Page 76 of When I Come Back
I can already hear the panic building through the phone before his voice breaks through the silence, “Is Thea okay?” There’s shuffling in the background like he’s rushing to leave.
“Physically? Sure. Mentally and emotionally? To be determined.” I take a swig of the bourbon, the smooth taste of it constantly reminding me how fucking good Rip is at what he does.
Cary’s panic shifts to impatience. I don’t need him to voice it for me to know. “Brooks, what’s going on?”
“Travis had some emergency with his daughter. I don’t know much, but Josh is stepping in as head chef for this event, and let’s just say, he looked green in the face when he found out. Not sure the kid can handle it.” It’s a shit thing to say about the dude, but it’s the truth. I may not be reliable or all that responsible, but at least I know to speak up when I’m in over my head. The kid just stood there as Thea told me he was taking the lead, clear as day on his face that he didn’t think he was capable of doing the job.
I hear the car starting up as Cary says, “I’ll be there in a minute.” He hangs up without so much as a goodbye. I roll my eyes.
Knight in shining fucking armor.
The door towards the back of the distillery shuts as I’m shuffling some old kegs to the back of the line, and pulling up the new ones.
I know it’s Cary before he even rounds the corner, and his eyes find me then widen in shock at my appearance. One more person I get to let down today. Fucking great. I was hoping he’d go through the restaurant and avoid the distillery. My eyes fall to the ground as a sigh slips from my mouth, preparing for whatever onslaught I’m about to receive.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I say in an attempt to push through the conversation without really having to deal with it. I go back to moving the boxes as he walks closer to me.
“You’re notfine. You’re bleeding,” he starts, but I cut him off before he can say anything else.
“Save it, okay? Thea already ripped me a new one and exiled me here for the night. I don’t need to hear it from you too. Pretty sure I heard her calling a nurse friend to come patch me up.” I try to keep the resentment I’m feeling for myself out of my tone, but it’s hard knowing I fucked up so bad.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice gentler than before, meaning I was unsuccessful at hiding my own feelings on the matter.
“I fucked up,” I pause but bring my gaze up to his for the first time since he walked into the distillery. “She was counting on me today, and I just…” Fuck, this is hard to admit, especially to him. “I needed to blow off some steam, but it got out of control. I don’t know why I keep doing this. I feel like I just. Keep. Fucking. Up.” I run my hand over my hair as I punctuate each word, letting my anger spew through them.
I see Cary wanting to move in for a hug when the back door creaks open again. A small woman with more hair than body walks in. Her wild dark-chocolate curls frame her face and take my goddamn breath away. She’s covered in so many freckles I can see them from across the large space. Her light green eyes pierce through me as they find mine. I don’t think a woman has ever stunned me speechless before. But as I study her face, I realize the look she’s giving me is pity, and I’m instantly pissed off. I don’t need her pity—or anyone else’s for that matter.
After they exchange hellos, Cary takes off to find Thea, thankfully without another word. I’m left with the tiny woman standing in front of me, holding a tote bag overflowing with supplies. I’m assuming she’s a grown-ass woman—she looks so young that it’s hard to tell. I’ll feel really fucking gross if she ends up being some teenager. She’s so short I’m having to look down so I’m not looking over her head. She’s got to be at least a foot shorter than me. She still hasn’t introduced herself, but Cary didn’t seem concerned.
“I’m Margot, Thea called me. I work at St. Stephen’s. She said…” she trails off, wincing as her eyes gaze over my face. “Well, she said she had a friend that needed medical attention. I’m… umm… assuming you’re the friend.”
Ahh, Lydia’s nurse. So, not a teenager then. Thank God. I want to be annoyed with Thea for phoning her damn on-call nurse, but the girl is so fucking pretty I’m finding it hard to be anything but grateful for her presence.
“What gave it away?” I joke, though she doesn’t laugh. That’s fine, I have other ways of charming the pants off of her.
“I’m going to start with a physical exam. Is there… somewhere you can sit?” she asks, looking around the space.
“Uhh, we can sit at the bar in the tasting room?” I say, more of a question than a statement as I point toward the room off to the side. She looks in the same direction I’m pointing, nods her head, and walks that way. I go to follow behind her but decide my bottle of bourbon deserves to come with me. Chances are I’ll need the fucking alcohol to numb whatever pain she’s about to cause me.
She’s already setting up on the bar, pulling supplies from that Mary Poppins bag of hers, barely paying me any attention. When she sees the bourbon bottle hanging from my fingers, that’s the moment she decides to look up and meet my eyes. I can’t tell what emotion is shining through them. It shouldn’t be a surprise I’m drinking bourbon in a fucking distillery. The moment drags on, and I realize the expression on her face may be disgust, which only pisses me off more.
“What’s that look?” I ask, pointing my chin toward her face. She schools her features immediately, as if that will erase whatever contempt she has for me.
“It just… looks like it hurts,” she says, shooting her eyes back to the supplieson the bar.
I laugh, shaking my head as I say, “Nah, it’s not that bad. I’ve had way worse.”
Once again, she doesn’t seem to find me funny. Her eyes widen, and her brows crease as she zones in on the still oozing cut on my cheek.
“You sound proud of that.” Her voice comes out more steady than I anticipate, a sliver of judgment lacing through her tone.
“Maybe I am,” I state, not allowing her to get under my skin.
“Hmm…” I can tell she doesn’t find me the least bit charming which, honestly, annoys the fuck out of me. Chicks love rough guys. I see it constantly at The Pit. Guys come back bloody and bruised, and the girls at the gym go crazy over it. This one must think she’s too good.
I don’t say anything more. This woman has me questioning just how stupid I’ve been the last few weeks. Once she’s shuffled some things around, she gestures to the chair like she wants me to sit on it. I take a pull of the bourbon, put the bottle on the bartop, and drop myself into one of the high top stools that line the bar. I’m not sure she’s thought this through, and I smirk knowing what’s coming.
With her little pen-light-thing in hand, she turns back around, pleased to see I did as she asked, but soon enough, the pleased look is replaced by frustration once she notices the height difference. “I can sit on the floor if it’ll make it easier, Doc.”
