She bites her lip. “Zoe would be so happy. She’s been crying for days, since I broke the news to her. My name is Teresa, by the way.”
I grab a piece of paper and a pen.
And cross my fingers that I’m right about Ginny.
Amber pulls up to Roadside, a western-themed bar on the side of the highway just outside of town. It’s modeled after an old red barn, and apparently it’s the best place to have some fun around here.
Before I open my door, I smooth my hair down against the right side of my face one last time. Amber helped me style it so both my scar and the short patch of growth on the underside are covered.
“You look great,” Amber assures me as we make our way toward the set of black double doors under the wide covered porch. I don’t believe her, but I bite my tongue.
“Hi, Dean.” She flashes him that wide white-toothed smile that she has perfected. It suits the fat curls in her hair and her outfit. With her tight blue jeans and a fitted plaid shirt and cowgirl boots, she looks every bit like a western-themed china doll.
I’m dressed the same—with Amber’s guidance—but I don’t think I look anything like a doll.
“Hey there, Amber,” the beefy guy offers, one of his cowboy boots settled on the rung of his stool, his black leather hat sitting low on his face.
Everyone knows Amber Welles.
Much like everyone seems to know Jesse Welles.
“And . . . Water.” He scans my ID and then looks at my face, his pale blue eyes sparkling. “Cool name.” He hands it back to me and we step into an all-wood interior—the walls, ceiling, and furniture all made of golden oak—decorated with countless strands of colorful Christmas lights and fake blow-up cactuses. Even the air carries a hint of a woodsy smell, though it’s competing with beer and sweat.
The upbeat twang of a country singer comes from a stage at the far end. The live band is loud and everyone’s voices are raised, creating a buzz of laughter and conversation.
“I can’t believe he ID’d you.”
I frown. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because I went to school with Dean and he knows I wouldn’t sneak an under-ager in.” She smirks. “I think he just wanted your name. Don’t be surprised if he comes around later to talk to you. I heard he’s single again.”
I hazard a glance over my shoulder to see the giant bouncer chatting up another set of girls coming in. He’s attractive; I’ll admit that much.
Nothing like Jesse, though.
“Happy birthday, Bonnie!” Amber cries out, reaching out to hug a short blond girl with plump, man-made curls to match hers and a tiara in her hair. I’m assuming because it’s her birthday, and not because she normally wears a tiara. Though, based on what Dakota alluded to about Amber’s friends, maybe she does.
The table that this Bonnie girl is sitting at—a long, solid picnic table of glossy light wood, in a row of similar picnic tables—is full of girls who look like Amber and Bonnie and guys who look like Dean. Many of them ease out of their seats to come around and give Amber a hug, as if they’re seeing each other after a long absence. Given that Amber works more than she socializes, that’s probably true.
Amber reaches out and takes my arm, pulling me into the friend fold. “This is Water.” She begins introducing everyone. I’m lost by the second or third name, though everyone there instantly grabs on to mine with comments about how “unusual” and “cool” it is.
I simply smile and nod and say, “Nice to meet you,” all while trying to keep my hair from falling back off my face. They all take their seats again and someone’s boyfriend hands me a glass of beer.
Do I even like beer?
I quietly watch Amber and the others squeal and giggle and chatter on, their eyes roaming around the bar, pointing out people they know from high school who either still live in the area or, like many of them, decided to come back for the long weekend. Some of their comments are benign; many are laced with gossip. “Remember when she . . . ?” “I heard that he . . .” The kinds of whispers and attention that I don’t want directed at me.
So I stay quiet and drink my beer, the cold, fresh liquid pouring down my throat with relative ease. I do like beer after all.
“Amber . . . you didn’t tell me your brother was back in town.” Bonnie’s eyes are wide as she stares behind me. Like a well-timed orchestra, every head in my row turns to the door—mine included—to see Dean and Jesse facing off.
“He just got back,” Amber says, not sounding too thrilled.
“Who’s he with?” a redhead—Kerry or Terry or Tory—asks, as Jesse pushes through the doors with a guy on his heels. A guy who, even wearing a plain black T-shirt and fitted jeans, doesn’t seem to fit with the sea of jeans and cotton in this place. Maybe it’s the flashy gold watch on his wrist.
“Don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. Must be a friend from Portland.” Amber’s eyes are on her brother’s friend as they head toward our table. “I guess we’re going to find out.”
Bonnie is on her feet instantly—as fast as she was when we approached, if not a little faster. “Jesse!” She throws her arms around his shoulders.
He obliges her with a small smile and “Hey, Bonnie,” his arm curling around her waist.
Amber leans in next to me and drops her voice. “They dated back in high school for a bit.”
“Really?” My chest burns with envy as I watch her finally pull away but not step back. “What happened?”
Amber takes a drink, her eyes flickering between her brother and his friend. “Same thing that always happens. I guess my brother got bored and dumped her. She’s a nice girl.”
“And he doesn’t like nice girls?” While Bonnie introduces herself to his friend, Jesse’s eyes scan the table. Until they settle on me.
Amber leans in until she’s whispering in my ear. “He’s never been into the rich, entitled girls. Don’t get me wrong—Bonnie’s nice and she’s one of my best friends, but she’s spoiled and she can be fake sometimes. They were a bad fit from the start. Clearly she still has a thing for him.”
