Текст книги "Running on Empty"

Автор книги: L. B. Simmons

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

I soften my voice and walk over to where she’s sitting. She stands up and I take her hand gently into mine.

“Nancy, I don’t mean to be short with you. It’s just been a rough couple of days. I’m really sorry. I love you, you know that don’t you?”

Bringing me into a tight embrace, she quietly says, “Yes, dear, and I love you as though you’re my own daughter.” She steps back and gives me a once over. “You look beautiful, Alex. You really do. You just go have fun tonight, and forget all this grown up stuff for a while. You deserve the break.” She gives me a quick peck on the cheek before leaving me alone to finish getting ready.

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. “Girls! Go get the door, please. It’s Harlow.”

“Yay, Harlow!” they all scream in unison.

Before I leave my bathroom, I take note of my appearance in the mirror. Hair down, naturally wavy and kind of messy, but cute. Silky champagne colored halter top…very simple but tight in all the right places. Black short shorts, a must for girls’ night. And my favorite six inch T-strap champagne heels. Being 5’1”, high heeled shoes are my weakness. I never have to worry about being too tall, so the higher the better. Plus, they make my legs look fantastic. Not that I’m trying to pick anyone up, but it’s always nice to just feel sexy and with three kids, feeling sexy is something that doesn’t happen too often.

Putting in my silver chandelier earrings, I take one last look, nod to myself in approval, and turn off the light.

Standing in front of the bar, Harlow runs her hands down the front of her outfit smoothing the non-existent wrinkles. “Do I look okay, Alex? I’m kind of nervous,” she giggles.

I look at my best friend with her red curly hair flowing down to the middle of her back. She looks amazing. She’s wearing a pale pink off the shoulder dress, which goes perfectly with her complexion, that hits her about three inches above her knees. It fits her like a glove. It’s definitely tighter than my halter top. With her “hippie” wedge heels to round out the outfit, the kind with the tweed bottom, she looks absolutely beautiful. I’m pretty sure the nervous flush in her cheeks also adds to her beauty factor.

“You look gorgeous, Harlow. Trace is gonna pee himself when he sees you!” We giggle a little too loudly in the parking lot.

With a wicked smile playing on her lips, she replies. “Well, I hope not. Incontinence isn’t really my forte.”

God, I love this girl.

Once we finalize our appearances, we open the door and enter the bar. I yell to Harlow over the loud music coming from the deck. “How long has it been since we’ve been out here? It seems like forever!”

“It’s been too long that’s for sure! Let’s grab some beers and then make the rounds to look for Trace,” she yells back.

I nod my head and we make our way to the bar. Grabbing our beers we find an empty table, set our purses down and take our seats.

“Do you see him, Harlow?”

I watch her eyes move around the crowd. “No. Not yet. He should be here by now, though. Let me go check the other part of the bar. I’ll be back. You stay here and guard the table.”

“Okay. Be careful,” I demand when she gets up to leave.

“No worries. I’ll be right back.”

I watch her as long as I can, just to make sure she’s okay. Then I turn my attention to my cell phone, making sure Nancy hasn’t called. I smile to myself as I picture the girls completing the wonderful make over they’d just started on Nancy as Harlow and I were leaving the house. Green eye shadow, very unnaturally red cheeks, and fuchsia lips. Hair teased and standing straight up...poor woman. It’s gonna take her the rest of the night just to get the eye shadow off.

Throwing my phone back into my purse, I start to feel like someone is staring at me. And it’s not a good feeling. I feel kind of gross, actually.

I look up to see Bobby Reeves making his way across the bar to our table. Ugh. My gut feeling was right, gross. I absolutely detest this man. He’s one of those guys that used to be really good looking in high school, but didn’t really age well…like, not well at all, but he thinks he did. You know those guys? The ones that gain fifty pounds and lose half of their hair, but they’re still convinced that they’re the varsity football captain. Bleh.

