Up In Flames (19 page)

I had to shoulder through a couple of broad shouldered guys sporting flannel shirts with cut off sleeves and a pair of mullets that were obviously their pride and joy. They shot me irritated looks until their glossy eyes adjusted.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the one on my right said, leering at me in a way that made my skin crawl. “I don’t recall seeing you around these parts.” He burped and the alcohol fumes that came at me could have singed my nose hair if I had any.

I motioned at the bartender. The sooner I got my drink, the sooner I could get away from Backwoods and Trailer Park.

“I’ve obviously been missing out,” I said, not even trying to mask my sarcasm. These two were too drunk to pick up on tone and subtle nuances anyways.

The other one grabbed his hubcap sized belt buckle and nudged me. “You want to see just exactly what you’ve been missing out on, honey?”

I wrinkled my nose. “From where I’m standing,” I said, doing a quick scan of flannel, mullet dude, “it doesn’t look like I’ve been missing out on much.”

Walking into this place had bolstered my bravery. Or stupidity. Knowing I was seconds away from drowning everything gave me an edge I’d never had before.

“I like a girl with a smart mouth,” the guy said, staring at my mouth before licking his lips. “Especially when that smart mouth is sucking on my—”

“You two assholes aren’t giving this girl a hard time are you?” the bartender interrupted, eyeing the men on either side of me. He was about my dad’s age, but he was bigger, broader, and just had this kick-butt vibe.

“You don’t know how hard of a time we’d love to give her, Biggie,” the mullet on the right said, wagging his eyebrows at the bartender.

“And you are about to know how hard of a time my shotgun will give you when I shove it up both your asses if you don’t get the hell out of my bar.”

All I’d wanted was a drink or two and to forget myself for a few hours. That was all I wanted.

Why did everything have to be so darn difficult lately?

Without another word at Biggie or another look my way, the mullet twins shoved off the bar and headed for the exit. Just like that. Two guys that looked like they ate two dozen eggs a day for breakfast, who were drunk as a pair of skunks, just up and left the party with one threat from one guy.

What kind of guy intimidated those kinds of guys? I was scared to find out.

I met Biggie’s gaze and tried on a smile that I was sure didn’t do anything to make me look any less scared of him.

His eyes suddenly widened. “Laurel?” he said, his face blanching a few shades.

The name caught me off guard. I was sure my own face blanched at hearing my mother’s name in this scuzzy place.

“No . . . I’m Elle,” I said. “Laurel was—”

“Your mom,” Biggie said, exhaling like he could have been relieved or disappointed.

I nodded. How did this guy know my mom?

“God knows I love this bar, but it’s such a seedy place even Satan stays out, so why in the whole world of bars does sweet Laurel Sheehan’s daughter have to walk into mine?”

He’d used my mom’s maiden name. No one used that. Everywhere I went, she was known as Laurel Montgomery. She might have grown up here and been a Sheehan until she was nineteen, but this whole town only knew her as a Montgomery.

Except for Biggie.

“How did you know my mom?”

He paused a few moments before answering, almost like he was having an internal debate. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “I was in love with her.”

So not what I’d expected.

“You were in love with her?” I almost whispered, taking another look at him. He was still big, broad, and badass.

“Crazy in love with her,” Biggie replied.

“When?” I asked, leaning into the bar.

“The better part of my teenage years,” he said, shaking his head. “The best years of my life.”

“Did she know . . . you were in love with her?”

Mom had been with Dad almost their entire high school lives. They’d gotten married a few short months after graduating high school.

“Of course she did,” he said, looking a bit insulted. “And she loved me right back.”

Whoa. This was a mind trip. This whole entire night. This whole entire summer.

“Did my dad know?”

He’d obviously wound up with the girl, but I couldn’t see him being the understanding type once he found out his girlfriend was in love with another guy at the same time.

Biggie and my dad couldn’t have been more different. Both in the looks department and the everything-else-department.

“I don’t know why the hell I’m telling you any of this. Nothing good can come of raising the ghosts of the past . . .”

“Please,” I said a bit too eagerly. “Please tell me. There will never be a better time for me to hear about you . . . and my mom . . . and my dad.”

