Life on the Level (33 page)

“Taylor,” I hiss. I grab my box and turn around. I wouldn’t have put it past Taylor to go through my contacts. Maybe even respond to the anonymous messages I was receiving. I had also texted Sky and Leti my new private e-mail and information.

“River,” Helen says. “They’re going to find him.”

“He’s probably in Canada right now.”

“Well, when the dust settles, there are programs I can recommend. I know things haven’t been what you expected, but you’ve worked too hard to throw it all away. I should have trusted you.”

I look at Helen, someone with all her awards and diplomas. Someone who’s so adult she gets to run things and make decisions. No matter how much I try, I don’t think I’ll ever get there.

“Don’t worry about me, Helen.”

• • •

Hutch follows me out into the parking lot. I throw my things onto the passenger seat.

“River—”

“No, listen to me. I will never be able to thank you enough for doing what you did. I’ll pay you back. All of it. I have some money from my dad’s health insurance. It felt like blood money, and that’s coming from someone who’s actually had blood on her money.”

“River—”

“I just need space, okay? I just need to think and be alone.”

He grabs my elbow. It takes everything in me to stay standing. It takes all of my strength not to collapse into his arms and let him take me home. But I pull away, and I wish I could look away from the hurt on his face.

“The entire time I was here, I was trying to be a better person. Someone who rode horses and went camping and roasted marshmallows. But that’s just a dream. I’m a mess. I’m the thing that you get when a train and a semitruck collide. I am who I am, and, you know what? Maybe that’s not so bad.”

“I love who you are.” He takes a step closer, and bends his head down.

“Who do you think I can be? What kind of job am I supposed to get with my prints on file? Or with my references? I think you aren’t seeing the reality of this. You aren’t seeing who I really am.”

I unlock my car. I feel the pull that’s always there between us.

“You think I don’t know that my career is over? I know.”

I shake my head. “You’re just lost in the fairy tale of us.”

“Believe me, River—from the minute you set foot in my office, I knew it was over. For me it was never a choice between you or my career. You were always more important. You will
always
be the most important person to me.”

I rake my fingers through my hair and tug. I can’t breathe. I see him and only him. I don’t want to. Then again, I don’t really know what I want.

I will never be done with you.

“It’s done,” I say. “Everything I tried to keep together has unraveled. That’s all I know how to do.”

I open my door and get in the driver’s seat. He tells me I shouldn’t drive. He tells me to stay here for a little while. But I need to move.

“If you don’t let go, I will run you over.”

“I’ll be damned if I let you walk away from me.”

He looks like he’s ready to pick me up and take me away. Maybe there’s a little part of me that wants that too. But the rest of me wants to keep running until I figure out what I need. I peel out of the parking lot, bumping into his hip. I glance in the rearview mirror. He gets up. I hit the gas.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ve already damned myself enough for the both of us.”

I white-knuckle grip the wheel and hit the gas. I’m not even sure which direction I took when I left Hutch standing in the HCRC driveway. Everything looks the same. When I see a sign for Missoula, I know I’m heading back north.

I head to an ATM and take out so much cash that the person in line behind me watches me with wide eyes. I check myself into a motel downtown at fifty dollars a night. I throw my things on my bed and go through the inventory again.

Eyelash curler.

Clothes.

Pills.

Flask.

Money.

I find a slightly crushed cigarette in the pocket of one of my shirts. I push everything into a pile, then lie next to it. The bed is too soft, and smells like chemicals and stale cigarette smoke. I hurt from my heart to the tips of my toes. I keep seeing the way Hutch’s face looked when I told him I’d damned us. He was the person who broke through my walls. One thing went wrong (well, lots of things all at once), and I rebuilt those walls in a
second
. If I close my eyes, I think of his kisses. If I open my eyes, I think of the warmth of him against me. I wish my mind was cloudy. I wish I could push away all the hurt and worry and the strangled feeling in my chest.

I really tried.

“Fuck it.” I uncap my bottle of pills and take one out. When I pop it into my mouth, there’s a minty taste on my tongue. That fucking bastard. Taylor tried to sell me back my own pills!

