Chapter 16 Scotty #2
Still, I don’t stop her right away. I let her touch linger, let the bar see it, let myself pretend for five seconds that it doesn’t matter.
But it does. It fucking does. Because I don’t want any other woman touching me besides Adrienne. I move to push her hand away, but not before I stand up, catching a familiar set of eyes looking right back at me.
Brooklyn. Shit.
She’s sitting at a high-top with Tyler, a glass of wine in hand. My guess is, it’s their date night. When her eyes land on me and then down on Amy’s hand, inching up my thigh, her eyes narrow. She shakes her head slowly, disappointment etched in every line of her face.
My gut drops. Fuck.
I shift on the stool, muttering under my breath. Amy leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Problem?”
Yeah. A big one.
Brooklyn’s not just Adrienne’s cousin by marriage. She’s her best friend. The one Adrienne leans on, confides in. And now she’s watching me sit here, letting some old fling paw at me like I’m free game.
Brooklyn’s gaze doesn’t leave me. She doesn’t need to say a word. That tiny shake of her head says it all. You’re proving everyone right about you. You’re proving Adrienne right to doubt you.
The pressure in my chest is unbearable.
I peel Amy’s hand off me, laughing like it’s all a joke. “Go grab another drink, huh? On me.” I wave the bartender over, slide a twenty across, and nod toward her glass.
She grins, not offended at all. Probably figures I’ll follow her in a minute, but I don’t.
Instead, I drag a hand down my face, elbows braced on the bar, trying to regain my composure. Brooklyn’s still watching, her expression softer now, almost pitying. That’s worse than the disappointment.
I can already hear it, her telling Adrienne what she saw tonight. The image of Amy’s hand on me, the way I let it happen.
My stomach twists. I just fucked myself, didn’t I? Right after going off on her for innocently taking a guy’s number.
But the truth is, it wasn’t even about Amy.
In that split second that she touched me, it was about proving something to myself.
Proving that I didn’t care, Adrienne's walking away didn’t wreck me.
Except it’s a goddamn lie. Because sitting here, with Brooklyn’s eyes on me and Amy giggling at the bar, all I feel is empty.
I take another pull from my beer, but it doesn’t go down easy. My throat’s too tight, my chest too full of shit I can’t shake. The jukebox kicks over to a slower song, one Adrienne sang at a karaoke party the summer after I first kissed her, and I swear the universe is laughing in my face.
Brooklyn turns back to her table, but not before giving me one last look, sharp enough to cut. She’ll tell Adrienne. I know it. And Adrienne? She won’t forgive this one, and I don’t blame her.
I press my palms to my eyes, curse under my breath, and signal the bartender for another round. If I can’t stop breaking myself open over her, then I might as well drink until I’m numb.
An hour later, Amy’s laughing at something the bartender says when the door swings open and the whole place tilts like a scene in the movies when the record scratches and the room goes silent. I turn my head toward the direction of the door, and my stomach drops to my ass.
Adrienne.
Short black shirt-dress that shows too much leg for my sanity, lace bralette peeking out the top that has a few too many buttons undone, hair loose and full, her lips slick with a pink gloss I’m already wishing I could taste. The neon from the Coors sign streaks pink across her cheekbones.
She walks into the bar like she owns the damn place, just like she walks into every room. Almost 6 feet of well-deserved arrogance wrapped in the sexiest fucking body I’ve ever seen, every touched.
My body goes hot and cold at once. Fuck me. Every cell I’ve got lights up for her.
She doesn’t look around. Doesn’t flinch at the cluster of guys near the pool tables, tripping over themselves. She doesn’t even cut a glance at Amy, who’s sliding back onto the stool beside me like she belongs there.
Adrienne stops in front of me, close enough that the perfume I’ve been dreaming about since the last time she was naked in my bed hits low in my gut. Her voice is smooth and cold, the corporate cadence that takes heads off without raising the volume.
“Since you can’t be bothered to return a simple text and I need to know if I should stay at my place or his tonight, are we working on my car in the morning or not?”
I drag my gaze over her once, slowly, because I’m weak. A heartbeat of heat flashes through me so hard my knee almost jumps. I bury it fast. If I let it show, I’ll beg. I’ll say yes. I’ll pull her into me and tell her everything.
“Do whatever you want, don’t worry about tomorrow.” She crosses her arms, her breasts straining against the delicate lace constraining them. “That’s your problem, you know that? You never know what you want.”
She rolls her eyes, unamused at my attempt to pick a fight. “Look, I’m not here for a lecture on how you have life figured out.” She gestures toward me, half slumped over the bar with a beer in my hand. “And don’t even get me started about which one of us doesn’t know what we want.”
I stare at her for a second, the anger from earlier slowly leaving my body. I reach for her, my head hung in defeat, ready to call a truce, but she yanks her hand back, a steely glare on her face.
My defenses immediately go back up. I was about to say she was right, apologize for my behavior earlier, but since she wants to walk in here and throw the other guy in my face now, two can play at that game. So I reach for cruelty. I reach for the worst parts of myself.
