Autumn Night Whiskey Page 3

  I could barely speak last night when I got home. It’s hard to explain how difficult it is to look into the eyes of one of your best friends and tell him you don’t accept his marriage proposal. It was more than a bruised ego that stared back at me from his baby blues. He was devastated … and I did that to him.

  “I just feel guilty,” I confess into my coffee and blow away the steady steam before taking another sip and then another. I have to tilt the cup nearly all the way back to get the last few drops. I love Robert and I always will. And he loves me; I know he does.

  “Here.” Renee gestures with the pot, offering to fill up my cup and I meet her halfway. “You shouldn’t feel guilty,” she tells me like I don’t deserve to feel like crap for putting him through that last night.

  “I’ve never turned down a proposal before, but I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to come with a few negative feelings.” I can feel my eyes roll, which is better than pricking with tears.

  Renee snorts. “Yeah, on his part.”

  Staring at Renee, her hair already brushed and looking like silk compared to my mess of a bun, I wish she understood.

  “He was talking about leaving and starting fresh.”

  We can start over. Us and Bridget. If you’re ready for more, I want it with you. I want to be with you forever, Mags.

  Remembering his confession makes me grip the counter behind me to remain upright. The words were spoken with raw vulnerability and I couldn’t stop him until he pulled out the box.

  “I wish you had been there. He sounded desperate, Renee. You should’ve seen him.” Again, Renee scoffs at the idea.

  “He wanted to leave Beaufort?” She blinks comically, both hands wrapped around the coffee mug.

  “As if I’d want to leave this place. I don’t … I don’t know where that came from.” Last night, I saw the same man who stood in front of me only a few feet away from where I am now, begging me to let him help. And just like back then, I told him no.

  “You told him no, you’re never leaving this place, right?”

  “Of course I did.” The mug clinks as I set it down on the counter. “I don’t know how he could even think of leaving. This is our home.” Renee’s eyebrow quirks at the use of “our,” but she lets it slide, opting to swallow down whatever sarcastic comment was hoping to slip out.

  “So Brody comes along and suddenly Robert wants to put down roots.” Renee’s remark drips with implication.

  Brody. Just hearing his name twists my heart.

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone, but we need to do a paternity test. I get that Robert doesn’t want the town talking, but it is what it is.”

  “The town is already talking.”

  “What?” Instantly nervous pricks settle down my neck. I hate the rumors and gossip. It’s never done a bit of good for me. More importantly, this involves my Bridget. The town gossips can keep my baby girl’s name out of their mouths.

  “I mean … it’s not a bad thing. That rumor started years ago when you came home pregnant.”

  “Right, so nothing new?” I ask her cautiously. I’m always the last to find out what people are saying.

  “Well,” Renee begins as she leans against the counter nonchalantly, “you used to just be a ho, but now you’re a nice ho with the cutest little toddler and an ‘interesting’ love life.”

  I chuckle and when I do, Renee bursts out laughing. It’s all just ridiculous. It used to get to me and, judging by my initial reaction, I still have a bit of PTSD from it, but the labels they hurl at me don’t do a thing to knock me for a loop.

  A broad smile spreads across my face and I can’t help it. “Well, they’re right that little Bridgey is the cutest.”

  “Seriously, though, it’s a good thing you told him no.” Renee doesn’t get it. He loved me when I didn’t even like the person I was. My smile dims. They can label me with a scarlet letter and all if they want; that doesn’t matter. What does matter, though, is that someone is going to get hurt. I can’t let it be my daughter. The seriousness of it all feels like it’s drowning me.

  “And what if we get the test and he’s the father?” I say the question I’m thinking out loud. “I just told him no and he very well may be her father.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s possible and you know it is.”

  “When it comes to you marrying and settling down, it doesn’t matter who the biological father is.” Renee’s answer is firm.

  “I know that,” I say, agreeing with her. “It just makes things awkward.” And he’s been there for us. The second bit stays silent on my lips. We’ve been there for each other for years.

  “It’s not awkward, it’s just … what it is. It’s real,” Renee corrects me with a tip of her mug and a raised brow.

  “Such a positive spin,” I comment dryly, feeling slightly better but I’m still an exhausted ball of anxiousness. How is that combination even possible?

  “Just call me Positive Polly.”

  As the moment ticks by, I finally pop a dry piece of cereal into my mouth, followed by another of the berry red morsels.

  “I need … I need to be able to think straight. I don’t understand why I didn’t do it sooner. Even the cheek test … like why did I cancel it?”

  “The cheek test?”

  “I ordered a swab kit in the mail and then canceled it because I’m a chicken.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she asks, stealing the bowl of cereal for herself, dragging it by its lip across the counter. I guess “cheek test” isn’t quite specific enough.

  “An at-home kit. For the paternity test.”

  “Because of Robert,” Renee states and I shake my head, denying it.

  “It’s because I feel almost certain she’s Brody’s.”

  “Well, Robert didn’t help,” she says and bites the inside of her cheek. Like she’s holding something else back.

  “Why do you hate him so much?” I’ve never questioned their relationship before. “We were all so close back in high school and after.” I would say college days, but Renee never went.