I growl to myself, then twist off the top of my flask. I breathe in the sweet smell of Irish whiskey, my daddy’s favorite. At least Taylor didn’t take this.

“Bottoms up, Dad.”

I bring the cold metal to my lips and drink deep.

• • •

When I get to the Golden Rose, the whiskey has burned its way through my veins. I’m lightheaded and pleasantly buzzed. There’s even a smile on my face.

God, I’m such a lightweight. There was a time I could put away half a bottle and still be standing. Now, I smile at the bouncer and flash him my ID.

“Clara!” I say, holding my hands up in the air.

The bartender looks so much better after a shower and fresh makeup. Her hair is high, and her lips are pinup-girl red. “River Thomas. Of all the dives, you had to walk into mine.”

I drum my fingers on the bar top. The crowd is a mix of college kids and old timers. There are two pool tables and a jukebox blasting classic rock, and the lighting is so dim you have to squint to see your hand in front of you.

The guy next to me has a pornstache, and smokes an unfiltered cigarette. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Nope.”

Clara turns her head back and cackles in that way of hers. “What’s your poison?”

“What do you think?”

She looks me up and down. Grabs a bottle of amber liquid and pours me a glass, with a soda on the side.

Before I drink it, she sets her hand on mine. “You sure?”

“I’m sure my poison is whiskey. I’m sure I’m probably poison, too.”

She smiles, but only shakes her head a little, before returning to cleaning a glass. I shiver a little bit as I drink it. It’s been a long time. Why did I even like this stuff in the first place? It burns all the way down. Then I start to feel the pleasant warmth that comes after, and I remember.
That’s why
.

I look around at the people here. Mustachio beside me keeps looking at me. He drinks a Budweiser and nods his head to Johnny Cash.

“What’s your story?” he asks me.

Ugh. You’d think guys get better lines the older they get.

“Don’t have one,” I say, drinking my soda. I really should’ve eaten today. “Hey, Clara. I heard from a little taxi bird that this is the place for a card game.”

Her red lips curl, but there’s sadness in her eyes. I know she doesn’t really want to serve me, but I know where she’s coming from. People make their own choices, and you just have to let them. Besides, she’s not my mother. She’s not going to stop me.

“If you’ve got the buy-in. Tonight’s a bit of a new crowd, so you’ll fit right in.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She cocks her head to the side and leaves the bar in the hands of a young guy who has a faster pour than anyone I’ve ever seen. Clara leads me to the women’s bathroom, then past another door.

“Don’t usually get girls here,” she says. “You sure you want to do this? The guys who play, they play to win big. If anything goes wrong, well, we can’t exactly call the cops, because this room doesn’t exist.”

“Never been afraid before,” I say. “I know how this works. Besides, everything I learned, I learned from my daddy.”

“Yeah, well, so did I, and look how I turned out.”

I’m not sure what she means, but she unlocks the door. She sticks her head in the room and gives the bouncer a thumbs-up.

“Dealer,” the brute of a man at the door shouts.

I scan the room before I sit down. There are at least six games going on at the same time. A withered old man serves as the bartender. A bison head is tacked up on one wall, and a buck deer on the other. My eyes burn a little from the haze of cigars, but I inhale it deeply. This is where I belong.
This one’s for you, daddy.

There’s an old man with a long white mustache and a leather cowboy hat. He glances at me with his pale blue eyes, and I can see him smirk, like he’s thinking I’m an easy mark. I’m blonde and a girl, and I’ve gotten that my whole life. When I come to places like this, I never smile. I keep my eyes hard and steely, just like my daddy used to.

There’s a guy in his thirties, with days of scruff. You can tell he hasn’t left in at least twenty-four hours. He glances up at me, scratches the back of his hand, then looks at the pot. He’s got a handful of chips, maybe a couple hundred bucks.

“Fold.”

The only other woman at the table, and maybe in the room, is decked out in some Dolly Parton outfit. She looks pretty boss with her big hair and fat, glossy lips. She’s doing pretty well. She smiles a lot, though, which is the opposite of my tactic. She takes a stack of chips and adds them to the pile. I love the sound of them clinking against each other.

“Raise.”

