Unstoppable
Page 27
Then I see Brit’s slim figure, standing in front of the crumbling front porch. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself, looking deep in thought.
“Hey,” I call, climbing down. My relief turns to worry. “Everything OK?”
Brit turns. “What happened to your big date?” she asks. “I figured you’d be out all night.”
“Nope,” I answer bluntly, walking closer. “It’s not going to happen.”
Brit looks curious, but she doesn’t press. She nods back to the house. “I haven’t been back here for years,” she says. “I don’t know what I was even expecting. But it looks…just the same as I remember. Like nothing’s even changed.”
“Sure it has.” I look at her. There’s a defensive edge to her posture, and the way she’s eyeing the front door is like the ghosts of the past are about to come marching out. I remember how I felt first coming back here. The memories are always worse than reality.
“Come on,” I offer her my hand to help her up the broken down steps. “Let me show you around.”
Brit looks reluctant, but she lets me guide her inside. She looks around while I grab us a couple of beers from the cooler I’ve got stashed in the makeshift kitchen. I’ve cleared out all the dirt and debris now, and pulled down the rotting parts of the roof. It’s empty, waiting for the rebuild to begin.
Brit glances around curiously at my handiwork. She goes to what used to be her bedroom, and pauses. “What did you do?”
“I know,” I chuckle, “The walls were pretty much falling down anyway, so I knocked a couple through. I figure this is going to be all open-plan, living room, dining area, kitchen.” I point it out, sketching in the air. “It’s nothing but plans for now, I haven’t even gotten started. But, one day…”
I trail off, hoping she doesn’t get offended. It’s one thing for me to come in and rip the whole place apart, but Brit has a claim to it too. Hell, she lived here longer than I did, just her and Emerson once I took off.
“Sounds ambitious.” Brit still has a cautious note in her voice, but she takes the beer I offer and follows me to the back yard. She stops when she sees the tent I have set up under the far tree. “You’re sleeping here?” she exclaims.
“The weather’s decent,” I shrug.
“No way.” Brit shakes her head. “You’re staying at the ranch with me.”
“I don’t need—” I try to protest, but she just fixes me with a deathly stare.
“End of discussion.”
I take a gulp of beer, amused. “You got bossy.”
“And you got weird,” Brit shoots back. I raise an eyebrow.
“Weird?”
“This whole loner sleeping bag in the woods thing.” She stares at me, like she’s trying to figure me out. “Next thing you’ll be telling me you’ve given up all material possessions, and you’re going to walk barefoot across the country.”
I laugh. She’s making me sound like some hippie guy. “It’s not like that.” I reassure her. “The last couple of places I’ve lived have been non-stop noise, I just like the peace, that’s all.”
“You mean after Vegas?”
I wonder for a moment how she knows. Then I realize: Tegan.
“Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me anything else,” Brit adds with a look. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”
“Just a job.” I give a vague shrug. “But I hated it. The buzz of traffic and people, it never stops. Bright lights, twenty-four seven, all the partying. I couldn’t hear myself think.”
“You weren’t missing much,” Brit quips.
I shove her lightly. “Watch it. I still remember when you were running around here in diapers.”
Brit’s laughter fades. She looks back towards the house, uneasy. “Emerson said you saw her.”
I don’t need to ask which “her” she means. I nod.
“Was she…?” Brit pauses. “I mean…” she trails off.
“She’s clean.” I say it quietly.
Brit exhales a long breath.
“She’s been clean a couple of years now,” I continue.
Brit frowns. “How?”
“She got in a good rehab program, and it stuck, I guess. She’s living in Tulsa, working as a secretary or something at a hospital there.”
Brit takes a long swallow of beer. “She never contacted me,” she says after a long pause. “Not once after she left. Christmases, birthdays, nothing. I told myself I stopped expecting it a long while ago, but I guess…I guess you never really give up the hope, you know?”
I reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder.
“I wonder sometimes if that’s part of the reason I left, back then.”
She turns, looking puzzled.
“It’s easier if you’re the one who leaves,” I explain, guilty. “You’re not left sitting around waiting for someone who’s never coming back.”
Brit presses her lips together in a thin, sad line. “I waited for you,” she says softly. Shit.
I squeeze her shoulder. Words aren’t enough to apologize, but I try all the same.
“I’m sorry.”
She slowly nods. The sun sinks lower in the sky, hovering for a moment over the woods before sliding into the shadows. We sit on the steps, drinking our beers, watching the dark.