I dart my eyes in every direction but his, trying to scan the bar for any sign of Harlow or Trace. Just as I grab my purse and start to jump up from the table, I feel a hand on my arm, keeping me in place. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take care of it. No need to bolt,” Harlow says with a smug smile, Trace in tow. Thank God!

Harlow protectively places her body in between mine and Bobby’s. “Don’t even bother coming over here Bobby Reeves. Just turn around and walk away!” She says shooing him with her hand. “She’s not interested. In fact, for the record, she’s never going to be interested. So just turn around and go back to where you came from, and I don’t mean the table you happen to be parked at this evening, I mean go back to your wife!”

What? I cover my mouth to stifle my laugh.

Oh. My. God. I cannot believe she just said that. I look at Trace with wide eyes and we both start laughing. It can’t be helped. What a douche bag. He deserved every bit of what Harlow gave him. I guess it has been a while since I’d been out with Harlow, because when the hell did he get married?

Watching Bobby and his defeated stride as he heads back to where he was previously “parked”, I make a mental note to try to catch a glimpse of the poor woman who thought it suitable to legally wed this man. Yikes…

I turn back to Harlow and Trace, giving them a grand smile.

“Hi, Trace. It’s nice to see you again. I’m glad to see that you have indeed survived the first few minutes with Harlow. You’re definitely doing much better than that guy,” I offer, throwing my thumb over my shoulder, obviously indicating Bobby. I reach my hand out to shake his and notice that this man is absolutely, 100% drop dead gorgeous. I must have been extremely side tracked in the office that day, because this man is downright drool worthy. His clear, sky blue eyes are perfectly accentuated by his extremely dark lashes and dark eyebrows. And his smile is just as gorgeous. He actually has one of the most genuine smiles I’ve seen in a long time. Yeah, this guy is definitely growing on me.

I look over at Harlow and raise my eyebrows in obvious approval. She giggles, and resumes whatever conversation they had been having before going on the offensive against Bobby.

A good hour and a half later, I have learned that Trace O’Connell grew up in Waco. We graduated the same year, but he attended a private school, while Harlow and I were slummin’ it in public. He left Waco for a while, but returned when he heard of the recent job opportunity, deciding it was time to move closer to his family, regardless if he landed the job at Synergy or not. A decision I very much respected.

We actually had a lot of the same acquaintances in high school, but I don’t remember ever meeting him. Harlow, however, remembered exactly who he was. Which was the real reason for her rushing me the day of his interview. She confessed this to me during one of our many trips to the bathroom.

“I knew something was going on!” I yell from the other stall after her admission. “You were acting so weird that day!”

We giggle on our way out of the bathroom, stopping at the bar to grab another round of beers. Since I’m beginning to feel a little buzzed, I grab a glass of water as well. Heading back to the table, I stop dead in my tracks.

“Is that–” I turn to Harlow with my eyes popping out of my head, probably very similar to certain cartoon characters I’m subjected to every Saturday morning. I shift my gaze back to our table where I see him, standing right in front of me, in his stupid perfect jeans and his stupid perfect shirt, with his stupid perfect hair. All I want to do right now is punch him in his stupid perfect face.

“Please, Harlow, tell me you didn’t,” I say walking up to him, not bothering to wait for her answer.

I slam my beer down on the table, next to the glass of water, right in front of Blake…which actually did not have the effect I originally anticipated. Instead of supporting my dramatic entrance like I wanted it to, the beer just foams up over the top of the neck of the bottle and starts flowing all over the table. I turn to Blake, trying to give off the vibe that I totally meant for that to happen.

“What the hell are you doing here? Huh?” I snap at him, attempting my mommy death stare. Once again, I’m reminded it needs some serious upgrading, because he’s looking back at me with his own Blake Morgan death stare. I would like to go on record that mine is much more intimidating than his.

“ALEX!” Harlow yells. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I would just like to know what he’s doing here.” I keep my eyes fiercely glued to his while I continue speaking. “I mean, I’m sure that you already know what he’s doing here, right Harlow? I’m sure that this is another attempt to save Alex from her miserable existence.” I turn my glare to Harlow.

