Leo's Chance Page 6

  "I’ve found more false teeth than I can count," she laughs and so do I. "I mean, how do you forget your teeth? Wouldn’t you notice?" Her eyes warm as she’s looking into mine. I love this. I love sitting here laughing with her, getting to know her again. I don’t want it to end. A quiet voice in the back of my mind tells me that it probably will end when I tell her who I am. I feel my food trying to come back up my throat and swallow hard.

  "You've done really well, Evie," I say, quietly. She has. Look at her, she has good friends, she takes care of herself, she’s a hard worker, she’s funny and warm and sweet.

  She furrows her brows. "I'm a hotel maid, Jake," she says, as if I don’t already know this.

  I think of all the people who grew up the way we did and how most of their lives turned out. I think of Willow. I think of myself. "Don’t ever be ashamed of the honest work you do to pay the rent. It's damn rare that someone who comes from the background you do, doesn't go on to repeat the cycle... drugs, early pregnancy, domestic abuse. Be proud of yourself. You deserve all the respect in the world. I think you’re incredible," I say honestly.

  She stares at me, her eyes getting moist before she looks away and says quietly, "Thank you." I stare at her, watching her blink away the tears in her eyes. Has no one ever told her that she’s amazing? My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. If I’m given the chance, I vow to tell her at least once every day how incredible she is.

  We’re both quiet for a minute when she says, "Can I ask you about Leo?" She looks at me nervously.

  I snap back to reality. Shit. I hate this. "Of course," I answer, hesitantly.

  "Was he happy? Did he have a good life?"

  Keep this simple. I already feel like an asshole lying at all, no need to expand on it. I think about who I was before my accident and mix just a little bit of the truth into my lie. "I don't know how to answer that. I didn't know him very well. I mean, outside of sports and partying, that sort of thing."

  She nods and takes a deep breath. She’s biting the inside of her mouth like she used to do when she was a kid. I know that’s her "tell" that she’s nervous or scared. "When he left, he promised he'd keep in touch and he never did. Do you have any idea why?" I think I see pain flash quickly in her eyes.

  Yeah, I do. "His" life went to shit pretty immediately and he lived with a constant death wish for eight years. But he never stopped loving you. Not for a second.

  "I'm sorry. I don't. I don't really know what his home life was like. And the first time he talked about you to me was in the hospital and I've told you the extent of what he said," is what I say instead. Fuck. I hate myself for not mustering up the courage to tell her the truth.

  She nods and is silent for a minute but then she looks up at me and smiles shyly. "This might be a little bit of an odd thing to say, but, well, if he was going to send anyone, I'm glad it was you. I've had a nice time tonight."

  Why does that hurt? Am I really jealous of myself? I push my fucked up emotions aside and smile back at her and say, "I'm glad he sent me too. I thought I was doing him a favor, but it looks like he did me a favor."

  After our plates are cleared, I reach across the table and take her hands in mine. "Can I take you out again?"

  She nods yes and happiness spreads through me.

  We drive back to Evie’s apartment, chatting about the city.

  "Where do you live?" she asks.

  "Downtown, right near the new casino."

  "Oh! Have you been there?"

  "No. I haven’t had time for too many leisure activities. Work has taken up all my time since I moved here." I smile. "Would you want to go sometime?"

  "I’d like to see it. But I don’t think I’d be any good at gambling," she says, smiling.

  "No? Why not?"

  "Not much of a poker face," she says, grinning at me.

  I chuckle. "No, huh?"

  She shakes her head, still smiling. "So, do you miss California?"

  "I miss living near the ocean." Just to sit and look out at that vast body of water made me feel like maybe my problems weren’t as huge as I felt like they were. It made me feel… humbled. That reminder got me through a couple really bad days. "But, no, I like the Midwest. I like the seasons." I smile.

  She leans her head back on the headrest and says, "I’d love to see the ocean someday."

  I think back to flying over the ocean for the first time and how badly I wanted Evie to be there with me. "I’d love to be the one to show you someday," I say quietly, glancing quickly at her.