“Hey,” I call, climbing down. My relief turns to worry. “Everything OK?”
Brit turns. “What happened to your big date?” she asks. “I figured you’d be out all night.”
“Nope,” I answer bluntly, walking closer. “It’s not going to happen.”
Brit looks curious, but she doesn’t press. She nods back to the house. “I haven’t been back here for years,” she says. “I don’t know what I was even expecting. But it looks…just the same as I remember. Like nothing’s even changed.”
“Sure it has.” I look at her. There’s a defensive edge to her posture, and the way she’s eyeing the front door is like the ghosts of the past are about to come marching out. I remember how I felt first coming back here. The memories are always worse than reality.
“Come on,” I offer her my hand to help her up the broken down steps. “Let me show you around.”
Brit looks reluctant, but she lets me guide her inside. She looks around while I grab us a couple of beers from the cooler I’ve got stashed in the makeshift kitchen. I’ve cleared out all the dirt and debris now, and pulled down the rotting parts of the roof. It’s empty, waiting for the rebuild to begin.
Brit glances around curiously at my handiwork. She goes to what used to be her bedroom, and pauses. “What did you do?”
“I know,” I chuckle, “The walls were pretty much falling down anyway, so I knocked a couple through. I figure this is going to be all open-plan, living room, dining area, kitchen.” I point it out, sketching in the air. “It’s nothing but plans for now, I haven’t even gotten started. But, one day…”
I trail off, hoping she doesn’t get offended. It’s one thing for me to come in and rip the whole place apart, but Brit has a claim to it too. Hell, she lived here longer than I did, just her and Emerson once I took off.
“Sounds ambitious.” Brit still has a cautious note in her voice, but she takes the beer I offer and follows me to the back yard. She stops when she sees the tent I have set up under the far tree. “You’re sleeping here?” she exclaims.
“The weather’s decent,” I shrug.
“No way.” Brit shakes her head. “You’re staying at the ranch with me.”
“I don’t need—” I try to protest, but she just fixes me with a deathly stare.
“End of discussion.”
I take a gulp of beer, amused. “You got bossy.”
“And you got weird,” Brit shoots back. I raise an eyebrow.
“Weird?”
“This whole loner sleeping bag in the woods thing.” She stares at me, like she’s trying to figure me out. “Next thing you’ll be telling me you’ve given up all material possessions, and you’re going to walk barefoot across the country.”
I laugh. She’s making me sound like some hippie guy. “It’s not like that.” I reassure her. “The last couple of places I’ve lived have been non-stop noise, I just like the peace, that’s all.”
“You mean after Vegas?”
I wonder for a moment how she knows. Then I realize: Tegan.
“Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me anything else,” Brit adds with a look. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”
“Just a job.” I give a vague shrug. “But I hated it. The buzz of traffic and people, it never stops. Bright lights, twenty-four seven, all the partying. I couldn’t hear myself think.”
“You weren’t missing much,” Brit quips.
I shove her lightly. “Watch it. I still remember when you were running around here in diapers.”
Brit’s laughter fades. She looks back towards the house, uneasy. “Emerson said you saw her.”
I don’t need to ask which “her” she means. I nod.
“Was she…?” Brit pauses. “I mean…” she trails off.
“She’s clean.” I say it quietly.
Brit exhales a long breath.
“She’s been clean a couple of years now,” I continue.
Brit frowns. “How?”
“She got in a good rehab program, and it stuck, I guess. She’s living in Tulsa, working as a secretary or something at a hospital there.”
Brit takes a long swallow of beer. “She never contacted me,” she says after a long pause. “Not once after she left. Christmases, birthdays, nothing. I told myself I stopped expecting it a long while ago, but I guess…I guess you never really give up the hope, you know?”
I reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder.
“I wonder sometimes if that’s part of the reason I left, back then.”
She turns, looking puzzled.
“It’s easier if you’re the one who leaves,” I explain, guilty. “You’re not left sitting around waiting for someone who’s never coming back.”
Brit presses her lips together in a thin, sad line. “I waited for you,” she says softly. Shit.
I squeeze her shoulder. Words aren’t enough to apologize, but I try all the same.
“I’m sorry.”
She slowly nods. The sun sinks lower in the sky, hovering for a moment over the woods before sliding into the shadows. We sit on the steps, drinking our beers, watching the dark.