Biggie took another minute, studying me, before letting out a long, resolved sigh. “Yeah, she wound up telling your dad,” Biggie said. “Laurel never meant to fall in love with me, and I sure as shit tried to steer clear of her, but nature kind of just drew us together. I never loved anyone like I fell for her. I had it bad. And I still haven’t loved a woman the way I loved her. What we had was . . .” He paused, searching for the right word.

But I had it.

“Special,” I said sadly.

“Exactly. Special.” Biggie nodded. “Of course I screwed things up the way I was born to do, and Laurel realized that your dad was the better man, which as much as I hate to admit it, he was.” Biggie’s forehead lined as he continued, “Laurel got married, I married this shitty bar, and the rest is history.” He studied my face again, and I could tell from the glimpse of intimacy that flashed in his eyes he was seeing my mom. “But I still think about her every day. Even after she and your dad were married, she helped me out when I hit some low times.”

My brows went sky high.

“No, no,” Biggie guessed at what I was thinking, “our relationship after she and your father got married was strictly on a friend to friend basis. But that woman saved me in about every way a person can be saved.” Biggie ran his hand through his short dark hair and stared at the floor. “You know, I might be all alone and have some pathetic what-could-have-been story about the time the most perfect woman in the world loved me, but every day, I’m able to get out of bed because I know if someone like her could see something in me to fall in love with. . . I must have one or two redeeming qualities.” After a few moments of reflection, Biggie’s face ironed out into the intimidating, chew ‘em up, spit ‘em out bartender who’d sent grown men running with a few words.

I was speechless. It had become a habit as of late. When I’d slid into this dark joint, I had not been expecting to be harassed by a couple of flannel wearing mullet heads, only to be saved by my mom’s dirty little secret named Biggie. A man who was obviously still in love with her. In love with a ghost.

This story hit far too close to home for comfort. I needed that drink STAT.

“So, Elle. You know my story now—what’s yours?” Biggie leaned across the bar and stared at me without blinking.

My mom had stared into these same eyes and probably gone a little weak in the knees. My mom had loved this man while loving my dad. My mom was me, or more like, I was my mom.

I really wished she was still around because I could have used her advice right about now.

“I know you can’t be any older than eighteen or nineteen, you’re the glorified good girl all set to marry the prince of Winthrop anytime now, so what could have brought you to the bad side of humanity late on a Saturday night?” There wasn’t anything antagonistic in his voice, just genuine curiosity.

I almost told him.

I almost admitted I was following in my mom’s footsteps and had fallen in love with the dangerous bad boy while I was the good boy’s girlfriend. I knew he wouldn’t judge me and could probably offer me some reasonably sound advice. I was so close to telling him, then Cole’s face flashed into my mind and my whole body ached.

“I needed a drink,” I replied, staring at the wall of bottles I couldn’t have named if he’d held a gun up to my head. “A
strong
drink.”

Biggie studied me for a few seconds, grimacing when he met my eyes again. “Because you’re Laurel’s daughter, I’ll pour you a drink,” he said, reaching back to grab a bottle from the top shelf as he snatched a shot glass with his other hand. “But because you’re Laurel’s daughter . . .” his smile turned sad, “I’m only pouring you one.”

Of course. Out of all the bars I could have stumbled into, I had to be in the one that would put me on a one drink limit tonight. I didn’t need any more limits. I needed to forget about limits for a few hours.

“I might not be the guy Laurel chose, but I sure as hell am not going to let her daughter lower herself to this level.”

I would have put up an argument if I thought it would work.

“So we’re clear?” Biggie poured the clear liquid to the top of the shot glass and waited for my response.

“We’re clear.”

Biggie slid the glass in front of me. “You look so much like you’re mom I just about shit myself when I saw you standing in front of me,” he said, shaking his head. “But you’re a bit like your dad, too. He’s a good man, kiddo, damned as I tried not to believe it for the better part of my life. Whatever this is you’re going through, whatever brought you here tonight . . . you should talk with him about it. He loves you and only wants the best for you. I’m sure he’ll understand whatever it is.” Dropping his large hand over both of mine that were reaching for the shot in front of me, he squeezed them. “It’s an honor to meet you, Elle.”

