Let’s get this over with.

I spend the evening throwing in a random comment or two when necessary and pounding Rolling Rocks like a champ. It turns out the best way to keep my mind off the fairy sitting across from me is a single-minded focus on getting piss-ass drunk. I’m far exceeding expectations, and I’ll now have to hitch a ride home.

It doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to Alex and the mystery man from her past. Since Alex is my weekly golf buddy, I’m well versed on this topic. Alex found her boyfriend from years ago, West, hiding in plain sight in Providence. While she had dreams of rekindling their relationship, he had other plans, mainly staying as far away from Alex as possible. West is a war vet, and he bears the scars of a soldier, both inside and out. He’s doing a bang job of pushing her away, and that’s his right, but when I hear her say he spent their entire golf game verbally attacking her and then left her without a word, I see red. How could anyone be so cruel, especially to a cool chick like Alex? It turns out I’m not the only one who agrees.

“That jackhole.”

“Douche city.”

“I’ll kick that fucker’s ass,” I add as I crack my knuckles. War vet or not, nobody fucks with my friends.

Celia shakes her head as we all dish out insults. “Remember what I told you. You’re gonna have to fight for the both of you.”

Alex sighs and tries to straighten her slumped shoulders. “It’s a set back, absolutely. But I’m not ready to throw in the towel. He’s gonna have to do better than that. Or worse, I should say.”

Celia stands and smiles at Alex. “There’s my girl. I knew you had it in you. Now, the ladies room is calling. I’ll be back.”

You’re gonna have to fight for the both of you? Are those her sage words of advice? As we sit with a table between us, a piece of wood that feels more like a continental divide, I wonder who will fight for us?

I watch her turn around and weave her way through the tables and people. My recent actions don’t feel rational any more. Keeping my distance seems ridiculous and counterproductive. What in the hell was I thinking?

“Excuse me,” I mumble as I stand up and follow Celia to the back of the bar.

I round the corner into the deserted hallway just before Celia walks into the bathroom. I call out her name, and her spine stiffens at the sound of my voice. She turns slowly to face me, and I keep walking until I’ve cornered her against the wall. I bend down and crowd her nose to nose, breath to breath, just the way she’s been crowding my thoughts for months. I rest my forehead on hers and breathe in, the familiar scent of honeysuckles assaulting me.

“Cain, I … we can’t,” she whispers as a shuddered breath leaves her lips. Her fingers curl around my shirt, fisting it tightly.

“I know he was the love of your life. I get it, I really do. But what if I told you that you were mine? I have enough love for the both us. I know I do.” I close my eyes and wish it all away—whatever it is that is tearing her apart piece by piece. Ragged breaths flow between us, saying more than any words can. “Tink, what if there was only you and me? No past, no ties, just a blank slate…”

A guttural sob escapes her body, and she tightens her grip on my shirt. I pull her close and hold on tight.

She pulls back and places her hands on my cheeks, tears and pain filling her eyes. “The hurt I’ll cause you will far outweigh any love you hold for me.”

“Impossible. You grossly underestimate my ability to love, Tink.”

She watches her fingers as they travel down my chest, landing at my waist. She grips my shirt and releases a ragged breath.

“And you underestimate my ability to cause pain.”

She sobs as the words leave her mouth, and I can’t take another second of this. I crash my lips to hers and take what I want … what I need. I want to swallow her grief and replace it with every magical and hypnotic feeling she breathes into me. I want her to know she is more than her sorrow.

She falls into me, if only for a moment, and I’m lost in sweet lips and salty tears. She lets her instincts and the undeniable chemistry between us guide her for a few seconds before her fucking head takes over. Her body tenses in denial, hands pushing away, body swaying, her lips ripping from mine. She covers her mouth with her hand and runs from me, leaving only her whispered plea echoing in the hallway.

“Move on, Cain.”

The shot glasses line the bar like tiny trophies, although there is nothing celebratory about them. No matter how many I add to the stack, I can’t make my mind incoherent enough to forget this fucking night. No amount of whiskey can erase the truth.

She doesn’t want me.

I’ve been clinging to the hope that time would fix things between us. I hoped she would come to her senses and admit she misses me as much as I miss her. As much as it hurts to admit it, it’s clear now she only misses her friend. She doesn’t love me the way I love her. I feel like such an idiot. I could feel it … I could feel her. How could I have been so wrong about this?

After the confrontation by the bathroom, I left without a word of goodbye to anyone. I couldn’t breathe, and the pressure in my head was blinding. I ended up at Smitty’s, a dive bar a few doors down from The Courtyard. It’s as good a place as any to tie one on.

The night burns away into vapor, and patrons file out of the bar at a rapid pace as the clock ticks closer to sunrise. Closing time is upon us, and the thought of going home is crushing. Smitty eyes me expectantly, waiting for me to leave, but he’ll have to say the word. Even a washed-up bar owner is better company than no one at all.

“Cain?” I turn around slowly in an effort to stay upright on my barstool, and I see long black hair, big red lips, and plunging cleavage. I’m so damn drunk I can’t make out much else. “I thought that was you. I looked through the window of the bar while passing by and … well, anyway, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

She leans in, hugging me and placing a lipstick-laden kiss on my cheek. I pull her back to get a better look, and nostalgia punches me in the face.

“Kimberly, wow,” I mumble with a smile. I hold onto her shoulder for balance, and she helps me sit up straight with a laugh. “It’s been a long, long … long time.”

“Yeah, it has. You look great,” she laughs and shakes her head. “Amazingly drunk, but great all the same.”

I laugh at her compliment, feeling every bit of my amazing drunkenness. “And you … you’re just plain amazing.”

Kimberly was always a beautiful girl. Her looks were never the problem. She wanted a lot more than a good time, and I wanted a companion to the many keggers I frequented. We weren’t exactly a match made in heaven.

“Riiiight … please tell me you and that cloud of whiskey vapor surrounding you didn’t drive here tonight?”

“Nope. I walked. My apartment is right up the street.” I point left, then think better of it, and point right. Shit, maybe it is to the left … who knows, but I’m sure I’ll stumble upon it at some point.

“I see,” she giggles and snakes an arm around my waist. I hop down from the barstool and feel her urging me toward the exit. “Why don’t I walk you home? I can make sure you don’t end up in the river, and we can catch up … talk about old times.”

I stop moving forward to think on Kimberly and old times. My brain can’t seem to walk and think simultaneously, and the room tilts on its axis when I look up and weigh my options. Her long fingernails dig tightly into my bicep, and I focus my attention back on those plump red lips.