Page 61 of Fighting for You
Wheeling the suitcase in one hand and the other clutching the oversized painting to my body, I manage to lug everything to my car, hurling them in the backseat.
As I sit in the driver’s seat, I finally notice my hands are shaking. I open and close my fingers to try to get control, but it barely helps. I take a few deep breaths, hoping to slow my heart rate. The image of the words on the mirror have imprinted themselves on the back of my eyelids, and they’re all I can see when I close my eyes.
Once I calm enough to enter the address into my navigation app, I start the car and pull out of the lot toward Indigo Hill.
Aubrey’s voice pulls me from my nightmare of a memory, the reason I left Charleston, the reason I’m here. “Oh, no, that must have been from someone else. I picked your name out of the hat at the beginning of the month. Oh! Maybe you have a secret admirer,” she teases.
I force a smile, trying to keep calm, trying to keep my breathing steady. “Maybe,” I say on a breath.
Aubrey’s looking at me expectantly, so I reach into the bag and pull out a sheer sage colored scarf. I go through the motions of wrapping it around my neck and thanking her. All the while my mind is racing with panic.
My fingers are numb as I fold the scarf back up and stuff it into the bag. I pull myself together just enough to whisper another “Thanks” before darting out the door. My head spins all the way to my car, eyes scanning the near-empty parking lot, shadows forming human shapes in my mind.
This is nothing. It’s nothing. There’s some misunderstanding. My name must have been in there twice. I have two Secret Santas. Itcan’tbe anything else.
I keep repeating these words to myself all the way to my car, and again as my hand shakes locking the door when I’m inside. I start the engine and take a few deep breaths before I take off. My anxiety is through the roof, and it’s not safe for me to drive like this, but I have to get out of here. I have to get to Brooks—
I freeze with my hand on the shift lever. Brooks. My instinct is leading me straight to Brooks. Not Hayes. My whole life I’ve seen Hayes as my safe space. Somewhere in the last month, that’s shifted, and Brooks has become who I seek out when my world is crumbling.
Not letting the thoughts overtake me, I put the car in drive and peel out of the parking lot.
I need to get to Brooks. It’ll all be better when I get to Brooks. He’ll know what to do.
By some miracle, I manage to grab a spot in the small lot next to Louie’s as someone is leaving. I take a few deep breaths before opening the car door and locking it behind me. My eyes scan the parking lot as I hurry to the front door.
The warmth of the bar envelopes me as soon as I enter. It’s been decked out in Christmas decor: baubles and garlands hanging from the ceiling, a small Christmas tree by the jukebox, and all the workers are in Santa hats. Some of the tension eases out of me as I look around at faces I recognize from the time I’ve spent here with Thea and Ripley as well as from Hayes’ shop. I can’t fully settle though as my mind keeps repeating,is he here,over and over.
The space is packed, every table and booth occupied. There are a lot more people here than the night I spent playing drinking games. I’ve never been to the Jingle Mingle, never being in the area for it since I’ve been old enough to get into a bar.
I walk around the perimeter of the crammed dance floor, trying to find Brooks. I’m right on time for when we agreed to meet the other day, but since he hasn’t responded to my texts, I’m not sure if he’s here yet. Or if he’s even coming. My throat tightens at the thought he may be standing me up.
I try to shake off the feeling of the chasm in my stomach opening. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. Despite what everyone says about him, Brooks has been nothing but dependable and authentic with me. Besides his single word responses—and then utter silence today—he’s always been reliable and open.
I’m still making my way through the crowd when I hear, “Margot! Hi!” Turning, I find Thea waving to me furiously while festively dressed in tight red jeans and a green sweater. The arm that’s not trying to flag me down is wrapped around Cary’s waist, and his is circling her shoulders possessively. Huh, I guess that’s a thing now.
“Hi!” she repeats enthusiastically when I get closer.
“Hey, guys. Merry Christmas,” I say, trying to lace as much cheer into my voice as I can muster, which unfortunately, isn’t much at the moment. Thea’s brows scrunch in worry.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Have you seen Brooks? I was supposed to meet him here,” I say, my skin starting to crawl. The initial warmth I felt coming in here is now almost stifling, and I’m not sure if it’s the heat or the anxiousness roiling inside me, but taking a breath is getting harder to do. I just want to find Brooks, I know I’ll feel better when I see him.
Thea and Cary share a look I can’t read before turning back to me. “Uh, yeah, he’s around here somewhere. But Listen, Margot…” Thea starts, but I don’t hear the rest of her sentence because I spot Brooks in a corner booth of the bar. He appears laid back, sitting and talking to some people I don’t recognize. Just the sight of him loosens something in my chest. Though I still want to climb out of my skin, the relief flooding me is an almost tangible thing running through my veins.
Without cluing into what she said, I wish Thea a Merry Christmas again and move through the crowd, weaving and dodging.
When I’m a few yards away, I watch as a tall, gorgeous woman climbs in the booth and practically into Brooks’ lap. He casually slings his arm around her, and his fingers settle on her hip. She whispers something in his ear, and he flashes her that wicked smirk. Something about it doesn’t feel right though; his eyes seem dull, the usual glint of playfulness missing.
There are numerous drinks on the table, and Brooks takes a few gulps of the tumbler in his hand as he watches his friends chatting, nodding every once in a while. I’m frozen to the spot, not able to move toward him or back the way I came. His fingers play with the sliver of skin right above her jeans where her shirt rode up just a little. The same spot he was gripping me just the other night as he thrust into me from underneath.
The woman runs her hand over his chest, dipping her fingers into the neck of his T-shirt, following the lines of his tattoos, similar to what I had done. I feel like I may be sick. I watch as that same hand slides up his chest, his neck, and to his face, turning it in her direction.
My vision goes fuzzy around the edges, all I see clearly is her smile—she’s beautiful—right before she leans up and kisses Brooks. Right there in front of the entire bar, like it’s nothing. Like they’ve done it a hundred times before. Like my heart isn’tbreaking in my chest. The pain of it is almost crippling—acute—like I’ve been stabbed. I’m afraid to look down as though I might see an actual wound.
My thoughts race, and I’m not sure what to do now. I’m scared to leave, to be alone, but staying here might actually kill me. I’m hurt, so hurt, but I’m also embarrassed. Was what he said to me all lies? Was it all just so he could sleep with me? I feel so stupid; just a stupid lovesick girl with a stupid crush, giving her heart to a sweet-talking bad boy. I’m such a cliché.
I fight the tears threatening to flood my eyes, the tell-tale tingle behind my nose. There’s a lump in my throat I can’t seem to swallow down, no matter how much I try.
