Page 15 of Powerless
He nods, and within minutes we pull into a liquor store.
“I’ll get—” he starts, but I hop out of the car and walk toward the store like a thirsty, stunned, barefoot bride-zombie.
With long strides, he rushes ahead to pull the door open for me. As I cross the threshold, I don’t make eye contact, but I can feel him regarding me like he thinks I might snap. I think I already have.
Inside, it reeks of stale beer and Pine-Sol.
Jasper turns to peer around the small store. It’s more of a wide hallway, packed a little too tight. Kind of like the guy behind the counter, bulging out of his shirt.
“Welcome,” he grumbles, scrolling through his phone, not sparing us a glance.
“Do you want . . . Champagne?” Jasper lifts a bottle of the nicest champagne on the shelf, which is not saying much for this dive. “To . . . celebrate?”
I snort at that. “No.” I roll my lips together and keep walking further back. “I want something fattening and lowbrow. Something Sterling and my dad would never approve of.”
I hear Jasper’s chuckle behind me as I stalk toward the cold beer section at the back. The way he laughs, all soft and deep, never fails to make me feel like I’m sinking into a warm bath. He’s so serious sometimes that when he laughs, it’s precious somehow.
The grit on the floor against my bare feet makes me smile. Sterling and my dad would definitely not approve of this, so I press my soles down harder, rolling through my full foot, hoping the bottoms are black by the time I’m done shopping. A completely inconsequential rebellion, but a satisfying one nonetheless.
I stop and take in the cooler shelves. And there it is. Like a glowing beacon before me.
Buddyz Best Beer.
It’s really the Z that seals the deal for me. It’s so unnecessary. So improper. The cans look thin—cheap—with a poorly drawn cartoon basset hound on the front.
“Perfect,” I murmur reverently as I reach forward and grab the six-pack.
When I spin around, Jasper is smirking at me. “Buddyz Best is perfect?”
“Yes.” I lift the cans to my face and stare at the droopy faced, sad-looking dog. I feel like a basset hound inside right now. “Buddy is the perfect man for me. Cheap. Alcoholic. And most importantly, not a human male at all.”
The grin I give my friend is unhinged at best as I storm to the till and plop the beer down on the counter. Finally, the man lifts his chin from his phone where he’s watching what appears to be competitive bowling.
His eyes assess me before dropping to the beer and glancing back up at Jasper. This guy looks like he’s seen someshit.I expect him to have questions, but all he says is, “Congratulations, you two,” as he scans the beer and tells me the total in a bored tone.
I reach for my purse but realize I left it behind when we ran.
A long arm reaches over me, tossing down a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” Jasper says. He guides me out of the store with a gentle hand cupping my elbow, eyes fixed on my bare feet. “Sunny, you’re gonna need a bath when we get to the ranch.”
“Maybe if I drink enough of these”—I lift the six-pack, feeling a little loopy—“I’ll invite you to join me.”
Jasper just stares back at me, jaw popping like I’ve pissed him off. Not a single word crests his lips, not a single tug up on his cheeks.
“Just kidding!” is what I fill the awkward silence with before turning and scurrying back to the comfortable SUV. I strap myself in, crack a cheap-ass beer, and take a deep swig in an incredibly sad attempt to drink my problems away and forget the off-color joke I just blurted out.
Jasper and I drive in total silence. I continue to drink and he makes no comment on that. Instead, he just grips the steering wheel like he’s trying to strangle it while keeping intense eyes on the road.
And after my third beer on an empty stomach, I feel a little bit better. Also a little bit drunk.
So I monologue, like I often do with Jasper. “You know I didn’t want an ugly fall wedding. I wanted a spring wedding. I wanted a flowy, feminine dress and an outdoor ceremony. No uptight tuxedos, and definitely no black bridesmaid dresses.” I hold up my hand, staring at the rock about the size of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic. “And Ihatethis ring. I saw one at a little boutique on Sixteenth Avenue—you know that funky area? It was a purple oval sapphire. How cool is a purple sapphire? And they set it sideways in matte yellow gold. Sterling said it was ‘weird’ and then gave me this ring the next week. I swear he picked the opposite of anything I’d ever want on purpose.”
“Romantic,” Jasper says, his jaw ticking with tension.
I drink silently, stewing over the fact I pretended I liked this ring when he gave it to me because I didn’t want to offend anyone.
When we pull into Wishing Well Ranch, Harvey’s truck is in the driveway, even though we thought he and Beau were going to be at the wedding. Jasper and I exchange a confused look, and the second his vehicle is in park, he’s skipping steps to get to the front door. I run after him, heart pounding, because something is off.
Inside, Harvey is sitting at the expansive kitchen table with a big glass of bourbon gripped between his palms. An odd shade of green colors his complexion.