I slide an arm around Amy’s waist and tug her onto my lap. Amy gasps, delighted, already melting against my chest like muscle memory. I set my jaw and look right at Adrienne.
“Nah,” I say, and take another drink of my room-temperature beer. “Not this weekend.”
Adrienne doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t argue or try to save face with a joke. She just takes it. The hurt rips through her eyes and is gone so fast I almost think I imagined it, like a deer gone from the road before you register the danger.
“Got it,” she says, clipped and perfect.
Then she turns. The door swings hard behind her and smacks the frame loud enough to jar a couple of heads up. I sit there with Amy’s weight on me, watching the tail end of Adrienne’s hair disappear into the parking lot, and I feel my chest cave in around nothing.
Amy shifts in my lap, palms sliding up my chest. “Well, that was dramatic,” she says, amused. “Want me to grab you another drink?”
Shame hits swiftly. “No.” I set her gently off my knees and stand so fast the stool skids. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. This is childish.”
She tips her head, a little pouty, a little entertained. “It’s fine, Scotty. Really. We’re just having a good time.”
“I know.” I fish out a wad of cash and toss it on the bar. “For the tab. And hers.”
“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.” She laughs, unbothered. “See you around.”
I don’t answer. I’m already moving, weaving through tables, catching a flash of Brooklyn at the high-top.
She’s staring at me like I’m a dead man walking.
I deserve it. I push through the door into the cool night and stand there with my hands on my hips, gulping air that doesn’t want to fill my lungs, like I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
The lot is empty except for a couple of pickups and the long dark of the highway. Adrienne’s taillights are gone.
“Fuck!” I kick at the gravel.
On the way out of town, I swing into the liquor store, grab a case of beer I don’t need, and pay without looking at the kid who rings me up. My phone buzzes in my pocket the second I step outside. I don’t check it. If it’s her, I don't deserve to see her name. If it’s not her, it’ll cut anyway.
I don’t go home. I point the truck toward the shop and let muscle memory take me. I punch in the code, roll up the bay, and the smell hits me. I walk straight to her Mustang, leaning my hands on it.
“Okay,” I mutter, throat raw. “Let’s end this right.”
I tell myself I’m going to finish this car and cut ties. Get it running, give it back, close the door on the ache. If I make it impossible to see her, maybe I can forget about her… forget the way I broke her heart and my own.
I pop a beer, take a long pull, and set to work. I lose all track of time, letting my mind drift to anything to keep from thinking about her.
Except I can’t. Not really. Because every time I look up, I see her fingers around a ratchet, her smile when she nails a step I thought would trip her, the ridiculous way she always high-fives me after the simplest of tasks with this car.
You did this, you idiot. You pushed her away because you’re scared. Because you don’t deserve her.
I drink to drown the thought. Another beer. Then two more. The edges of the bay blur, the concrete seems to list under my boots like a slow ship. I tell myself I’m fine. I’ve worked through worse. I’ve worked through grief, through long nights after my dad’s gone.
I put the carb back, finger-tighten the bolts, go back with the wrench, quarter turns until the resistance bites. I yank the distributor cap and check the points I changed last week. Clean, clean, clean. If I make everything clean, maybe I can clean the mess I made, too.
I pop another can. The tab snaps up, beer foams over my knuckles. The floor tilts again. I should stop.
At some point, I slide into the driver’s seat and imagine her next to me. Legs bare, heel tapping the mat, chin lifted, asking me why I’m staring. I can hear exactly how she’d say it, bossy and sweet.
See something you like, Bescher?
My head drops back. The ceiling lights buzz like cicadas.
I close my eyes and she’s there. The day she walked into the shop with a pastry box, pretending I was invisible while every man in here fell a little more in love with her.
The night she leaned against my counter, mouth pink and swollen from my kiss, telling me she shouldn’t stay and staying anyway.
I climb out, stumble to the back door, and splash water on my face at the utility sink. The water is glacier cold and does nothing.
Back at the Mustang, I open the rear passenger door to grab a socket that rolled off the seat earlier, and the leather smell drifts up. I’m instantly transported back to summer nights crammed back here with Axel and Aiden, their older cousin Milly in the passenger seat, controlling the radio.
I glance over at the last beer on the workbench, my body swaying. I pop it open, bring it to my lips, and drain it. I set the can on the roof, miss by an inch, hear it hit the floor and roll.
“Shit,” I mutter, bending to reach it, and my balance goes. The room leans and I go with it, forearm catching the door frame, shoulder bumping the pillar. My body decides it’s had enough.
I open the back door wider, shove a couple of boxes of parts onto the floor, and fold myself into the back seat.
The leather creaks under my weight. I try to straighten, fail, and let my head thunk against the cushion.
The room spins, so I close my eyes and take in several deep breaths.
My heartbeat thuds in my ears. The lights hum, and somewhere outside, a train moans down the line.
I tell myself one last lie. That I’ll wake up early, finish the job clean, hand her the keys with a quiet nod, and be done. My eyes fall shut on the picture of her standing there at the bar, sadness replacing the fire that was burning in her eyes.
Then everything slides out from under me, and I’m gone.