The front door opens and a beagle runs out, tail wagging so hard his whole body shakes. I reach down and pet the dog, who jumps into my lap and licks my face.
“Hey, guys,” Melissa says, coming out after the dog. “I had an idea since it’s not every day I have two strong men in the house.”
Josh gives her a look, but can’t hold the fake anger for long. His face breaks into a smile, and I can’t help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy to see the way he’s looking at her. Not because I have the hots for Melissa, that’s not it at all. And I’m not jealous of Josh per se, but of this whole situation.
A wife.
A family.
A stable home full of people who love you.
Living in the same town, surrounded by the same people day after day.
And being happy with it.
Maybe unsettled is a better term to use than jealous. Because seeing him like this is making me want something similar too.
“What do you have in mind?” Josh asks.
“We should switch Dakota’s bed to her big-girl bed before the twins arrive, so it’s not a bunch of change at once. We’ve had that new bedroom set for over a month now and haven’t put it together.”
“That is a good idea.” Josh looks at me. “The set was delivered into the barn, so we’ll have to carry it up, assemble it, and take her old furniture out. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” I take a long drink of my beer and get up.
“You sure? Saying it out loud makes me realize how awful it’s going to be.”
I laugh. “I have nothing else to do. And you’re family. It’s what we do, right?”
It’s nearing ten o’clock when I finally leave Josh’s house. We ran into a bit of trouble putting the new bed together since several small parts were missing and we had to improvise. Mrs. Henson left not long after we started moving furniture, and Melissa stayed downstairs with Dakota, leaving just Josh and me to do the heavy lifting. It might sound weird to say I enjoyed it, but I did. Having that time to just hang out with my brother, helping him with something as mundane as a new bedroom set for his daughter was nice. Normal. Maybe I can get used to this after all.
The bar parking lot is full, and I slowly drive through the uneven rows of parked cars and trucks—mostly trucks—and park around back near the rear entrance to the place. I shut off the car and grab my phone, hesitating for a moment before getting out.
I haven’t listened to a single message since I found out Sierra was the mystery woman. Moral dilemmas aren’t things I typically waste time with, but this time I don’t know what’s right. On one hand, I’ve already listened to a handful of messages. What’s the harm in listening to more? But on the other, the messages are intimate. Not meant for anyone to hear, especially not me.
I open my voicemail and look at the display, noticing that the next message to listen to was left exactly a year ago today. I don’t believe in fate, but come on…this is a pretty big coincidence. With no hesitation, I press play.
“Happy birthday,” Sierra whispers. “I just…I wanted to tell…” She starts crying and the phone goes dead.
There are few things in life that I regret. That’s not to say I’ve never made a bad decision—I do those almost daily—but I deal with it and move on.
Right now, I’m regretting listening to that message. Because now I know today is Sierra’s dead boyfriend’s birthday, and the hurt is still there. Hearing her cry, even when it was a year ago, upsets me for some reason, and I can’t get the ball of dread to leave my stomach. The sick feeling rises, tightening my chest.
I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.
I get out of the car and exhale. A shining blanket of stars covers the night sky. Around the back of The Mill House, the sounds of the bar are muted, like distant memories escaping with the breeze. The woods are alive with a chorus of bugs, and the steady sound of rushing water from the river soothes my soul.
And I still can’t get Sierra out of my head.
Instead of going right up the stairs to my apartment, I go into the bar with the intention of making myself a Jack and Coke before trying my best to pass out and not think of her.
Turns out, going into the bar was the second stupid mistake of the night.
She’s there.
Alone.
Sitting in a corner booth with two empty glasses in front of her. Her eyes are glossy. She’s sad. And I know why.
Dammit.
Corey, a large man with small, dark eyes and a friendly smile, brings her another drink. I watch Sierra slide it in front of her and gulp a fourth down before taking a breath. She needs to slow down. Drinking away your problems—your feelings—isn’t the way to go. Trust me. Been there, done that.
I cross the room and go behind the bar, finding Corey working on another drink order.
“Hey, Chase!” He gives a wave. “I thought you were off tonight.”
“I am. Just passing through. How many drinks has Sierra had?” I ask, cutting right to the chase.
“Uh,” Corey looks up as he thinks. He’s one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet but is definitely not the smartest. “Three.”
“What is she drinking?”
“The first was a Long Island. Second was a mint Julep. And I just brought her another Long Island.”
“Jesus. Why didn’t you cut her off?”
Corey gives me a blank stare. “She ordered them.”
“That’s a lot of alcohol for anyone, let alone someone Sierra’s size.” I shake my head. Now’s not the time to scold Corey. Rayne, the head cocktail waitress, was supposed to be helping him with stuff like this tonight anyway.
I fill a glass with water and grab a plate of French fries from the kitchen, and weave my way through the crowd to the back of the bar. Sierra is gone. Her drink is still on the table, half empty. Panic rises inside of me, knowing what she’s going through and how drinking alone is the worst thing for her. I whirl around, sloshing the water down my hand, and find her standing with some random couple, who just ordered a tray of tequila shots.
“Sierra!” I call over the music. A song about a red Solo cup comes on and everyone goes crazy. My voice is lost in the cheers. I shove past someone and call her name again.
Sierra turns, lowering the shot from her lips. “Chase.”
“I brought you food,” I offer, able to tell right away that she’s wasted. She’s wearing another interesting outfit, though I’d be lying if I said the tight pink skirt didn’t look good on her. The tank top she has on hugs her curves as well and shows off her large breasts perfectly. It’s the big screen-print of a cat on the front that throws me.
“I’m not hungry,” she says and turns away. I set the food down and take her arm. She looks back, eyes going to my fingers gently wrapped around her skin.
“I thought you said you were here alone,” the guy from the couple says gruffly. He has his arm draped around his girlfriend, and is eyeing Sierra with obvious lust…and so is the girlfriend. I don’t like the look of either of them and know their intentions with Sierra aren’t noble.
“I am. Alone. Very alone,” Sierra slurs. “Chase works here and brought me food. But,” she starts and holds up her hand, closing one eye as she tries to look closely at me. “He doesn’t know I like to dip my fries in cheese and not ketchup.”