“Alex, I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I have no idea what he’s doing here. But, last time I checked, Waco was still part of the free country in which we live. I wasn’t aware that there was some sort of requirement for an ‘Alex Approved’ guest list for George’s Bar. If I had known, I would have sent out a mass email to all of Waco!” she shouts in my face.

Did she just “finger quote” me?

Turning back to Blake, I state matter-of-factly, “Newsflash…just as much for you as for everyone else I’ve been in contact with lately. I don’t need you here to rescue me! I don’t need you here to be my hero! What the hell are you even doing here? I don’t even want you here! Why can’t you just leave me alone!” I am literally yelling at the top of my lungs and breathing like I just ran a marathon. Tears are forming at the base of my lashes, but I refuse to cry.

Blake doesn’t say a word. He says absolutely nothing. He just looks at me, then Harlow, then says something that I can’t hear to Trace, turns his back to me, and walks out of the bar.

“Really, Alex, you can be such a bitch sometimes,” Harlow bites at me through her clenched teeth. She runs after Blake, leaving me on my own with Trace. What the hell is her problem? I roll my eyes in annoyance and turn my attention to the stunned man standing next to me.

“Sorry about that, Trace,” I say apologetically. “I’ve had enough of that man this week to last me a lifetime. I apologize for losing it like that, but I warned Harlow to not push me about him. It’s kind of a long story.”

We stare at each other for a minute. He seems hesitant to speak. I think I scare the poor guy.

“Well, Alex,” he says nervously clearing his throat. “Um, that’s actually my fault. I invited him.” Trace stops to let it sink in that I just ripped into my best friend for no reason…then continues.

“I knew Harlow was inviting you, and Blake and I have been friends forever, so I invited him. I had no idea you guys had any kind of history. He’s never mentioned you. I thought you guys would hit it off,” he says chuckling. “But obviously I was wrong. Honestly Alex, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

Trace and Blake were friends? Like long time friends? And he never mentioned me? At all? Like, ever?

Well, jeez…

Don’t I feel like a narcissistic asshole.

In an effort to not completely ruin the rest of the evening, I figure it best to stay and let Harlow and Trace have some time to catch up. Obviously, having already reached my drinking threshold, I drink only water for the rest of the night. While rehydrating, I do manage to get Trace to tell me Blake’s top secret location.

Although staying with his parents really isn’t groundbreaking news, Trace seems extremely hesitant to give up the information…most likely because of my unfortunate outburst earlier in the evening. However, approximately three shots later – shots that I bought by the way – I’m able to wrangle it out of him. I do this knowing I have some major damage control to take care of in the morning.

Harlow is refusing to really engage in any conversation with me, understandably so. After a while, I ask if it’s okay if I just take her car to my house. Since I haven’t had anything to drink since my run-in with Blake, which was two beers and three hours ago, it’s safe to say I have no more alcohol in my system. And I kinda don’t want to watch her flirt with Trace anymore. Some things are just better unseen.

She immediately responds with an enthusiastic “Yes!”, since that leaves her “needing a ride”. With the delighted look on her face, I’m pretty sure that all is forgiven between us.

Nancy calls to let me know that she’s already taken the girls to her house and encourages me to sleep in the next morning. Yeah, right. That would be wonderful, except I really don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight or tomorrow morning. I have plans to be up early.

Leaving the bar and finally making my way to the house, I find my thoughts wandering to my earlier outburst with Blake. The look on his face when he first saw me was one of complete shock, so I’m pretty sure he had no idea of Trace’s matchmaking scheme. But it was the look of outrage on his face right after I first approached the table that wouldn’t leave my mind. It actually sends a jolt of pain to my heart. Even in my slightly inebriated, obviously ill-tempered state, it hurt to see that he was that angry with me.

With the memories of the last day of summer that Blake and I shared still lingering in my mind, I start to really allow myself to think honestly about the past. I feel completely…well, I feel at a loss. Had I been so completely callused to not even acknowledge Blake’s gift to me? Did I even bother to discuss the charm with him? Ask him what it meant? What he was trying to say?

