Whiskey Tears, page 22
“God, no. I had to get out after a year or so. I’m kinda between jobs right now. And no, that doesn’t mean I’m unemployed.”
“So, you’re employed then? What’s your job?”
Of course she would pick up on that tidbit and turn it around. “I’m not working at the moment,” I start, interrupted by Adley.
“Oh, you’re unemployed?”
I don’t even know how to explain my situation.
The truth might be a good place to start, my mind yells at me.
“Several months after Macy died, my parents were killed in a freak boating accident.” Adley covers her loud gasp with a hand to her mouth, but I press on. “The only heir left, I got everything, my grandfather’s money, all of it.” So many years later, it still stings to say the words. “I went on a spending bender soon after and spent about half a million in less than six months. But it’s pennies to what’s in the estate. And since I was of age—at this point, it wouldn’t have mattered if I wasn’t—I didn’t need to keep the job any longer. One day, I walked in, packed up my desk, and left. Never looked back and burned every suit I owned. I am not built for corporate America.”
Adley listens with rapt attention, hanging on my every word. I glossed over a lot of what happened, exactly what I bought with the money, too ashamed to admit it aloud, especially to her.
“Wow. That’s, that’s quite a story. I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how tough that must have been.”
“It wasn’t easy, that’s for damn sure.” The words leave my mouth in a tone I don’t mean for them to have. As evidenced by the brow raise and startled look on her face, she wasn’t expecting it either. “I’m sorry. But yeah, it was rough.”
I don’t elaborate anymore, again needing a change of subject. As if she can tell, she prods, “How do you spend your time now?”
I hem and haw with how I want to tell her how I spend my time. I’m not ashamed or anything, nor do I not want her to know. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’d be impressed.
“Woodworking.”
As predicted, her eyes light up. “That’s awesome. Still the cute little animals?”
“Those are still my hobbies, but I’ve attempted some larger projects in the past two years. My latest project is a matching set of twin beds.”
Her eyebrows raise to the top of her hairline. “You make furniture? Ethan, that’s amazing.”
Her reaction is exactly why I don’t share my work with people I know. Because I don’t want to seem too proud. I’ve been given this gift, this talent, as well as the means to fund the hobby. I hate when it sounds like I’m bragging, even if I never am.
A shy smile to accept her praise. “Thanks. I’m grateful to get to pick and choose my projects. There are days I don’t touch a tool. I only take clients who are willing to be patient with me. It’s a luxury I’m afforded with the money.”
Some days I think my grandfather would turn over in his grave if he knew what I was doing because of his money. Those are the days when the grief of my past, the mistakes I made, get to me, the days I don’t get any work done.
Jeremy’s back with another refill for Adley. While she graciously accepts it, I notice how she politely pushes it to the side, not even taking a sip of the new one.
“So, ready to order dinner?”
Adley rattles off what she wants. Not in the mood for much, I order a burger and fries.
“He’ll have a side of onion rings, too,” Adley tacks on to my order. When I don’t question it, Jeremy jots it down and scurries off.
Our conversation returns back to her job. Back in school, I never saw Adley talk passionately about any one topic, but her face fills with elation as she speaks about her tasks at Perfectly Polished Events, even more so when she talks about her boss, Tina. Eventually, she finishes off the second drink, while I’m still nursing my first.
She wastes no time digging into the food when it arrives, thankfully keeping the moans and noises to a minimum. Over dinner, she tells me more about Tyler, her parents, being back in Georgia. Though her stint in Rhode Island was short-lived, she goes on and on about how much she misses certain aspects of it, like no time has passed as she recalls vivid details of her time there.
It’s my turn to listen attentively—or as effectively as I can. My thoughts run amok with the information overload, how she’s able to speak about so much in such a short amount of time.
By the time it’s time for dessert, I don’t wait for her to order, taking the reins.
“Two pieces of cannoli,” I tell Jeremy. A nod from Adley confirms she’s okay with my order.
“I have a confession,” she begins as soon as Jeremy leaves. Biting her bottom lip into her mouth, she admits, “I ate cannoli for breakfast.”
I can’t help but laugh at her admission, even though I can tell she’s embarrassed by it.
“Are you confessing because you ate it as breakfast or because you already had it today?”
“Both?”
Rather than indulge her, I give one of my own. “I have a confession. Cannoli is the only sweet I tend to eat these days.”
That gets her attention. “Stop.”
My hand covers my heart. “Swear it. I think your family is on to something.”
“I can’t believe you would keep that up. Why?” Her shock is apparent, and so freaking adorable. I have to continuously remind myself she’s not mine anymore, if she ever was. And there’s a good chance she won’t ever be mine.
“I don’t have a really good answer for you,” I begin honestly. “Maybe it was a day I was feeling really down on life, missing Macy, missing you. But for whatever reason, I grabbed one from the local café, and it made me feel so much better. The next time I felt down, I did it again, and then, voila, it was a thing in my life too.”
Her facial expressions don’t change much during my speech. And I would notice the tiniest change as I stare at her. I can’t help but stare at her.
“I kinda get it. Why do you think I kept all the hoodies?”
“Do you have all of them?” I challenge, needing to know the answer.
Slowly, her head begins to bob up and down, in slow motion, almost ashamed of her answer. “I only keep one in my drawers, have made it part of my wardrobe. The rest are tucked away for special days. Days I miss us, errr, you, the most. Like today.” She stops speaking, breaking our eye contact, glancing over the railing at the horizon. I can’t tell if she’s crying, but her sorrow definitely shrouds her facial expression now.
I allow a few minutes of silence to pass. “What’s today?”
“The day I lost the baby.” Her voice is small, so unsure, scared almost. As if I would be mad at her for something.
Her words throw my thoughts into a tailspin. I replay yesterday’s conversation in my head, wondering if I remember her telling me this piece of information. It would be something I remembered, right?
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, for the baby. But more importantly, I’m sorry I was an asshole who couldn’t see beyond his grief, beyond losing Macy the way I did, for being so angry with her for choosing to end her life. But I should have been stronger for us. For you. You deserved better. So for it all, I apologize.”
Pouring my heart on the line, I wait for her reaction. The butterflies return, so warranted this time knowing where this conversation could head—to a place I won’t, that’s for damn sure.
When she speaks again, her voice isn’t much stronger. “Mostly I wanted to know if you were all right. I still cared deeply for you and would have given you the time and space to work through your stuff, but you didn’t even give me a chance. You just disappeared.”
“Every day, I wanted to text or call you. At least in the beginning. But then I’d think about what I did, how I abandoned you, and I thought for sure you’d hate me. Every day that passed, the anger you must have felt toward me could only grow. In turn, I let my own anger fest inside.”
She nods along in understanding, even though I would bet she doesn’t understand where I’m coming from. Hell, I’m impressed she’s even listening.
“I had to get out of Rhode Island,” I continue. “I went home to California, to ‘help’ my mother deal with Macy’s death. Not like I was much help in the emotional state I was in, but I pretended. Every day I stayed away, the easier it was to convince myself not to go back.
“Eventually I had to get back to work, but then my parents died, and well, you know how that went.”
This time when she speaks, it’s a little more sympathetic, a little spunkier. “I was so mad at you for so long. But on the other hand, I wasn’t because you gave me this new life. And I still had a piece of you. Until it was taken away too.” She finally looks my way, her eyes meeting mine. “Some days after the miscarriage, it was so hard to even get out of bed. I kept blaming myself, for going after you in the first place, for falling for you when you clearly warned me you couldn’t give me what I wanted, for letting myself get caught up in you. For loving you.”
Her brutal honesty punches a hole in my gut. All my emotions from the past six years flood me, making me almost sick I could treat her this way.
I say the only thing I can: “I’m so sorry. I hope you can believe me. I was spiraling.”
“That’s the thing,” she interrupts. “I could see you spiraling, and I wanted to help. Never in a million years did I think you could treat me the way you did. Because the man I fell in love with, the one you shared with me over the few short months, would never do that.”
“And yet, I did.”
She nods again. “You did.” I think she’s finished, but she keeps going. “And yet, the guy I fell in love with is in there. I’ve seen pieces of him last night, today, hell the day at the hospital. But I’m guessing the man who disappeared without a trace is still there too.”
I want to tell her so badly he’s gone, but I’d be lying. And I can’t lie to her. Not now. Not about this.
It’s my turn to nod.
Our conversation is cut short with the delivery of our dessert. Adley takes one look at the plate, then chugs the rest of her drink. I’ve lost count of how many she’s had, though it can’t be any more than three.
“I think maybe it’s best if we take this to go, each take a piece.”
God, I’m so not done with her by any means. Even with this heavy conversation we’re having, I’m not done. Not by a long shot. But I promised myself I would follow her lead tonight, so that’s what I have to do.
“Yeah, okay. If you think that’s best.”
“You could disagree with me, Ethan,” she suggests daringly. “Tell me I don’t get to make all the rules.” Her eyes blink rapidly, but I think that’s more to do with the alcohol she’s imbibed.
“And if I say we should stay, eat dessert, have another drink, you’ll be okay with that?”
“What’s one more drink?”
I know she’s on her way to being drunk, but she’s holding it together pretty well. Adult Adley can hold her whiskey, which is strange to me. Stranger because I didn’t know it, not because of the actual fact.
“How are you going to get home?”
“I didn’t drive here. Uber. You?” There’s more suggestion in her proposal this time as she ups the ante.
My mind debates the pros and cons of staying versus leaving. Adley waits patiently for my answer, as patiently as a girl who’s downed a few whiskeys can wait.
Caving, I finally give in. “One. More. And you bet I’ll be driving you home. I won’t put you in an Uber in your state.
“I’m not drunk, pal. But since you said only one more, you won’t get to see Drunk Adley tonight. She’s kinda fun. Maybe next time.” Jeremy materializes with a refill. Looking up at him, she drawls, “He says this is my last one. But thanks for keeping my glass full throughout dinner.”
“My pleasure.” With the same smile he’s worn all night, he swipes the empty one and points to my beer.
“I’m good. Gotta drive the lady home.”
His gaze flits between the two of us, finally landing on Adley’s. “Know where I can find one of him for myself? He seems like a keeper.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” she counters.
Ouch.
Clearly she holds her alcohol very well.
The smile fades fast, and Jeremy takes his cue to leave.
Once he’s gone, Adley sighs, collapsing against the back of her chair. “That was kinda harsh. Sorry.” Her tone doesn’t quite match the words she speaks, as if she thinks she should apologize but isn’t really quite sorry.
“Don’t apologize for being honest. It doesn’t suit you.”
Letting my words hang in the air, she breaks off a piece of cannoli and stuffs it in her mouth. Rather than focus on the way she chews and swallows it, I grab my own piece and take a bite. And almost spit it back out.
“As much as I never do this, the rest is all yours.” To demonstrate her point, she pushes the plate toward me. As if I want to eat any more of the tasteless dessert.
“Have you ever had one as bad as this?” I inquire.
Before replying, she sips her drink, washing away the bad taste in her mouth. Can’t say I blame her. “Oh yeah, for sure. But for the life of me, I can’t remember where.” A hiccup escapes, along with a girly giggle. “And I just crossed over the line into tipsy.” She declares this as if she were telling me the weather.
Hiccup. Giggle. Sip of whiskey.
Hiccup. Giggle. Sip of whiskey.
Repeat.
Jeremy drops off the bill somewhere in the midst of her little giggling fest. When she notices it, she says, “I’m totally going to let you buy dinner, Mr. Trust Fund.”
I know she means it as a joke, but it falls flat considering what we talked about tonight, though I had no intention of not paying.
Instead of apologizing, when she opens her mouth to speak, all that comes out is “Oops. My bad.” Then, as if she can’t escape fast enough, she pushes the chair back from the table. “I’m going to the bathroom.” She hops out of the chair, bracing herself on the table from falling down. With another one of those girly giggles, she says, “Guess all the whiskey got to me after all. Meet you in the front?” She doesn’t wait for a response—either she figures I’ll meet her there or I’m too slow to respond—but saunters off, a tad unsteady.
Figuring she may need some help, I quickly pay the bill, leaving a generous tip for Jeremy for keeping her glass full, then make my way inside to the back of the restaurant where the bathrooms are. Being a gentleman and not a total creeper, I wait outside the women’s restroom.
A few minutes pass and she finally emerges. Her head down smoothing something on her shirt, she bumps right into me.
“Oh, hey. Fancy meeting you here.”
Hiccup. Giggle.
“Come on. Let me get you home.”
On her own—or maybe it’s the alcohol causing her body to tilt into mine—she leans into me. “You smell so good. Different than I remember. What changed?”
I want to say everything. Everything changed the day I didn’t text or call her back. Instead, I choose to say nothing, holding her up as we walk out to the car.
Helping her into the passenger seat, I get a sense of déjà vu, a feeling like I’ve done this before. Which I have.
As I slide into the driver’s seat, I shove down those memories of the night after the hotel in Newport. It serves no purpose to bring them up now, to even compare the two nights.
As I said, everything’s changed between us.
“What’s your address?” I ask pulling up the GPS.
She incoherently mumbles something, of which I only catch the street name. At least it’s a start.
The drive is mostly quiet except for the low volume background music, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Mine flipping between the past, the last few days, and where we go from here. Can we go somewhere from here? Or is this how our relationship ends?
“I hope it’s not how we end,” she whispers, barely audible. I wonder how she read my mind but then realize I must have said it aloud. Heather says I tend to do it a lot, without realizing what I’m saying.
Before I can control my words, I wonder, “Where do you see this ending?”
Stopped at a light, I peek over at her. Her eyes are closed, glazed over no doubt from the whiskey, and her breathing is slow, as if she’s on the verge of sleep. Which I hope isn’t the case because I have no clue where she actually lives.
“Hey, Adley. Don’t fall asleep on me yet. Need to get you home first.”
“And then I can sleep on you?”
Her words are coherent, not a trace of confusion as to what she’s saying, and based on how quickly she responded, she understood my question.
“Sure. Then you can go to sleep. In your bed.”
“On you?” she adds, again totally taking part in the conversation.
Her comment causes mixed reactions from my body—my cock stands at half-mast, my back stiffens.
Interesting.
Blowing out a breath, I wonder how to best answer her. “How about we’ll see?”
“That usually means no in my world.”
I stifle a laugh. This girl, I swear.
Since she’s apparently so coherent, I repeat, “What’s your address?” This time she answers clear as day and at the next light, I type it into Maps. It’s about a ten-minute ride, all of which is spent without conversation. Until “Slow Dance in a Parking Lot” comes on the radio.
“Ho-ly shit. Stop the car.” Adley shoots up to a more seated position, too fast. “Whoa. That was stupid.” She tries again, a little slower, still sloppy, but clearly not as jarring. “I love this song.” She turns the dial up.
Ever since I first heard it, it’s brought back memories of that night. The same one I’m trying really hard to forget at the moment. An almost impossible task given everything taking place.
“Ethan, pull over. It’s a sign. We need to dance.”
A sardonic laugh escapes me. “Um, no Adley. We do not need to dance. We need to get you home, in bed.”