Almost on cue, Bonnie tosses her long locks over her shoulder and throws her head back to laugh over something his friend said, her eyes on Jesse.
Yes, clearly.
I guess the question is, is he still not into rich, entitled girls?
That makes me wonder if, with my diamond necklace and my sparkly dress and one ridiculously high heel, I once fit that description.
Aside from a quick glance my way, Jesse seems into their conversation. I try not to watch, but it’s impossible. That is, until his friend comes back from grabbing drinks at the bar and catches my eye. He stares at me until I duck my face into my beer, feeling my cheeks burn.
Several people around the table try to strike up a conversation with me with a “Hey, Water . . . ,” followed by a question. I answer them the best I can, with a smile.
And, always, a lie.
As my lies start piling up faster than the people filtering through the door, I begin to get uncomfortable. I can’t be honest with these people. I can’t be honest with anyone except the Welles family, Ginny, and Dr. Weimer.
I excuse myself to grab a glass of water at the bar because the beer is making me feel light-headed. If I was ever much of a drinker, I definitely am a lightweight now.
“Hey, Water.” A wall of chest and bright blue eyes meet my gaze when I turn around. “We didn’t officially meet. I’m Dean.”
“Hi,” I say with a nod, stepping back so I don’t have to tip my head back and risk my hair falling.
“You having fun?”
My gaze drifts around the rustic bar, taking in the various animal horns. “Yeah. I like this place.”
“You from around here?”
Good question. I don’t know, though I have to assume not, seeing as I haven’t run into a single person who recognizes me. If I say no, then I have to get into a long conversation of lies. So I settle on, “I am now.”
He eases a
boot on the bar rail. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before. I would have remembered you.”
Just as I start to shrug, someone shoves me from behind and I tumble into Dean, my face mashing against his chest. He ropes one strong arm around my shoulders while the other stretches out somewhere behind me. “Hey, watch it or you’re out of here,” he warns the guy.
I hear someone mutter a “sorry” behind me as I peel myself off of Dean’s body, quickly adjusting my hair that got pushed back.
Not quickly enough.
“Holy shit.” Dean stops my hand in his, a shocked frown wrinkling his forehead. “What happened to your face?”
The person standing just behind Dean turns at his words and now stares at me. I feel the bartender staring at me. And others. Others are staring at me, at my face.
I finally manage to yank my hand from Dean’s grasp and swipe my hair forward to cover the scar.
That’s when Jesse appears. “Don’t you ever fucking grab her like that,” he growls, edging in between us, forcing me to take a step back.
“I didn’t grab her. And get the hell away from me, Welles, or I’ll kick your ass out and there’s nothing your daddy can do about that.” As if Dean wasn’t using his full size before, he suddenly appears larger, looming over Jesse. They may be the same height, but where Jesse is lean and muscular, Dean is broad and bulky. I don’t see how Jesse could win against that. And I don’t want to see him try.
I reach up to settle a tentative hand on Jesse’s arm, the tension in his body surging into my fingertips. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” Embarrassed and ready to go home, but fine.
He adjusts his stance slightly, peering down at me over his shoulder. “You sure?”
“Yeah, she’s sure,” Dean answers for me.
I think I hear Jesse’s teeth crack against each other, his jaw is clenched so tight.
To me, Dean offers, “It’s too bad about your face. You hide it well, though.”
I’m not sure if he meant it as an apology or a compliment, or if it was really just a dumbass comment, but the next thing I know, hands are seizing my shoulders and pulling me back, and Jesse’s taking a swing at Dean. His fist slams into the big guy’s jaw, sending him back a step. Dean’s elbow knocks a tray of fries off the bar and onto the floor.
It must hurt, because it takes him a moment to face Jesse again. When he does, rage is burning in his eyes. “George!” he hollers to the bartender, who immediately picks up the phone. Throwing Jesse into a headlock, Dean leads him out, the crowd parting for the two angry men.
The hands that pulled me back earlier fall from my arms. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want you getting in the mix.”
I turn to see the guy Jesse walked in with beside me. “Thanks.”
“They need Licks here, right?” He nods toward the scattered fries.
I frown. “Licks?”
Jesse’s friend stares at me for so long, an unreadable look in his eyes, that I begin to get uncomfortable. Finally, I hold my hand out. “I’m Water.”
“Right.” He takes my hand. “Luke.”
“Luke,” I repeat. “Nice to meet you. Are you from around here?”
He shakes his head. “Portland. On my way to Boise tonight, and I thought I’d stop in Bend and see Jesse for a bit.”
“Do you know him well?”
“I guess you could say that, yeah. We lived together.”
Lived together? He must know Jesse very well. I know this is prying, but I’ll blame it on the beer if anyone accuses me of being nosy. “Do you know why he moved back to Sisters?” And why he and Sheriff Gabe were fighting last night?
“Uh . . .” Luke drops his gaze to the floor, as if he’s searching for an answer there. “I think he just missed being home.”
I can’t tell if Luke doesn’t know the real reason or if he’s lying. “I can understand that. It’s beautiful here.”
“You like living here?”
I smile. Finally, a question I don’t have to lie about. “Yeah, it’s a great place.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have—” He cuts off abruptly, a frown zagging across his forehead. “I need to go. Uh . . . I’m going to go outside and wait for the cops with Jesse.” He grimaces. “Bartender called them.”
“Crap . . .” Jesse’s going to get into more trouble with his dad. