Riptide Affair, page 18
Leaning in, she gets down on my level, and I think she's about to impart some kind of worldly wisdom bartenders are famous for doling out, but instead, she increases my heartbreak tenfold.
“Now, I don't know what kind of problems you and Merrin are having, nor is it any of my business, but you won't be bringing them into my bar and making a fool out of yourself just because you and your old lady are fighting. Got it?”
I shake my head, making the room tip. “We're not fighting. And she's not my old lady. Not anymore.”
When I glance up to meet Ashley's eyes, they've softened. “I highly doubt that. Seeing as how she's on her way to take you home so you don't kill yourself.”
Anger. Betrayal. Fear. Unease. They all shoot through my bones at lightning speed, and I have to clench the edge of the bar in my hands to keep from crying in outrage.
“You called her?” I manage to grit out through clenched teeth.
Ashley nods. “I did.”
“Traitor.”
“And she's working tonight.” She nods to the fish tank which I can't even look at for fear that I'll see Merrin on the other side, even though it's impossible to see through the wall of bubbles cutting the tank in two. “So if I were you, I'd get your shit together before she makes it over here. Acting like a drunken asshole isn't gonna fix anything.”
I hop off the stool and toddle behind the bar, my knees disconnected from the rest of my legs. I'm trying to retreat, but Ashley throws up a hand to stop me.
“Where the hell do you think you're going?”
“Away,” I blurt.
Merrin can't see me like this. No telling what I'll say, but it won't be pretty, and it definitely won't be nice. I'm too pissed. Too drunk. I don't trust myself around her. Not right now. Not tonight. Because the second I lay eyes on her, I'll feel it all again. That supersonic beating of my heart. The tingling awareness. The need to reach out and pull her to me so I feel whole again. All of that amplified by a thousand but overcast by a soul-deep hatred I never thought I was capable of feeling, especially in regards to Merrin.
“Jared, get back on your stool! Jared! Are you listening to me?”
“No.”
Dropping to my hands and knees—mostly because I can't operate my feet anymore—I crawl under the bar where no one can see me. And I close my eyes.
Best hiding spot ever.
Merrin will never find me here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Merrin
“Merrin!” Ashley waves at me from where she's pouring a shot of bourbon for a man in a suit. “Over here.”
Trepidation slows my steps—maybe I shouldn't have come—but I eventually make it through the crowd of laughing, dancing, half-naked, belligerent drunks taking up every uninhabited space and find myself clutching the edge of the bar.
“Where is he?”
Shaking her head, she steps aside and I glance down with her to find Jared curled up against the back wall of the bar. His hair is a fucking mess, stuck up at odd angles and littered with pieces of popcorn and peanut shells. His shirt is wet around the collar from sweat. And even though he's sleeping, a frown tugs the corners of his lips down. He looks miserable.
“He passed out?”
“Nope.” Ashley slides two shots across the bar and wipes it down with a rag. “Fell asleep. Need help getting him to your car?”
And drag an innocent bystander into a situation bound to get ugly the second he reaches consciousness? No thanks.
“I've got him.”
Those three words dry out on my tongue, tasting like a lie. I don't have him. Not anymore. He's not mine to love, and certainly not mine to care for, yet here I am. Because I am a stupid, stupid girl.
At least a dozen curious eyes watch me as I duck behind the bar, but I don't give them a second's thought. I need to get Jared home. Safe. That's it. That's the goal here.
“Jared?” I shake his shoulder to rouse him and he groans. His eyes flutter a bit, so I shake him harder. “Jared! Let's go!”
Unsteady eyes open, and I feel like I'm locking gazes with a stranger. Because when he focuses on me, he doesn't see me. Not really. His eyes don't lock onto mine and soak me in like they used to. There's no love or passion there. Only hateful, hurtful indifference.
“Go away,” he mumbles, throwing an arm over his face to shield his eyes. “Don't need you.”
A Travis Tritt song comes on over the radio and I try to focus on the lyrics instead of Jared's words, which are clinging to me like shards of glass, but it's damn hard.
I steel my spine, knowing I have to be just as hard, just as rough, just as shitty.
“Let's go,” I snap. “You can't sleep on the floor.”
I tug on his arm, but he pulls back, resisting my touch.
“I don't see why not,” he slurs. “You're allowed to sleep wherever you want. Your bed. My bed. My brother's bed.”
Theeeere it is...
“We're not doing this right now, Jared,” I snap. It's a battle to get him to an upright position, but I manage to get his back propped against the wall. “Just let me take you home. We can have it out there if you want and you can scream and curse and throw shit. Okay? Just get the fuck up!”
I think he's going to lay back down just to be a prick, or maybe toss out another poison-tipped barb, but to my surprise, he stands. It's uncoordinated and jerky, but he's up, and that's all I asked for.
With one arm clasped firmly around his elbow, I lead him toward the door, keeping my eyes forward even as everyone stares. Jared, on the other hand, indulges their curiosity.
“She slept with my brother.” He points at me as he sways toward a wide-eyed stranger. “Don't let that pretty face fool you, man. She's the devil.”
For. Fucks. Sake.
We have to get out of here.
Before my tears get to heavy I can't see to function.
Before he guts me completely.
Before he says something that will slice away at the love I still hold for him. That would be ideal in our situation, but I still cherish that love. I devoted myself to it weeks ago and promised to guard it and let it flow through me, making me a better person than I was before we met. And that matters more than what Jared wants right now.
But he's killing me.
Literally fucking killing me.
Every organ in my body protests his hatred. My blood simmers in revolt. My cells are in anarchy, shifting and rearranging themselves, trying to recreate a version of me that doesn't love this man, but it's no use.
I deserve his wrath.
Halfway through the parking lot, Jared stumbles, trips over his own feet, and falls on his ass.
And I let him.
Every step we take across the asphalt feels like a step in the wrong direction, like he's going north and I'm moving south, and yet neither of us are moving. The ground beneath us changes, but we're stuck, unmoving, standing completely still.
I cross my arms against the breeze. There must be a cold front moving in. “Jared. Get up.”
He doesn't move. Clearly, he's not in the mood to cooperate, but I'm not in the mood to get run over by a drunk asshole leaving the parking lot in a jacked up truck, so tough shit on his part.
“C'mon, Jared.” I hook my arms under his and try to haul him up, but he barely budges an inch and I end up dropping him. “My God, you're a heavy son of a bitch.”
“I loved you, you know.”
My entire body sizes like I've just made a pinkie promise with an electric fence. In the glow of the street light, I study his face. His eyes are closed, his dark brow furrowed. His Adam's apple bobs with a swallow, and a second later he's opening his eyes, looking straight through me like I don't matter.
I don't, but still, his words sink in deep and take root.
He loved me.
Loved.
Not love.
Past tense.
Loved me...but doesn't anymore.
Loved me yesterday. Hates me today.
His head tilts to the side and our eyes finally, finally, meet.
“Loved you more than steak. More than sleep. More than driving fast,” he slurs. The forlorn sound of a sigh has me pursing my lips together to stifle a sob. “Hell. Loved you more than that damn soup you brought me when I was sick.”
My chest may explode with this pressure at any second. His confession lit a fire, but it's flickering. Unreliable. Who knows how much of this is true and how much of it is the bullshit alcohol talking.
Get it together, Merrin.
This isn't a heart to heart.
Get him home.
Drop him off.
Leave.
Walk away.
Strapping on a mask of strength, I nod like what he's said means nothing.
“You loved me more than soup. Good to know, Jared. Now get up.”
I pull on his arms again, but he fights me. “It wasn't just the soup, Merrin. It was you. It was you, dammit. You cared about me and then you just...you just—”
I can't stand hearing the end of that sentence, so instead of waiting for him to finish, I draw on every ounce of strength I have left in me and pull him up until I can get one of his arms around my shoulder. He doesn't help, really, but he doesn't hinder the process either, so I guess that's something.
As we hobble toward my rig, he doesn't speak again, and for once, I'm grateful. Even if I could endure another verbal lashing from him, tonight isn't the night for him to drag us back down that road. Neither of us has processed what happened, and we're so far away from healing we can't see the finish line, if there even is one. I have a feeling it's not a race, not even a journey, and I could go the rest of my life with this gaping wound, festering and putrefying, but never actually healing, and that's the last thing I want to focus on right now.
“Get in.”
Jared doesn't argue, but the resigned way in which he folds himself into my passenger seat may as well be another hit because the way he cuts his eyes at me says I'm the last person on earth he wants helping him.
Tough shit.
There's not a damn thing I can do about it, so I shut the door and take three seconds to close my eyes, breathe deep, and remind myself that no matter what he says, I'm doing the right thing.
Jared passes out as soon as we pull out of the parking lot and I figure that's for the best. The last thing I want to do is argue and field off accusations when I'm behind the wheel. It's hard enough driving through the fog of tears threatening to blind me, but we make it to his house mere minutes after leaving the bar. Thank God for small towns.
In his driveway, I white-knuckle the steering wheel, wondering if I should wake him. I slump in my seat and glance over, taking in his sleeping face. He looks calm. At peace. I wonder how long I can drag out this moment.
Everything is so messy now. If this were just a casual relationship, it wouldn't hurt so much, but it wasn't casual. The second love entered the picture, everything got so damn complicated. Just being in the same space with Jared, whether he's coherent or not, makes me feel better. Even now. Sitting next to him in a dark driveway.
The rhythm of his steady breathing, the way his tall frame takes up all the space in my passenger seat, the gentleness his face holds—everything about Jared brings me a peace I've never had on my own before. And none of that makes sense to my head, and definitely not to my heart, but maybe that's the point. Maybe it's not supposed to make sense. Which is yet another reason why it's so hard to wake him up and put an end to this spell I'm under.
Tonight will end badly. I know that much. But maybe if I take a page from Harper's book and get it out of the way, we'll both be better off. The sooner he rips another chunk out of my heart, the sooner I can go home and break out the needle and thread and start reassembling myself. I'm not the greatest when it comes to mending hearts, but I've done it before, years ago, and I think I remember. As long as I can stitch around the scar tissue, maybe it will be enough to hold me together long enough to actually heal.
I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and pray for strength.
“Jared.”
His eyes immediately flutter open. When he turns and catches sight of me behind the wheel, he smiles, and my God...it's a true, blinding, everything-is-right-in-the-world Jared smile. Breathtaking to behold. But just as quickly as it came, it vanishes, replaced by a grimace that says he hates me with the fire of a thousand burning suns and the little glimpse of forgiveness he just gave me was nothing more than a lapse in judgment.
He forgot.
For a split second, he forgot he hated me.
“Are you okay?” I hope my voice doesn't give away just how terrified I am of what's about to happen.
Long legs stretch out as far as they'll go and Jared sighs, hanging his head. “I'm fine.”
“Still drunk?”
Jared scrubs a hand over his face. “Not drunk enough.”
I want to say so much. Get all the words off my chest. But there's an impenetrable wall that's been constructed between us, one that wasn't there a day ago. And I know, without even trying, that I could never scale it. The damn thing is three cinder blocks thick and ten tall. Whatever I have to say, he doesn't want to hear. So, I bind and gag the inner voice pleading with me to grovel at his feet, and I swallow down my sadness.
“Do you need help inside?” My voice has taken on a cold edge, but it's nothing compared to the glacial way he stares at me in response to the question.
“No, I don't,” he whispers. “Not from you.”
He doesn't see the way my jaw drops, because he's already out the door, marching up to his front door. The fact that he had the nerve to say those words to me? To heap all this hatred on me? It's like a can of aerosol spray in a bonfire. My skin heats, fizzling under the fire of his words, but when they reach my insides, when they break through to my heart, I combust.
