5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Jake is ten minutes late for our date the next night.
My stomach is in knots while I wait for him outside of Beth’s house.
Before the accident, I didn’t bat an eye if someone was late for plans we’d made.
I just figured they’d run into traffic on their way or misjudged the time.
Now, my anxiety expects the worst — thinking I will hear that they, too, have been involved in a life-changing accident.
I hear a motorcycle off in the distance, getting louder as it seems to get closer to the house. It turns down our road and then into Beth’s driveway.
Jake removes his helmet and smiles as he sees me.
He is clad in black jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket.
It melts some of my anxiety away. He’s here, he’s safe, and everything is okay…
until I realize that his motorcycle is our method of transportation for the night.
He didn’t mention that when he’d text me about tonight.
“Hey, Thea,” he says, before offering me the extra helmet from the back of his bike.
“Hi,” I say, finding my voice as I walk towards him. The gravel driveway crunches under my feet, my footing a bit unsteady in my sandals. The knots in my stomach tighten at the thought of riding on the back of his motorcycle.
“Can we walk?” I ask, eyeing the helmet in his gloved, outstretched hand.
“Nah,” he says, urging me to take the helmet. “It’s only, like, a five minute drive. You scared?” He smiles that wonderful smile that makes me weak in the knees.
He’s only teasing, of course, so I don’t tell him that yes, I am scared.
“We could get our steps in if we walk,” I say, a stupid attempt at a joke. I’m starting to panic and am grappling at anything.
“I’m not walking,” Jake says. He’s more assertive than I’ve seen him before. “It’s really not that far. You’ll be fine. People ride on my motorcycle all the time. Seriously, Thea, you’re not gonna die.”
“I just don’t feel comfortable,” I start, images of the car crash flooding my brain.
“Hey,” Jake says, sensing that I’m panicking.
My eyes fly open and I stare at him, smiling at me. “I’ve got you. I’ll protect you. You can trust me.”
I open my mouth for a rebuttal but he stops me.
“I’m not walking,” he repeats. “So, you can either ride on the motorcycle or I guess we end the evening right here.”
I reach for the helmet reluctantly. I just want him to like me.
He kicks the kickstand down and swings his leg over the bike.
He comes around to help me put the helmet on.
Our eyes linger on each other for a moment before he brushes my hair off of my shoulder.
I shiver at the contact, goosebumps decorating my skin.
“Atta girl,” he says quietly before he turns back to the bike, motioning for me to follow him. He mounts it, steadies it, and looks at me again.
“Put your foot here,” he says, guiding me to the pillion peg, “and your arm here.” He moves my hand to his bicep. “Step up, put your weight on me, and swing your leg over.”
I do as he says and toss my leg over the side, thanking my lucky stars that I wore jeans instead of a dress. It’s an awkward movement as the bike wobbles a bit but I sit, settling against the seatrest. Jake steadies the bike and gets situated.
I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke from the back of his jacket and grimace. He turns the key in the ignition and the motorcycle revs back to life. The sound of it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
“Hold on tight,” he says as he starts to back down Beth’s driveway. I wrap my arms around him to hold on for dear life as he pulls out onto the main road. I shut my eyes as he quickly gathers speed and feel him dart in and out of traffic on the main road.
“Can you slow down?” I yell, my hair whipping all around me.
“What?” Jake yells back over his shoulder.
I open my eyes as he zig-zags lanes again. He’s being a reckless driver and I know how this can end. I want off of this bike before he wrecks it. My stomach rolls again as I watch Driftbay pass by in a blur.
He drives us to a less-than-picturesque little dive bar tucked away on the edge of town. There’s a wooden sign with chipped paint standing tall and proud outside and I can barely make out that we’re at The White House Tavern.
Weeds have grown up around the foundation of the tavern, looking messy and unkempt.
There’s a neon sign in the dirty window that flashes ‘open’ every few seconds.
Jake parks his motorcycle across the street and gently helps me off of it.
I rip the helmet off of my head and smooth down my hair, grateful to be on solid ground again.
He doesn’t say a word as he leads me toward the tavern, up a rickety wooden wheelchair ramp to the front door.
It’s decorated in handwritten signs displaying various specials.
We walk inside, the bell above the door ringing through the silence between us.
There’s mismatched diner booths lining the wall, some looking well past their prime with rips and tears in their lining.
Christmas lights adorn the walls, even though it’s June.
There’s a bright fluorescent light overhead and I squint as I glance around.
A few tables are scattered about, with varying styles of chairs accompanying them.
It doesn’t look like anyone gave the interior design of this place any thought, just threw together what they could find or salvage.
The air is thick as we make our way down a couple steps into a lower-level of the bar.
There’s one bartender behind the counter in the main room, a girl that looks to be around my age — young and blonde.
I don’t miss how Jake seems to check her out as we pass by, noticing how he sucks his breath in and lets out a low whistle.
I spot a couple of slot machines in the far-right back corner, a designated gambling corner.
Their neon lights shimmer like a lighthouse to a lost ship at sea.
There’s a couple of older men sitting in front of them, pressing their luck and hoping to win big.
The floorboards creak underneath my feet as Jake heads to a table in a secluded, dimly-lit corner. He pulls out his chair before he takes off his jacket and slings it over the back.
Hardly the place I would have picked for a first date.
I pull my own chair out after a moment, realizing he isn’t going to touch mine. I take my phone and wallet out of my pocket and set them down on the table as I sit down and scoot closer. The table feels sticky and gummy, the kind you get when the varnish never fully dries.
I pick up the laminated menu and start to peruse it as Jake asks, “Do you want a drink?”
“Oh,” I say, looking up at him. “I’m not twenty-one yet.”
He leans forward, smirking. “I didn’t ask if you were twenty-one. I asked if you wanted a drink.”
“Sure,” I say, after a moment. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.” Alarm bells are going off in my head but I ignore them, deciding to give him a chance to prove them wrong.
Jake gets up and heads to the bar. I take a deep breath and visualize the knots in my stomach unraveling in an attempt to calm my nerves.
He’s not gone very long before he returns with our drinks in hand. He sets a bottle of beer down in front of me and returns to his chair, tipping his own bottle back.
“So, you’ve just moved to Driftbay?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.
I nod, bringing the beer to my lips. I take a sip and cough, disgusted at the taste. I set it back down on the table and gently nudge it toward him. “I’m originally from Seattle. I wanted to come live with my Aunt Beth. You might know her, she owns Beth Ann’s Diner here in town.”
“Yeah, I know her.” He nods.
Of course. I should have known. Everyone in Driftbay knows Beth.
“Why would you want to leave Seattle and come to this craphole?” he asks.
“I don’t think it’s a craphole,” I argue. Driftbay has been a blessing to me, a bright spot in an otherwise dark time in my life.
“There’s not much to do here,” he says, taking another swig of his beer. “It’s a dead-end town full of meaningless jobs. There’s so much more room to grow in Seattle, opportunities to make something of yourself.”
He talks like he’s been there before. I don’t ask him if he has. I frown and think of Beth, and her success with the diner. I wouldn’t necessarily call that a “dead-end”.
“So,” I say in an attempt to change the subject, “have you always lived here?”
He nods. “My dad is James Osborne.” He says it like I’m supposed to know the importance behind the name.
There’s a beat of silence between us before I laugh softly, saying, “Sorry, I’m still learning everyone’s names. I don’t think I’ve met him yet.”
Jake laughs now. “You won’t, unless you’re in a courtroom.”
I stare at him, still not quite following what he’s saying.
“He’s the best attorney in town,” he says, “The ‘silver-tongued king of the courtroom’ as the newspaper says.”
I nod slowly.
“You want my family on your side.” Jake leans closer across the table. “My father can ruin anyone in this town.”
“Duly noted,” I say.
The bartender appears at the edge of our table and I’m grateful for the distraction. She smiles as she takes out her notepad and a pen.
“Hi,” she says, “I’m Emily and I’ll be taking care of you guys. Can I get you any appetizers?”
I glance back at the menu as I hear Jake say, “Hi, Emily,” rather sweetly.
“I’ll just have a burger and fries,” he adds, “Extra onion.”
I hastily order some nachos and hand the menu back to her as Jake takes another drink, draining his beer.
“Do you want another beer?” she asks.
He nods.
“I’ll be right back.” Emily turns around and heads back to the counter, ringing a bell and throwing our order in the kitchen window as she passes.
Not quite the service I’m used to at the diner.
"So,” I say after a moment of silence. “Do you work?”
Jake nods. “I help around my dad’s office from time to time.”