2. Nate
Nate
The slam of the front door echoes through the house and through my soul. I swear I can feel my heart beating in my fingertips.
Or maybe it’s just a remnant of what used to be there, because I’m fairly certain Rory just ripped out my heart all over again.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I sink onto the couch, my head in my hands.
How did this get so out of control?
I never made anyone break up with her. I didn’t even talk to any of the guys she dated, even though God knows I wanted to.
All I did was follow her on social media. And maybe it was a fake profile, so she didn’t know it was me, but there was a time when she probably would have blocked me, if she knew it was me behind the profile.
Kind of like now.
And maybe I haven’t told her everything, but it’s not what she thinks. Not even close.
Ollie lets out a short whine. He’s lying at my feet, perfectly trained.
“It’s okay, Ollie.” I pet the German Shepherd’s head.
It’s not okay, not at all, though.
My forever girl just walked out the door, and it’s all my fault.
“Fuck!” I say, just loud enough that Ollie sits up at attention.
I stand up, pacing around the small living room. It’s always been one of my favorite parts of my house.
As a kid, I remember sitting in the window seat, looking out at the mountains or at the snow. I don’t have fires in the fireplace often, but when I do, it sets a warm glow to the whole room that makes everything seem warm and safe.
But without Rory, this room suddenly seems empty, and I’m overwhelmed by a need to get out of here.
I pull my phone from my pocket and jab at one of my recently called numbers. Holding my phone to my ear, I count in my head until the call connects.
“Nate? What’s up?” Lawton’s voice comes through the speaker.
“I…” I pause, taking a breath to keep my voice from cracking, although it doesn’t do much to hide the pain. “I fucked up, man. Meet me at Church?”
“With Rory?”
“Mmm-hmm.” It’s all I can manage.
“Meet you there in ten.”
The call disconnects, and I set my cell phone on the counter in front of me.
For a guy who’s been in my life for less than two years, Lawton has become one of my closest friends. He moved up to HiLo with his girlfriend a few years ago, planning on happily ever after. Instead, it ended in flames.
Like the the spot Rory and I are at right now. Worse, I guess, since Kristina left town and never came back, and at least Rory and I aren’t at that point. Yet.
I’m clinging to hope that Rory will eventually cool off enough to listen to my side of the story. That maybe, this whole thing can be saved.
In the meantime, though, Lawton at least understands heartbreak and all that shit, and he’ll be a sympathetic ear.
It takes me another minute to work up the energy to pick myself up and off the couch, and to make my legs carry me up the stairs, where I pull on jeans and a shirt.
The entire time, I’m wondering if it’s too soon to call Rory.
Or if she’d even pick up.
“You look like shit,” Lawton says.
The man doesn’t pull his punches.
He pushes a pint of beer toward me, and I lift the glass and take a few gulps. Anything to drown the pain that sears through my body when I think of Rory’s expression.
When I set the glass back on the bar top, it’s half empty.
“That bad, huh?” Lawton lets out a low whistle, then takes a sip of his own beer.
This early in the day, we have the place to ourselves, although it’s only really packed on Friday and Saturday nights.
The Church Bar used to be an actual church–hence the name–and it still has some of the ambiance of its past life. The stained windows and scarred hardwood flooring contrast with the more modern posters and neon signs, adding to the bar’s eclectic charm.
From the street, a tourist could easily get confused and stop in here on a Sunday morning, but inside, things have changed a lot from the days when this was a house of worship.
High-top tables stand where pews once lined the space, and the raised altar has been replaced with a long bar. On the walls, shelves of pint glasses and shotskis have taken the place of communion wine and religious paintings.
They’re not gone, of course. Just relocated, to Twin Falls, a short drive away. With the small populations of both towns, the congregations combined, settling into the larger building there.
Meanwhile, High Lonesome got a new bar.
It’s one of two we have in High Lonesome—HiLo to the locals—and of the limited options, this one is my favorite.
But tonight, not even my favorite watering hole can lift me out of this funk.
“Yeah. It’s that bad,” I answer. Another sip of beer does nothing to wash down the bitterness in my mouth over the whole situation. A few of these, though, and maybe I’ll be up to talking about the details of this mess.
Lawton is silent for a minute, sipping slowly at his beer while tossing peanuts into his mouth, one at a time, from the bowl between us.
He takes one more sip and sets the empty glass down on the bar before he turns to me. “Want to stab things? We can play darts.”