The mustached man flicks his cards onto the table. “Fold.”

Another dude, this one in an old band T-shirt and Montana Grizzlies baseball cap, folds. He gets up and goes to the bar.

I keep walking around the table to get a look at the other players. My heart stops when I see him.

Taylor looks up from his cards with a cringe-worthy smirk.

“Hey, River Thomas.”

I breathe deep to steady my nerves. I want to jump across this table and pummel his face.

“You call, or what?” the dealer asks. He’s a sturdy old man with slicked-back hair. I remember him from the barn. He was the one that reminded me of my father. I like him all the more for not having any of Taylor’s stalling.

Taylor pushes in an even bigger stack of chips. “Call and raise.”

Someone whistles.

He’s bullshitting. He’s buying the pot. They go around the room one more time, and everyone folds. Because he doesn’t have to show his cards, he just scoops up the chips and starts stacking them away. From the side glares and short mumbles, I can tell he’s not exactly a favorite.

“You in, Blondie?” the dealer asks me.

I hand him a wad of bills and wait for him to count them. I take a seat, making me the seventh player. The whole time, Taylor watches me.

“Have a good night?” Taylor asks me.

“You two know each other?” the woman who looks like Dolly Parton asks me. She’s to my right, and a guy who looks like Willie Nelson is to my left.

“Unfortunately,” I say.

“Empire State over here’s just cross that a small town hick outsmarted her.”

I lean back in my seat and tilt my head to the side, zero bullshit. I want to tell him that I know a few cops that would be happy to know where he is right now. But mentioning cops would make
me
the one no one likes. I thank Clara for forcing me to drink that tall glass of soda after my shot. My head starts to clear, which isn’t always the best feeling. I start to feel like Hutch is everywhere. The old painting of horses on the walls reminds me of riding. The deep brown wooden walls remind me of his dark stare. Every remotely young guy with a full head of thick, black hair makes my heart jump.

Regret, you are my least favorite friend.

Still, I shake it off and take the second deck of cards the dealer hands me. I break and shuffle while keeping my eyes level with Taylor’s acid green ones. I
missed
this sound. Hell, if I ever really get clean I’ll probably take up being a magician just to have a deck of cards.

When Grizzly Hat comes back, we play. I fold my first two hands because I have zero possibilities. My daddy was, for the most part, a tight player. He stayed in if he had strong hands. But the thing that made him great was that he knew how to read people. Not just at poker tables, but in everyday life. He was a small-town conman in a big city.

“Call or fold, Blondie?” the dealer asks.

I’m caught off guard. I can’t sink into reminiscing about my dad. I have to keep my head in the game. I pick up the corner of my cards. Dolly and Blue Eyes are out, and Willie and Taylor are in.

I knock my knuckles on the green, signaling I call.

“Not much of a talker,” Grizzly Hat tells me.

“Oh, she talks,” Taylor says. “She’s just had a rough time lately.”

The dealer makes a face. “I hate when we get couples.”

I glance around the table to make sure all eyes are on me. I scoff, holding my cards close to my chest. This time, I let a grin creep on my face. “Couple? He wishes.”

This makes everyone snort and laugh at Taylor’s expense, which he most definitely doesn’t like. The dealer burns a card, then there’s the turn. I know Taylor’s full of shit because I have two kings and an ace kicker. He should’ve folded a long time ago. I add four hundred to the pot.

“You sure you want to do this?” I ask him.

He calls and adds another hundred, which I know is just for show. He’s trying to scare me off.

Burn, and then there’s the river. Another king. I have four pair with an ace kicker. He’d have to have a flush to beat me, and considering everyone’s already folded, I’m sure he doesn’t. If I don’t smile at all, then he smiles too much.

I check, deciding not to bet. I want to see his cards. He raises, expecting me to fold.

Everyone sits back, eyes flicking from me to Taylor like pendulums. I exhale deeply. I drum my fingertips on the table, just like my daddy used to when he wanted to run out the clock. At the very last second, the dealer warns me.

“Call.” I add a handful of chips into the pot. “Show me what you’ve got, Taylor.”

His face falls. He doesn’t move.

“Come on, son,” Willie Nelson says.