’re me.”
“It’s probably for the best you aren’t. You’re a great mechanic.”
“Aww, you just want a free oil change.”
“Ha. Maybe.” I smile, relieved at the change of subject.
She fiddles with her phone case. “You know, I really appreciate you driving me today.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. I had an errand in town anyway.”
“Oh? What for?”
“Groceries.”
“Like what?”
I give her a double take, not expecting the interrogation. “You know, some basics.”
“Like what?” she presses, her eyes narrowing.
My eyes dart around the city of Golden in search of an answer. A cow on a fast-food billboard flashes by us.
“Milk.” I wince at the lameness of the first word to pop into my mind.
“You can get milk at the general store if you were desperate.”
“Almond milk,” I blurt out, then clear my throat. “Yes, I need almond milk.”
Her head whips in my direction. “When did you start drinking that?”
“Recently. In my coffee.”
“Huh. I’d never pegged you for a health nut.”
“That’s me—super healthy. Gotta maintain my handsome appearance.”
She squints at me in disbelief. “To honor our truce, I’m gonna let this one slide.”
With a grumble, I focus my attention back on the road.
Bright city lights twinkle as we approach our destination, washing out the night sky and the thousands of stars we can normally see in Rocosa.
We weave through holiday traffic. The old-fashioned brick buildings are landmarks of the past, remnants of old warehouses and factories from the 1800s.
Now the buildings have been converted into bars, restaurants, shops, and even distilleries.
Union Station’s famous sign is a beacon in the distance with the large circular clock and tagline “Travel by Train” in neon red.
“Crud. Is that clock right?” Reese takes a long swig from her mug. “I’m cutting it close.”
“Yep. Traffic was worse than I thought.”
I pull into the line for drop offs and hesitate. Now that I got her here, I don’t want her to go.
“Do you have your check-in information on you?” I ask, the prickle of worry tickling the back of my neck.
“It’s in the app. Don’t worry, I sent the tracking link to Des so he can keep an eye on me. Did you need me to send it to you too?”
“Yes, that would be smart.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was joking.”
“I wasn’t.” I hold up my phone and tilt it back and forth. “Send it.”
“So bossy.” She taps her thumbs quickly on the phone, muttering under her breath. “Happy?”
My phone buzzes with a text from Reese. “For now.”
Her phone alarm rings in her pocket.
“Oh, shoot, look at the time.” She grabs her backpack and bolts from the vehicle. She’s already dragging the suitcase out of the truck bed before I can cut the engine.
“Let me do it,” I say, jogging to catch it as she tosses it off the side of the vehicle. It clanks suspiciously as it slams into the cement. “What is in there?”
“Tools. I’m staying the night at a campground in Amarillo, and I don’t want to be twiddling my thumbs. Don’t tell Lewis I borrowed a few things.”
“I think the man will notice some missing tools.”
“Maybe. It’s only two days. The shop is closed for Labor Day weekend, and Lewis won’t return from his fishing cabin until late Sunday. It will be fine.”
I grab the handle and lift it upright. Her hand brushes mine as she takes it, and that warm tingly sensation shoots up my skin at the contact.
“Thanks, Tris. Even though it was a bumpy ride and I thought I might die at one point, it was definitely more fun than I’ve had in a while.”
“So, more of a two-star Uber?”
She barks out a laugh and nods. “Yeah. Something like that.”
The dark streets bustle with commuters. Doors of the vehicles behind us open and close, mixing with the muffled chatter of conversations. But even in the commotion, neither of us move. We are standing so close. Odd how before she was desperate to flee, and now she seems rooted in place.
“You’re gonna miss the bus,” I say reluctantly.
Snapped out of her trance, she slings her backpack over her shoulder and grabs her coffee.
I tuck my hands in my pockets, confused at the sudden urge to hug her goodbye.
“Okay, then. See ya,” she says, shifting the weight of the bag so she can grab the suitcase handle.
“I’ll be watching you.”
“Uhh . . . not weird at all.” She starts to back away, her lips twisting.
“On the tracking app you sent me. I’ll be watching your progress.”
“I knew what you meant,” she jokes. Winking, she turns to head to the station’s entrance.
I’m seated back in my truck when the guilt hits me like a freight train. My stomach cramps at the thought of her riding that bus alone. All the weirdos that will be around her. Someone needs to go with her. I need to go with her.
Don’t meddle. You were only the Uber.
If Des said she could do this, I should be respectful and trust his judgment. Even if it was poor judgment.
Though I do have a packed duffle in the back.
Reese would be livid if I sprung this on her too. It would break the fragile alliance we formed today. Not to mention, I’d be stuck sitting next to an angry bear for hours.
And I have time off. I could camp anywhere, even in Texas.
This is insanity. Why am I even considering this? I should be reading my next audiobook or looking for apartments in LA. This is supposed to be a peaceful weekend, and Reese is anything but that.
But I can’t seem to drive away, my eyes still locked on her walking form.
Like she senses me, she glances over her shoulder and nearly stumbles when she spots my truck in the same space. Raising an awkward hand, she waves goodbye . . . though it looks more like a shooing motion.
Before I start the engine, an older man with an overstuffed hiking backpack approaches her from a side path, saying something that catches her attention.
I scramble across the passenger seat and smash my face against the window. Reese continues to walk toward the station but the man falls in line beside her, laughing at something she says before they both disappear through the entryway doors.
All my rational reasoning goes down the drain as worst-case scenarios play in my head.
I will never forgive myself if something happens to her.
The car behind me lays on the horn. “This isn’t long-term parking. Move.”
Oh, I’m going, all right.
I dig out my phone and navigate to the Greyhound page. The two-hundred-dollar price tag doesn’t even faze me. Every penny would be well spent and offer peace of mind.
“Over my dead body is she going alone,” I mumble and add a one-way bus ticket to my cart.