He’d already wandered down to the other end of the bar by the time I lifted the glass to my lips. The fumes alone were making my eyes tear up.

The instant Cole’s face popped into my head, my mouth dropped open and I upended that shot in one fell swoop.

It burned my throat like it was actually searing off the top layer of flesh as it made its way down into my belly. I’d never had a shot before. I’d had beer, wine, and even a few jello shooters, but never a hardcore, honest-to-goodness shot of alcohol.

I almost immediately felt the effects. My head went a little light, woozy even, and I relaxed. Instead of trying to blend into the crowd, I wanted to become a part of it. The band even sounded better somehow, so I shoved off the counter and made my way towards the dance floor.

The shot hadn’t completely removed my memory of Cole, but it had at least made me care less. I might be able to picture his face and remember what his hands felt like, but not enough to ache for him. Not enough to give a darn if I ever saw or felt him again.

I understood why this alcohol thing was so addictive.

I was having a little dance party with myself in the center of the dance floor when a familiar face appeared in front of me. Another point for the alcohol? I didn’t even care anymore about being recognized in a place like this.

“Elle Montgomery.” The guy in front of me grinned wide.

I grinned back. I hadn’t seen him since the bonfire. “Derrick Davenport.”

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he shouted above the band who was now murdering an Aerosmith song.

“What’s a guy like
you
doing in a place like this?” I swayed a little then, like the dance floor was spinning, although I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t realize it was the alcohol spinning me, not the actual room.

Derrick grabbed my arms and steadied me. He stepped closer until my chest brushed against his. “Looking for a girl like you.”

I was fairly certain what that gleam in Derrick’s eyes was, but I ignored it. “Looks like it’s your lucky night then.”

He dropped his mouth outside my ear. I told myself it was so he didn’t have to shout over the band. “Looks like it is,” he said, his voice sending a tingle down my back. Not the good kind of tingle, either. Leaning back, he examined my face. “How many drinks are you into the night?”

“One,” I said, sticking out my lower lip. “The bartender cut me off at uno.”

One of Derrick’s eyebrows lifted. “I can help you out with that,” he said, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket. “Whatcha drinking?”

I had no idea what Biggie had poured me and I was sure if I told Derrick to order me something that was strong and clear, he’d roll his eyes. “Anything that will get me drunk.”

One side of Derrick’s mouth lifted. “I believe I can manage that,” he said before cutting through the crowd and heading for the bar.

By the time Derrick made it back, I’d almost forgotten he was here. It was sad how one shot could undo a girl so quickly, but I didn’t care because my heart hadn’t ached once for Cole. In fact, I couldn’t even feel my heart anymore.

“As ordered,” Derrick said, appearing in front of me and extending another shot of clear liquid. This glass was twice the size of the one Biggie gave me and just as full. “Bottom’s up.”

Derrick tilted his own equally large and full glass at me before draining it in one large sip. He dropped the glass on the nearest table, then looked at me expectantly.

What was one more drink? I’d come here for the stumbling drunk experience, right? I was going to be the best stumbling drunk I could.

Tilting my drink at Derrick, I closed my eyes and opened my mouth. I was careful not to inhale while I downed the entire shot. This one didn’t sting my throat as badly as the last one, but the effects were almost as immediate. The room wasn’t only moving now, it was spinning. Fast.

My stomach almost instantly spasmed. What sucked about that last shot was that my body was affected, but my mind was just as sharp. That wasn’t the plan. I didn’t care if I did or didn’t have control of my body, I just didn’t want control of my mind. I wanted it lost and emptied of all memory.

Then Derrick stepped close again and all of his body shoved against mine. His hands dropped to my hips and latched on. “I knew you were a wild one, Elle,” Derrick whispered in my ear. “Glad I could be around when that woman decided to bust free.”

Derrick had been my friend almost as long as Logan had. I couldn’t have picked a better night to get plastered. Knowing Derrick was here to look after me and make sure I didn’t do anything too stupid made me let go a little more. Allowed me to let go of the girl everyone expected me to be and behave like.