No, I didn’t.

My lip starts quivering as I begin to remember how much Blake was actually involved in my life. Time that I chose to dismiss. It’s weird, because now that I think about it, Blake was always there. Blake and I had been best friends. We grew up together. We did everything together. But after I met Derek in junior high, I just left him behind…without even a second thought. No more phone calls, no more fishing, no more movie nights. Nothing.

No wonder he wants nothing to do with me.

I start to feel anger rise in my bloodstream, but not at Blake this time. This anger is reserved for me. I had become so wrapped up in Derek and the infatuation that started the day I met him, I completely disregarded any prior history with Blake. Thirteen years worth of history. And I continued to do it through high school. I never attempted to make contact with him during college or even to call him when we moved back to Waco. What kind of person does that make me?

No wonder he never mentioned me to Trace. And here I was convinced that he came back to Waco to save me. To be my hero. To fix my life…

Utterly disgusted, I walk into my house knowing that the first thing I’m going to do tomorrow is go to Blake Morgan and apologize for the person I was. And the person I have evidently become.

The drive to Mr. and Mrs. Morgan’s house is a familiar one. And it’s a good thing it is, because I’m finding it extremely hard to concentrate on where I’m actually driving at the moment. I am, however, breaking down every possible scenario that could happen when I knock on that door. Good news is, as each and every scenario plays out in my head, they all end in one of two ways. He either speaks to me or he doesn’t.

That’s a 50% success rate. Not bad when considering my actions last evening…that and those many years I spent dismissing Blake entirely.

Memories begin to flood my mind as I drive up to the red brick two story house I spent so much time at while growing up.

…Blake and I climbing the huge oak tree in the front of his house to get to the tree fort we built together when we were seven years old.

…Both of us playing hide-and-seek in the garden by the side of his house with me yelling at him for cheating...there’s no way he could count to one hundred that fast.

…The time we made a bike ramp and tried to jump the fence…definitely not one of our best moments. I find myself grinning widely at that memory. Mainly because Blake couldn’t make the jump, ruined his bike, and had to ride his sister’s very pink Barbie bike until he learned his lesson (as his parents put it). I tortured him with that one for years.

Parking my car in the drive, I look at the front door and breathe a heavy sigh. I glance down at my hands as I remove them from the steering wheel – they’re slightly trembling. I shake them in an effort to get rid of the obvious nervous energy and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I run my hair over my ponytail to smooth any fly-aways and exit the car. Looking down while straightening my “Goonies Never Say Die” t-shirt, another memory surfaces.

Blake and I used to make homemade t-shirts all the time together. Mine were always way better than his, of course, but at least he tried. My favorite one of his was this army green, G.I Joe “Knowing is Half the Battle” t-shirt. He wore it all the time. So much so that the iron on letters started falling off and it eventually read “Koin is alf Bat.” God, I would laugh every time he would wear it. I think that’s why he wore it so much.

I look back at my hands. They are still shaking. It seems that even with the comfort of old memories running through my mind, I still can’t shake off my nerves. Making my way to the front door, I mentally chastise my anxiety. “This is ridiculous, Alex. You’re a grown woman. Act like it,” I mutter while walking up the porch steps. I note there’s only a motorcycle parked in the driveway, which bodes well in my favor. This is going to be difficult enough without having a parental audience.

Approaching the door, I raise my fist to knock, pausing for another second to take in a cleansing breath. Breathing out, I say a prayer and knock loudly.

I hear his heavy footsteps coming towards the door, followed by the sound of the deadbolt unlocking. I watch nervously as the handle turns, but when I look up, I’m completely unprepared for what is standing directly in front of my face.

As the door flies open, so does my mouth. Blake is standing in front of me, shirtless, wearing only his red and navy plaid pajama bottoms, bare feet on the floor. His light brown hair is all over the place, but incredibly sexy as it falls messily over his forehead and flips out from behind his ears. One look at this man’s stomach renders me momentarily speechless, and I have to fight to keep myself from running my hands over every single hardened ridge of his abs. So instead, I place my hands over my open mouth and start giggling like a ten year old little girl.

Mid-giggle, I notice the door starting to close. I quickly jump into action. I immediately put my foot in the doorjamb and my hands on the door, using all of my weight to keep him from being able to close it – a trick he taught me by the way.

Shaking his head at me through the opening that I’m desperately trying to maintain, Blake emphatically states, “Nope. Mmm-mm, Alex. It’s too early for this right now. Go home.”

I start to say something when he cuts me off. “There can’t possibly be anything left for you to say after the drunken tantrum you threw last night. You remember? The one you decided to throw in the middle of a bar? The one in which you embarrassed the shit out of yourself? Very classy by the way…”

Jeez…obviously I wasn’t the only one who got zero sleep last night.

“Blake, ple–” I start to say, but as I try to push as hard as I can to keep the door open, he shoves the door making progress in his attempt to shut it and I’m thrown backward a bit, cutting off my words. “I don’t want to talk right now, Alex.” I push back with all of my might.

“Well…too bad. You need to hear what I have to say, Blake!”

Quickly turning my back to the door, I push as hard as I can, using my legs for strength. I extend my arm and wrap my fingers around the side, to get a better grip. Unfortunately, at the same time, Blake finally manages to slam it shut.

I swear I hear four separate crunches before I can get the words out of my mouth.

“Blake! My fingers! Damn it, open the door! Now!” I’m sure my fingers have fallen straight to the floor. I don’t even want to look.

The door jerks open and I hastily pull my throbbing fingers to the safety of my chest. Moisture gathers in my eyes as I move my hand in front of my face to examine the now very red, very flattened sections of my fingers where the door caught. My whole arm is shaking as the pain pulsates clear up to my shoulder. I pull it back into my chest and protectively cover it with my other hand, and turn to glare at Blake through the tears.

“Shit, Alex. Let me look at ‘em,” Blake says angrily. I’m not sure if he is mad at me or at himself for hurting my hand. But just in case, I continue my glare. He whips open the door and steps out onto the porch.

Oh.

My.

God.

He looks even more gorgeous in the sunlight. Almost like that day on the lake, with the sun peeking through his messy hair. If I wasn’t in excruciating pain right now, I would be really enjoying the view.

Alex, control yourself.

I attempt to clear my mind from all potentially naughty thoughts. Then I remember my situation and gather my wits.

“Really, Blake? What the hell?” I ask in annoyance. “I get that you’re pissed, but can you at least act like an adult about it? Slamming the door in my face? Real mature, jerk.” I try bending my fingers. They’re stiff, but I can bend them a bit. I grimace and suck in a breath as pain shoots up my arm.

“Really? You want to talk about mature right now? After last night? You want to go there?”

I have no witty retort, so I just look at him.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says, holding out his hand. His voice softens. “Just let me look at them, Alex.”

I timidly hold my hand out for his inspection. He’s surprisingly gentle as he takes my hand and holds it in front of his face, looking closely at my fingers. I can feel his warm breath hitting the palm of my hand. I let out a small breath of air and briefly let myself look at his eyes while he examines my fingers. I forgot how beautiful they were. A cross between very light brown and olive green. As I stand, staring at him…he looks up, catches my gaze and holds it. Determined not to lose this battle, I continue to look at him until he breaks away.

“You need to get some ice on them. Come on. I’ll get you something,” he says, stepping aside so I can enter his house, still holding my hand.

“It’s fine, Blake. I’m just going to go. I think enough damage has been done,” I say, knowing I mean this in a way that doesn’t pertain to my fingers. I extract my hand from his and turn to walk to my car, lump forming in my throat. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. Some things just can’t be repaired. I know this better than anyone…I should be the poster girl for irreparable damage.

I take a step to leave when I feel Blake’s hand hook my good hand. “Alex, don’t. Let me get you some ice.” I feel an electrical pulse pass through my body as his fingers slide up to wrap around my wrist, pulling me into his house. I follow him as he leads me into the kitchen. He pulls out a bar stool from under the counter and motions with his hand for me to sit down. Not until I’m seated does he let go of my wrist to walk into the kitchen. He grabs a plastic bag out of a drawer and starts to fill it with ice from the freezer. I can’t help but watch the muscles in his back working as he deposits the ice into the bag. He turns, disrupting my insane thoughts, and brings the ice back to where I’m sitting. He takes my hurt hand, tenderly placing it in his own, and sets the bag on top of my fingers.

We sit in silence, probably because we’re both too stubborn to be the first to break. But, knowing I came here to make amends for some things, I willingly, for the record, break first.

“Listen, I just wanted to come by to say I’m really sorry about last night, Blake. Things have been a little stressful over the last couple of days and I’m dealing with a lot right now. And seeing you the other day…well, it just threw me. Then you helped me and… honestly, it’s been a long time since someone has helped me like that. Except Harlow of course, but that’s kind of her main job right now.” I laugh softly at my joke. Blake does not. So I keep going.

“Blake, you have to understand that it’s hard for me to accept help sometimes. It isn’t easy for me to admit that I need help, but I needed help that day. So, not only were you incredibly blessed with having the opportunity to help me that morning, I’m sure ruining whatever plans you had for the day, but you were also the victim of my misdirected anger last night simply because of the help you provided.”

How many times did I just say help? One hundred?

“I guess you can say that I have issues with help in general,” I joke to him. I decide to just stop talking. I know I’m completely rambling; I do that when I’m nervous.

I make sure I look him directly in the eyes during my explanation. Unfortunately, there is absolutely, positively, no response that I can read on his face.

Um, I guess my apologies need upgrading too? I decide to give it one more try.

“I’m sorry Blake. Do you think we can just start over? Forget the last couple of days?”

I continue to watch his expression. He lets out a deep sigh.

“Listen, Alex. You need to know something. I didn’t come here for you. I didn’t come back to help you, or save you, or take care of you. I feel that I need to say that. I didn’t come here to be your hero or to carry you away on a white horse. I came here solely to help my family.”

Sarcasm duly noted.

“My father’s retiring and I need to decide what I’m going to do with his business. I might take it over, I might sell it, I haven’t decided yet. Regardless, my coming back had nothing to do with you. ”

Jeez– Alright already.

“Okay, Blake, I get it!”

Using the only working hand I’ve got left, I immediately push myself up to get off the stool, because for some reason, those words take all of the air out of my lungs. When I start to stand, he holds me in place and forces me to look at him. His face softens.

“No, you don’t get it, Alex. I need you to know that so you can get over whatever dumb ass, anger projecting issues you have going on regarding being helped, saved, or taken care of in any way. I don’t plan on doing any of that for you.” He smiles and continues. “So that means we should be able to be friends, right? If I promise not to help you?”

Choking back a laugh he adds, “But you do realize how backwards that actually is, don’t you?”

It’s impossible to describe, but the relief I feel at that moment is like one thousand pounds have been removed from my shoulders. I don’t know if it has to do with no longer feeling the pressure of any possible expectations from Blake, or if it’s the fact that I know that with that one smile, he’s forgiving me for my treatment of him all these years. But whatever the reason, I can physically feel the release of pressure from my body.

Friends. Yeah, I can do friends I think.

Friends would be really nice actually.

Giving him a gigantic smile, I reach out and hug him, throwing my good hand behind his neck. “I would really like that, Blake.”

He grins back at me while releasing me from our embrace. Then he looks directly at my hand.

“Yeah, well, don’t come running to me when you figure out your fingers won’t be working right for the next couple of weeks.” He chuckles underneath his breath before continuing. “Oh, and by the way…It’s gonna be a bitch driving yourself to the emergency room to see if they’re broken. I would help you but…”

Blake shrugs his shoulder and throws a piece of ice in his mouth as he saunters out of the kitchen.

Well…

Shit.