This is probably bad for a cop to admit, but stabbing inanimate objects does sound like a nice way to take out my frustration.
I tip back the last of my pint and signal to the bartender, Joe, for another round. Slipping off the barstool, I follow Lawton to the other side of the bar, where a dartboard on the wall is covered with darts sticking out at odd angles.
Lawton pulls the darts out of the board, separates them into two groups, and hands me the blue set. We stand behind the white line someone painted on the floor.
Lawton tosses his first dart and hits the board easily. “So. What’s going on with Rory? Everything okay?”
He moves aside and I step up to the line.
“No. Not okay. She walked out on me. Again.” I throw the dart, completely missing the board.
The first time Rory left me, we were kids, just finishing high school. It felt like I had all the time in the world to win her back.
This time, it’s different.
It’s not the well-intentioned but misguided breakup of a teenager who hasn’t seen enough of life to know better.
Now, we’re adults. We have enough experience to know that things don’t always work out. That people can hurt you, and you need to protect yourself against that heartbreak and betrayal. That sometimes, you need to cut people out of your life and move on.
My gut clenches at the thought of Rory walking out of my life. That pain would be unimaginable, especially since I’d never hurt Rory. Ever.
And the fact that she thinks I could have? That cuts even deeper than her walking out.
“Fuck.” I drag a hand down my face, wishing I could turn back time.
Lawton takes aim, and his next dart is damn close to a bull’s-eye, which pisses me off even more.
“Why’d she leave?” he asks, finally cutting to the heart of the issue.
I switch places with him and step up to the line again, my jaw clenched. “Someone told her I was keeping her single, of all the fucking crazy things to say. Rory thinks it’s my fault that every relationship she’s had since me wasn’t the right one.”
I throw the dart so hard that when it misses the board, it bounces off the wall and lands a few feet away.
“Shit, you’re lucky the dartboard is getting the brunt of your rage.” Lawton takes my place and tosses another perfect shot.
I narrow my glare at him as Joe drops two fresh pints of beer off at the table, an IPA for me and a Guinness for Lawton. “You know damn well I’d never hurt anyone. All I fucking did was have a social media account to follow her.”
Lawton reaches for his beer. “I know you’d never hurt her, Nate. Just making sure I understand this whole mess. Anyway, this all sounds like it got blown out of proportion. It barely even sounds like this has anything to do with following her on social media. Just talk with her, and it’ll be okay.”
He makes it sound so easy.
Just talk to her.
But that assumes Rory is willing to talk to me, and that’s nowhere close to a certainty at the moment.
Taking a long pull from my beer, I remind myself that Lawton is an innocent bystander in this situation. I shouldn’t take my anger out on him.
The dartboard, on the other hand, is fair game.
I set my beer on the table and pick up my next dart. This time I focus, trying my best to aim for the center.
I pull my hand back, eyes fixed on the target, and let it fly.
The dart arcs through the air, soaring perfectly to hit one fucking centimeter outside the board.
Great metaphor for my life, actually. So darn close, but not quite there.
Lawton chuckles. “You’re really bad at darts, man.”
He strolls to the board, pulls his darts out of the board, then gathers mine from the floor before strolling back to where I’m nursing my drink.
Lawton holds out the blue darts.
I stand from my chair and take them from him, then stare at them in my palm while I take a long sip of beer and try to figure out when life got so fucking complicated.
Love is like darts, probably. You can think you’re on track, and then just be so far off the goddamn mark that you never have a chance. And when they hit you, it’s a sharp pain, deep inside.
I sway on my feet. Shoot. I may be a little tipsy. Normally, two beers wouldn’t have this effect on me, but between my life falling apart and the fact that I skipped lunch today, they’re hitting hard.
“You okay?” Lawton asks, his brows pulling together with concern.
I shrug. “Yeah. Love is like darts, or some shit.”
It sounded profound when I first thought of it, at least.
“Okay. That’s the end of the beer.” He picks up my pint glass.
I make a grab for it, still needing to drown my sorrows, but Lawton holds it just out of my reach.
“Fuck, man,” I say.
Lawton fixes his jaw and stares me down. “Nate. Focus.”
I do, keeping my gaze on his face. Lawton is only two years older than me, and I outrank him on the force, but it sounds like he’s about to dish out some wisdom.
Hell, if it’ll bring Rory back to me, I’m all ears.
“This isn’t you, Nate. I know how important Rory is to you. But getting shit-faced isn’t going to solve anything.”