  She just smiles at me, remaining quiet. I guess it’s a little too early to start making travel plans. I’m already getting better at reading Evie’s face, her expressions coming back to me like a song that I haven’t heard in years and yet still know all the words to. She’s right; she doesn’t have much of a poker face. I smile.

  The first time I really noticed her, some nasty little bitch was giving her shit about her mom. I had glanced at Evie and the hurt and shame was right there on her face. I had sat there, frozen, unable to stop staring at this beautiful girl, her emotions clear and present in her eyes. It had been so long since I’d seen that type of vulnerability on someone’s face. I was mesmerized. If pigs had flown over our dinner table, it wouldn’t have surprised me as much as what I saw in Evie’s expression. Hadn’t she learned how to hide that shit? Didn’t she know what stoic meant? You couldn’t give your enemy that type of ammunition – it was emotional suicide. So why was I so damn impressed? Why did I feel my heart squeeze in my chest? I couldn’t figure it out at the time. But I knew there was something about it that was pure beauty. Like seeing the sun suddenly break through the clouds. I wanted to raise my face to it and feel its warmth. She had looked over at me and caught me staring and by that point, I think I was already half in love, something new blossoming in my heart. "Why are you looking at me?" she had hissed, trying and failing to be tough. I liked that, too. I had studied her for a couple more seconds before replying, "Because I like your face." I couldn’t contain the small smile that followed – the first one that’d been on my face for a really, really long time. My gentle lion tamer.

  We drive the last couple of miles in companionable silence, both lost in our own thoughts, the radio playing softly in the background.

  We pull up a half a block down from her apartment and I turn the car off but don’t make a move to get out. Evie’s looking at me expectantly, a small smile on her face. When I look at her, my heart lodges in my throat. "You are so beautiful when you smile," I say. I missed you so much.

  I lean over, gently kissing her and leaning my forehead against hers. I realize vaguely that this is the exact same way we looked into each other’s eyes the night we said goodbye.

  We stare at each other for long minutes. Her eyes widen slightly and I can feel her pulse beating wildly at my fingertips. Suddenly, her eyes swim with questions, widening slightly. I freeze. And then I see them go dreamy. She’s pushing the questions away. I see her do it. That look will forever be etched into my soul. That is the look of my Evie surviving. She doesn’t want to know. Emotions are slamming through me; confusion, fear, love. She pulls away from me.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, warily.

  She exhales. "Nothing. This is just all kind of new for me." She smiles at me and somehow, I find it in me to smile back.

  I walk her to her building. That look on her face keeps skating through my mind. I don’t want to say goodnight. I need to do it quickly while I still have the strength to let her walk inside.

  We get to her apartment door and I kiss her on her soft lips, smiling at her, whispering goodnight and heading back to my car. As wonderful as our evening was, I’m struggling. I wish to God I had someone to talk to about this. The person I really want to talk to is Evie, but obviously, that’s not an option. The state of my utter aloneness hits me in the gut and I feel something inside twist tight and break as I pull away from the curb.

  CHAPTER 11

  I drive around for a l
ittle while, gripping the steering wheel with the effort to drive away from Evie, rather than back to Evie. I feel confused and needy as hell and this has never been a good combination for me. Feeling needy makes me feel weak and that makes me feel angry. It’s been my lifetime struggle and I’m so fucking sick of always coming back to this place. My aloneness feels as if it always remains just beyond the surface.

  Kissing Evie tonight was one of the best moments of my life, literally. But now it just makes me long for her even more and I don’t know what to do with that. But I either continue on the path that I’m on and keep her in my life, or risk the very real possibility that she’ll reject me if I tell her who I am.

  I pull into a parking spot on the street in front of my building but instead of going up to my condo like I know I should, I walk a couple blocks down to a bar on the corner. I just don’t feel like being alone. I just want to go somewhere where there are people, a crowd. I want to drown this feeling. A few shots of bourbon will do the trick. Temporarily.

  I sit down at the bar and order two shots of Wild Turkey. It’s what Lauren and Phil stocked. Straight, No Chaser. It’s going to be my band’s name once I actually form one, learn the guitar and go on the road. I almost snort to myself but suck it back before I become, crazy, party of one. I down one after the other, grimacing and signaling to the bartender to bring me two more. Four is the magic number. Not stumbling drunk, but don’t fucking care buzzed. I’ve got Numb Down to a Science. That’ll be my first single. The soundtrack for self-destructive tendencies everywhere. I grimace.

  I order a beer so I can sit and nurse it for a little bit and as the bartender places it in front of me, a woman sits down next to me, smiling when I glance over. Chin length blond hair. Pretty. Definite cougar.

  "Hey there," she smiles, turning toward me fully and taking a sip of her drink, something pink in a martini glass.

  "Hey," I say back, not looking at her. I note that my voice is already thicker with the alcohol.

  "I’m Alana." She reaches out her hand and I glance down at it before turning slightly to shake it. "Jake," I say.

  "So what brings you here, alone, Jake?" She asks, tilting her head and sucking on her straw.

  I pause for a minute, thinking. "Alana. I’m here because the love of my life is across town in her apartment and if I don’t drink myself into a coma, I’m going to drive myself over there and knock down her door and make a complete jackass of myself."

  She blinks, apparently stunned silent. Then a huge smile takes over her face. "Well, why the hell wouldn’t you drive over there and make a jackass of yourself?"

  I ponder that momentarily. "Because she’ll tell me to go fuck myself and I don’t want to fuck myself. I want to fuck her."

  Alana blinks again. "Well, you sure say it like it is, don’t you, Jake?" She’s smiling though.

  I shrug, taking another pull on my beer.

  "Listen, Jake. I think the risk of looking like a fool is a hell of a lot better than living with regret."

  I nod. If only it were that simple. We sit in silence for a minute before I say, "So what’s your story, Alana?"

  She sighs, taking another sip of her drink. "Well, overall story is pretty boring I guess. But we’re in a bar, drowning our sorrows, so more appropriate is my sob story which is that I was married for ten years when I found out my husband was cheating on me with a married neighbor... his soul mate, he told me. We’ve been divorced for a year now."

  I grimace. "Jesus. I’m sorry. Did you suspect anything?"

  She’s thoughtful for a minute. "Yeah, I guess I did. I mean, there wasn’t anything specific, surprisingly. But I just felt like he was always off at home... Not abusive or anything... just, ran hot and cold all the time. I never really felt like he was very into me, I guess is a good way to put it." She shrugs.

  "Well, then, Alana. Maybe you’re better off now than you were with him. Maybe they did you a favor. Look at it as a second chance."

  I take the last sip of my beer and signal to the bartender to bring me one more. "Want another one?" I nod my head toward her drink. She shakes her head no.

  When the bartender places my fresh beer down, Alana says, "We all deserve a second chance, don’t we? To second chances." She clinks her drink to my bottle.

  "To second chances," I repeat, thinking of Evie. Do we all deserve a second chance? Even me?

  After a minute she says, "We got married because I was pregnant and I always thought we probably wouldn’t be together if it wasn’t for our daughter. I wouldn’t trade her for the world, but it’s probably true."

  I nod. "Life doesn’t always go the way we plan it to go," I say quietly.

  "No. That’s for sure. My ex marries his soul mate this weekend. Tonight seemed like a good night to get a drink – or twenty." She laughs weakly. "It just feels so unfair." She frowns and looks down.

  We’re both quiet for a minute before I say, "Way I see it, maybe it’s not so unfair, as unfinished. If you stopped in the middle of a lot of stories, they’d seem unfair. You’re still in the middle of yours."

  She studies me for a long moment and then nods and smiles. "I like that. The thing is, I was dating someone before I met Colin, my husband. We broke up over something dumb and then I immediately hooked up with Colin, got pregnant... and, the rest is history. But I never stopped thinking of that other man. I even looked him up on Facebook recently and saw that he’s divorced too with two kids."