“Hey!”
I'm out of the car, slamming the driver's side door, running after him before I can think twice. My shoes smack angrily against the concrete with every heavy step, until both of us are illuminated by the motion sensor light mounted above the garage.
“I was just trying to help!” I scream, slapping both hands to his chest. He stumbles, but grabs hold of the banister quickly, staring at the spot on his t-shirt I just touched like it's dirty. “You may think I'm the devil, Jared, but I was the only one there to keep you from wrapping your Jeep around a tree! Me! Merrin! And I want you remember that—remember my fucking name, remember what I did—the next time you try to vilify me!”
He steps away, not acknowledging a damn word I've said, and the anger inside of me flares hotter and brighter. He grabs the hide-a-key hidden next to the porch, but before he can make his way up the stairs, I smack it out of his hand. It clatters to the ground, disappearing in the dark grass.
That gets his attention.
“Why the hell are you still here?” He tosses his arms out wide, opening himself up for the first time all night, waiting for me to take a shot at him, even though I would never, ever intentionally cause him harm. When he sneers down at me with disgust, my anger reaches a boiling point, and I know I'm about to say something extra stupid.
“You know what?” I thrust a finger in his face, going up on my tip-toes just so I can get as close to his body as he'll allow. “Maybe I did like it. Maybe it was good.”
“Get the fuck off my porch, Merrin!” he roars. “Go home!”
“NO!” I roar right back. “Because even if that were the case, even if I could remember it, whatever I did, whatever he did, whatever we did together, it still doesn't mean jack shit!”
I must know, deep down, that I have nothing left to lose, because I lunge for him. I lash out, shoving at his chest, feeling my wrists protest as he falls against the door with a thud, barely catching himself. He winces in pain, but I don't feel bad. He wanted to exchange blows, well, congratulations, they've been exchanged. I'm not sorry. I'm not remorseful, because dammit, I did deserve him. I deserved this. Us. Despite what I felt hours after waking up in Rhett's bed, I am not a bad person. I am not a monster.
As Kate pointed out, I'm merely human.
“It doesn't mean anything, Jared.” The words pour from my heart, unable to remain locked away. “Because I don't respect him, I don't care about him, and I certainly don't love him. I love you.”
There.
I said it.
And, for the first time in my life, I fucking mean every word. Even if Jared doesn't believe me. Even if Jared doesn't want to fight for what we have.
Had.
What we had.
We've both been bowed up for so long, both our literal and metaphorical fists raised in the air, that it takes me by surprise when Jared's entire body slumps forward. Like every ounce of fight within him has bled from his veins. And with nothing more than a defeated breath, he lets out a painful truth of his own.
“I want that to be enough, Merrin.”
He doesn't snarl through my name. It isn't spat like a curse. It's whispered, with reverence, and that gives me a little hope. Not a lot, but enough that I reach out and wrap my hand around his arm.
“It is,” I say, pleading for him to listen. “It is enough. I swear it is.”
To my heart's crushing dismay, Jared shakes his head. The anger that returns to his eyes eclipses my own, and I settle back on my heels, left with no other choice than to take in the full extent of this man's rage.
“Except it's fucking not.” A sorrowful smile replaces his grimace. “And you wanna know what the real kicker is, Merrin? You wanna know why this hurts so goddamn much?”
I don't.
Not at all.
But I nod anyway.
“I wasn't looking for you.” His eyes clamp shut and a fist lands against his solid chest. Directly over the heart I shattered. “I didn't want someone like you in my life. I had zero attachments, zero worries, zero strikes, and I liked it that way. I was fine—more than fine! But then there you were in that little blue dress and you reached for me. Remember?”
Yes.
I remember.
I'll remember until the day I die. I'll remember the way I lit up when my fingers brushed his skin, the way he looked at me with tenderness and curiosity, the way he woke me up and turned my entire world upside down. The way he taught me how to open up. How to live. How to laugh without restraint. How to love...