  “He broke your heart.”

  “If I can get over that, you should be able to.”

  “Yeah, well …” Renee shrugs. “Maybe one day.” Sometimes I wish people didn’t know all the history between Robert and me. Including Renee. I wish all my mistakes weren’t published on every corner of this town.

  Clearing my throat, I rest my lower back against the counter like Renee and check the clock. It’s after 8:00 a.m. and a Saturday. Of course Bridget would sleep in on the one day where I couldn’t get in a single wink.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I say while grabbing my phone from the counter.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sending out the most awkward text of my life.” The pit of my stomach argues that it’s more than awkward.

  “What are you texting?”

  “That I need them to go and get blood drawn for a paternity test.”

  “You’re texting both of them that?” Renee questions.

  “Both men in one chat,” I answer her as I press send and then add comically, “like the shameless harlot I am.”

  That comment gets a laugh and an eye roll from each of us. This town and everyone else can call me whatever names they want. I know who I am, I just don’t know what I want or what I’m supposed to do with the curveball life threw at me.

  Robert

  Asher’s garage has this nostalgic scent to it. It’s an old airplane hangar from the ’80s he and his dad converted to a garage. He saved up all the way back in high school to add all the gear he needed to start his own shop. It smells like oil, hard work and well-used machines.

  “Asher,” I call out as the gravel crunches beneath my feet at the large entrance. The garage door is up and I know he starts his day the second the sun peeks up from the skyline. I take a long look around the quiet lot, not finding him where he usually is: under the car on the lift right in front of
me.

  “Heyo,” Asher bellows from around the corner and that’s when I spot an ancient hunk of metal. It’s an engine that’s entirely too large to belong to a car, and it sits just before the door that opens onto a hall leading to more offices and storage.

  Asher catches me studying the engine as he makes his entrance, a rag in one hand, cleaning up the wrench in his other.

  “Isn’t it a beaut?” He takes a moment to nod at it.

  “Depends.” I meet my friend halfway at the engine. “What is it?”

  “For the tractor. I’m thinking it’ll pull a cart and we can have hayrides this fall.”

  An easy smile slips across my face as he slaps the side of the metal behemoth. “I just have to clean it up a bit and we should be good.” Asher’s a solid guy and a good time to hang out with, always thinking about what he can do for the community. “Hayrides for the kids and then the after-party in the hangar.”

  My lips kick up into a smirk at the thought of it. “Sounds like a good time to me.” The second floor of the hangar has seen a number of parties back in the day. I’ve missed too many of them recently.

  “You going to be here?” he asks me, tossing the used rag in a drum in the corner and grabbing a fresh one to wipe the oil from his hands. He’s almost always got black crud somewhere on him while he’s here. The citrus aroma of orange from some heavy-duty cleaner he uses fills up the space as I follow him around the interior.

  “’Course, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I heard you were thinking about eloping with Magnolia up north or something like that.” Asher smirks at me. His voice is far too casual for what feels like an assault on my heart. I know it’s not intentional. He couldn’t hide the humor from his eyes if his life depended on it. It takes me a second longer than it should to fix my expression. “I’m just fucking with you, man.” He tosses down the blue rag, this one less filthy than the previous one and his hands somewhat cleaner. The light in his eyes dims when he asks, “You doing all right, though?” He turns his back to lead the way to the register and, right in front of it, dangling sets of keys.

  One pair belongs to my car that needed an oil change and a look over.

  “Feel like shit.”

  “Over Magnolia?” he questions with sincerity. Normally I don’t like hearing anyone ask about her or talk about her. It’s none of their damn business what’s going on in Mags’s life. When it comes to Asher, though, I know he’s asking for good reason.

  “I didn’t know that’s what the word was,” I answer and then take in a deep breath. There’s no one in this town I owe a damn thing. But Asher, with all the shit that happened over the last four years, I owe him more than anyone knows.

  Clearing his throat, he snatches my keys from the pegboard and turns to look over his shoulder, a smile still lingering. “You know it’ll change by lunchtime.” He adds a wink for good measure.

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  He rattles off a number of things. Something needed replacing, another something had to be ordered, and when it’s in he’ll give me a call. It’s all business for a moment until the cash register closes and he squares his shoulders, facing me and crossing his arms over his chest.

  Asher’s a backwoods kind of guy. Grew up on motocross and hunting. He’s a straight shooter and when he peers back at me, his gaze questioning, I know he’s going to pry.

  “Heard you were going to that gallery thing, your folks going too?” he comments. His faded blue jeans are smeared with oil on the right side. His polo seems to be new, but it’s already fit for the hangar, marred with that same oil up the same side.

  “I’ll be there, but they’re not coming. Pops has backed off a lot recently.” Asher nods along, organizing something on the counter into small plastic bins.

  “How’s your mom?” he asks, his words much more careful than any others.

  “The same,” I say and I’m quick to change the subject back to the gala Mags is putting on. “Some suits are coming into town and I’m taking them to the event.”