  I look over at her. "Did you send him a message?"

  She shakes her head. "No. I don’t know... what if he still holds a grudge after all these years? What if he’s just not interested?"

  "Wait, didn’t you tell me that it’s better to look like a fool than to live with regret? Don’t you take your own advice?" I smile over at her.

  She laughs. "Isn’t that always the problem? It’s so easy to give advice to others. Taking your own advice isn’t always so easy."

  I chuckle. I guess that’s the truth. Knowing in your mind what the right thing is and doing it can be two completely different things. Realizing what is right is the first step, but the follow through can get hung up on so many personal variables. I sigh and turn to Alana, taking the last swig of my beer. As I turn, I realize that I’m a lot drunker than I thought I was only two minutes ago. I need to get home.

  "Alana, message that man."

  I throw enough money to cover my drinks plus tip on the bar and stand up.

  She looks up at me smiling. "Jake, I think I will. And you… you do whatever you need to do so that you’re not drinking in a bar alone after your next date with that girl." She winks and I chuckle back.

  "It was nice to meet you. You have a ride home, right?"

  "Yeah, I’m taking a cab. I don’t live far." She tilts her head. "It was really nice to meet you, too. I really mean that."

  I smile and turn and walk out of the bar.

  I make my way back to my condo and collapse on my couch, kicking my shoes off. I lie there for a few minutes, letting the feel of the alcohol lull me into a semi-sleep. Visions of Evie smiling at me across the table at the "Chart House" keep coming back to me, keeping my mind restless and eventually, I sit up and pull my phone out of my pocket. I’ve made a mistake with the alcohol. I’m not an alcoholic, I’m pretty certain of that. I’ve never had a problem having a glass of wine or two and stopping there. I don’t think I really have an addictive personality, surprising, considering where I come from. But I’m smart enough to acknowledge that I’ve spent a lot of years using alcohol to self-medicate, and Dr. Fox was right when he said that numbing the pain had never worked. I’m always right back where I started in the morning, only with a fucked up hangover and even more regret.

  I dial Dr. Fox’s office number, even though it’s after ten and I don’t think he’ll answer. The machine picks up and I hear his voice saying, ‘You’ve reached the office of Dr. Edward Fox. I’m unable to take your call right now, but please leave your name and phone number, even if you
think I have it, and I’ll call you back as soon as possible. If you are in crisis, please hang up and dial 619-555-4573. Thank you."

  I hang up without leaving a message. Yeah, I’m in crisis. My whole fucking life is one big crisis.

  I sit on the couch, holding my phone in my hand, staring at the wall. Sometimes it feels like I’m a broken mess of pieces, always searching for a way to fit them all together.

  Eventually, I make my way to my bedroom, find a bottle of aspirin in my medicine cabinet, and wash it down with water cupped in my hands from the tap. Then I strip and fall into bed in my boxers. In moments, I pass into blessed oblivion.

  CHAPTER 12

  Surprisingly, I wake up feeling pretty good, physically and mentally. I shouldn’t have drank last night to shut off my brain. I could have handled it better. But it’s still an improvement over how I’ve done in the past. I’m moving in the right direction? I have a really big motivating factor, Evie. On my drive in to work, I pull out my phone and text her as I wait at a stoplight.

  I had a great time with you last night. What are you doing today?

  As I’m pulling into my spot in the garage, I hear my phone ding twice.

  I had a really good time too. :) Working both jobs. Won't be home until late.

  btw, know anything about the lock repair on the front door of my building??

  I grab my suit jacket and briefcase, and type back as I’m heading to the elevator.

  I may have called and threatened your landlord with legal action if he didn't do door repair. Glad he stepped up. You should always feel safe.

  My phone doesn’t ding again until I’m stepping out onto my floor. Does she not like me interfering with her landlord? Too bad. There’s no way I’m going to stand by now that I’m back and not make sure she’s safe.

  Well, thanks. I appreciate it.