Chapter 31
Fuck it. Why did anything matter anymore? Justin revved the engine of his Chevy and blew through the single stop light in town when it turned green. A hole-in-the-wall bar stood right smack dab in the middle of Amber Ridge. He’d never been inside—never had a reason to, until now.
The pungent smell of alcohol whooshed past him as he opened the double wooden doors, entering the building. The place wasn’t rowdy tonight. Maybe everyone there was in for the same reason he was, to drown out the pain. He sauntered to a stool at the end of the long stretch of thick, glossy wood.
“What can I get you, cowboy?” The voice was soothing in a weird type of way. The word cowboy pierced through his heart and didn’t help his mental state, either. The woman who usually called him that just left him in the dust, and he had no idea when he’d see her again.
Justin looked up to see the bartender’s face. She had long, black hair, rosy lips, and a swipe of winged liner along each eye. He gauged her to be around his age but didn’t recognize her from anywhere else in town.
“Um, I don’t drink. What’s the usual order in a place like this?” His voice was casual and flat. Not knowing what to ask for was embarrassing, but he’d never touched a drop, what was he supposed to say?
“My name is Jessie. Let’s not start you out with the hard stuff. I’ll get you something easy.”
Jessie turned to the wall behind her and grabbed a glass, then went to the tap and pulled the handle. She placed the drink in front of him. A tall golden brown…something.
“What is it?” Justin sniffed the rim.
“Does it matter? You’ll enjoy it, and it won’t kick your ass like whoever she is just did.”
“I never said?—”
“You didn’t have to. I’ve seen the look on your face more times than I can count, and I can tell you, for sure, it was a girl who put it there.”
Justin scoffed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “She’s the best damn thing that ever happened to me, but she keeps shooting herself in the foot and won’t let anyone help her.”
“I see…sounds like she’s been hurt, too.”
“She has. She’s tough, though, just doesn’t know it.” Justin toyed with the glass.
Jessie leaned her elbows on the counter, looking at him eye level.
“Did you go after her?”
Shit.
No, because she told him not to, and he wasn’t in the mood to get his knuckles anymore bloody than they already were. She was in a fighting mood, and he’d just ripped his heart out and fed it to her on a silver platter. She still drove away.
“She uh…didn’t want to be chased, Jessie.”
“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. Either way, this drink isn’t going to fix anything.” She patted the wood in front of him.
He liked her. She was nice. Shouldn’t the people who worked in places like this, be encouraging their customers to throw back their alcohol? She was talking him down from it.
“Isn’t this little pep talk you’re giving me against the rules? Do you not want me to drink this glass and then order another?”
Jessie grinned at him. “I work this bar in the evenings, but I’m halfway to getting my masters in psychology. I’m going to be a therapist.”
What in the actual hell was this? He was finally going to give in, throw everything he believed out the window—and along comes Jessie the therapist to save him from himself.
“And why not? Doesn’t it fix people’s problems temporarily?”
“Nope. You take one drink, and you’ll keep going. When it wears off, you’ll have to get another, and another, until you can’t stop because the pain won’t stop. It’ll come back over and over again until you heal the wound, instead of throwing a bandaid over it and pretending it doesn’t exist.”
Goddamnit. Why couldn’t he have gotten someone who didn’t give a shit and would’ve just let him jump off his metaphorical cliff. Justin sat the glass down and pushed it away.
“How much do I owe you? For whatever you poured me and the therapy session?”
Jessie smiled and laughed. “This one’s on me. Go home, take a Tylenol, and get some sleep. The sun always rises in the morning. You’ll figure this out. But if you don’t, I’ll have a practice in a few years, and you can come see me again.” She winked and took the glass off the bar, walking away and dumping it down a small sink at the back end of the wall.
Justin stood and exited the bar, still never touching the thing that made his dad a monster—and that scarred him physically and emotionally as collateral damage. He didn’t plan to go after Blythe. His gut told him that waiting her out would be better than forcing her to do anything before she was good and ready.
She was safe at Silo Springs. That’s all that mattered.
He was beat up, but everything he’d been through made him resilient. Of course, he wanted her back, but he knew trying to control someone who didn’t want to be controlled always ended in disaster.
He would continue to suffer in order to save her any more pain. If she never came back, so be it. He meant it when he’d said he wanted her to be happy, whether that happiness involved him or not.