Chapter Thirteen
The gusty night whirled, promising thunderstorms, and Chelsea tucked the wayward strands of hair behind her ear. Nervously, she smoothed the rest of it down as she tried to read his face.
His unbreaking focus made her stomach clench. It would be insane to believe he could read her mind, but he seemed to accept her sudden arrival as though he also felt the surge of overwhelming, unexplainable loneliness.
Thirty minutes earlier, she would’ve begged for solitude. After Liam left, her condo’s silence made it impossible to stay alone.
“Let’s go to Smokey’s.” He nodded in the direction of the neighborhood shopping center within walking distance.
A drink and company would be nice—no matter the unusual stiffness in her shoulders. “Sounds good.”
He sauntered the way she and Julia had journeyed many times before when they’d wound through her condo park and across the street to grab groceries from the Bag N Go, pick up a piping-hot pizza at Papa Pizzas, or relax at Smokey’s with an IPA or summer-inspired cocktail.
But the night didn’t seem to call for highbrow beers or pink umbrellaed drinks.
Chelsea and Liam fell into an easy stride down the sidewalk. Small talk didn’t come, but then again, she didn’t feel as though she had to speak.
They came to the narrow footpath.
“After you.” Liam gestured.
Chelsea wasn’t self-conscious—or she shouldn’t have been. She didn’t know why, but her gait felt awkward, as though she didn’t know whether she walked too fast or too slowly, and her arms felt gangly. Keeping her hands and fingers straight, she clamped her arms to her side.
“Left… left… left, right, left.” He chuckled and stepped out of line. “Are you marching?”
“Are you watching me march?” she shot back with an anxious I told you so ringing loudly in her ears.
“Hard not to.”
What does that mean? But she bit her tongue.
Liam stayed on the grass while she walked on the worn path until they came to another sidewalk and needed to cross the street.
Traffic was never busy that time of night. The flow of commuters had died down from a low roar to the occasional car, and they waited to cross.
At the first break, he rested his hand high on her back.
She straightened, overthinking a simple, protective habit.
Liam was chivalrous, and she appreciated the manners.
What she couldn’t explain was, as they crossed the pavement, she could still feel where his palm had rested before his hand dropped away.
Maybe she hadn’t spent enough time around gentlemen lately. She had no other way of explaining why she noticed.
They made their way to the shopping complex. Restaurants and a grocery store lined one side. Her favorite smoothie place stood out like a neon pastel oddity, but they turned for the complex’s lone bar.
The bell over Smokey’s door jingled as they stepped through, and she headed to the bar stools. He threw his credit card down as if to say it was going to be one of those nights, and the bartender, who knew them separately but well, nodded hello.
“What’ll it be tonight?”
“What’ll it be?” Liam leaned against the bar top, looking at Chelsea.
Tonight didn’t feel like a beer night. It felt like a night to take a few shots until her cheeks tingled and her mind let go of the last year. The kind of night when she could laugh without reminiscing and didn’t have to offer an apology for wanting a night out to forget a bad day. “Bourbon.”
Liam gave an approving laugh. “Two shots of Makers. Make ’em doubles.”
Two doubles quickly became four, and the evening was exactly what she needed.
They complained about work and people watched, guessing the whos and whys of the bar patrons around them.
Their laughter boiled, and the fun from hysterical to heartbroken, was a cathartic release that she couldn’t have imagined.
Chelsea clung to his stories and jokes, letting the liquor’s burn take responsibility for how her cheeks flushed.
A man came up behind Liam and clapped him on the back. “How you doing?”
Liam turned, and Chelsea caught how the night’s merriment fell from his expression. “Hey, Buzz.”
Buzz glanced to her and said hello, then turned back to Liam. “Sorry I missed the thing for Julia last week.”
The real world crashed onto her shoulders, and she zoned out as Liam and Buzz made small talk. A paralyzing realization struck. The two people closest to Julia, the friends who carried a silent darkness, had been enjoying life with raucous, unrepentant indulgence.
Liam turned back to the bar as Buzz left and fell silent. For a year, they’d both been riding the highs and lows of a roller coaster. The conversation with Buzz had thrown them an unexpected loop-de-loop.
“You know what I feel bad about?” she finally asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “This.”
“And that I don’t hurt as much I did that first day. Or the first month.”
“Or during the first year,” he said.
Chelsea paused. “I know time heals, and I don’t miss her any less. But the smothering pain is gone.”
He gave a silent, stoic nod again.
“I feel guilty that I feel better, because I’m not letting her go,” Chelsea whispered, unable to stop talking.
Liam rested his hand on her back as though he knew she couldn’t stop, and she deflated, taking a haggard breath.
“You okay?” It sounded as if he’d aged a hundred years. Liam rubbed a small circle in the middle of her back, and she leaned toward him, unsure of the answer.
He waited and inhaled deeply, somehow seeming as though he were growing bigger and wider, broadening his shoulders to take on the weight of the world. Then he let it out, and with it, he settled like a calm mountain in the poorly lit bar.
“What’s something you’ve never done?” he asked, changing the subject.
Chelsea stared at the dingy ceiling and tried to think of all the things she’d never done. Nothing came to mind. All she could think about was how he watched her. “No idea.”
Liam chortled. “Come on.”
“I don’t know!” Heck, right then, she couldn’t see beyond the confines of the bar, much less string together a dream activity in the real world. “Besides, that’s a personal question.”
His dark green eyes sparkled, even as his eyelids narrowed. “You two were so different.”
“True.” She twisted on the bar stool to evade his analysis. “Darts.”
“What?”
She was almost confused by what she’d said. Her tongue was several steps ahead of her bourbon-soaked thoughts. “I’ve never played darts.”
Cracking a smile, he asked, “That’s on your bucket list?”
“Well… no.” It had simply popped into her head. “But I’ve never played darts.”
He leaned toward the bar and asked for a couple of beers. The long necks quickly came, and he took them both and stood. “Let’s go.”