  “Politics?” he questions, his brow arched. Anything that refers to work of any kind in government is “politics” to him and he never fails to tell me how much he hates it all. Ever since middle school he’s told me he prefers anarchy. I don’t think he really knows what it means, he’s just tired of how slow it can all be.

  “Yeah,” I answer him and lean back against an old bench. “Wining and dining. You going?”

  I have to laugh when his head rears back and he replies, “Hell no.” A few seconds later he adds with a broad smile, “I’ll be at the after-party, though.”

  “Where’s that?” I question, feeling a bit of ease that I shouldn’t trust.

  “Supposedly the backyard of the new bar.” Bingo. I knew it. He’s still sniffing around for information about Mags.

  Asher could outright ask me what’s really on his mind, and if I don’t give him what he’s after before taking those keys he’s got dangling from his fingers, I know he will.

  “Oh yeah?” I mimic his stance, crossing my arms over my chest and wait for the questions.

  “That new guy … Griffin. Seems all right,” he comments and I’m damn surprised how much my heart races and my body heats. I could’ve sworn he was going to say Brody. The tension and anxiousness are enough to make me look away from a friend I’ve known my whole life. Just the idea that Asher holds any opinion of him at all makes me uneasy.

  “Yeah, I met him. Looked up him and his friend when they filled out paperwork for the licensing.”

  “Haven’t met that one yet.”

  “Brody?” My body’s rigid and my jaw tight, but somehow I manage to say his name.

  “Yeah … I take it you have?” he prompts.

  Staring down at the place in the cement floor where I helped him fix a crack a year or two ago, I answer, “He’s all right.”

  Asher stares at me a moment, his gaze drilling holes in the side of my head. “So he’s all right?”

  It fucking kills me to confess, “I wish I could tell you he’s not. Believe me.”

  His ever-present smile fades as the curiosity and questions settle in the faint laugh lines around his eyes. Like me, he’s in his mid-twenties. Asher’s a bachelor and a read-between-the-lines kind of man.

  “They should be opening soon. It looks like it’ll be a fun place.”

  “Yeah, I reckon it will be.” I rub the stubble at my jaw. If I wanted, I could tell this whole town that Brody’s not welcome. I could start it right here, right now, with my friend Asher. He’s on my side and he’s a damn good friend. But if I did that, I’d be a liar and Mags would never forgive me.

  “So, you coming then?” Every question seems carefully worded. “To the after-party.”

  Clearing my throat, I’m equally careful with my response. “Only if I get everyone on board to sign this education budget shift … and if I’m invited.”

  Asher nods slowly and seems to bite his tongue. I’m not sure if he wants to spare my feelings but fuck it, I left my heart bleeding on a table last night. There’s not much more damage Asher could do.

  “You’ve been dancing around something. Just spit it out.” Feeling a tightening in my chest, I force myself to add, more calmly, “You know I’ll tell you.”

  “You really asked her to marry you? Miss Jones said there was a ring box on the table at dinner.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I nod, my eyes closed. “Yeah, I did.”

  “And she said no?”

  I’m quick to correct him. “She said it’s too soon.” There’s still hope. I may be a fool for holding on to it, but there’s still hope.

  “How long have you been seeing her?” he asks and I don’t know how to answer.

  My throat’s tight and I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, looking past the parking lot to the thicket of trees just beyond it. There’s a slight chill in the early morning air.

  “Really, man? Friends for how long, and you know I know
.”

  “You know what, exactly?” I ask and my question comes out defensively. For a moment I think he knows about it all. Every sordid detail. Even the reason I broke up with her in the first place. I never should have gone against my gut and trusted my father. I knew it was a mistake. Still, it’s hard to blame my father, or anyone other than myself. None of what happened next was supposed to happen.

  “That you never stopped being sweet on her.”

  “Yeah, well … yeah. Not much else to say.”

  “So … is she going to say yes or what? You single or not?”

  “It’s whatever she wants.” Staring off into the trees, I pretend the box in my jacket pocket isn’t burning against my palm.

  “And if it was up to you?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked her if I didn’t mean it.” My tone’s harsher than I’d like it to be, my words curter.

  “True. I’m sorry to bring it up. I didn’t realize ...”

  “Not your fault. It’s not like I told anyone what’s between us.”

  “Your mother?” he questions, once again bringing her up.

  “Hell no … No one.”

  “Not to sound like an ass,” Asher starts and I side-eye him, certain he’s going to sound exactly like an ass, “but did you tell Magnolia what’s between you two?”

  I can’t help the laugh that leaves me from deep in my chest. “She knows,” I say and smile at him, but it’s forced. “I thought she knew how much—” The words are cut off, stuck at the back of my throat.

  “Well … you know she knows now.”

  “Of that, I am most definitely aware.” Licking my lower lip, I think that’s the end of it, but Asher presses on.

  “Guess you should’ve asked her before Mr. Paine showed up, huh? That’s his name: Brody Paine?”

  His questions answer my own regarding just how much he knows. That blow to the chest I was expecting earlier hits hard. I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.

  “Yeah … guess I should have.”

  Brody

  Griffin’s muted laughter is at complete odds with my wince as I peel off the tape and gauze, ripping out several pieces of hair on my arm along with the tape.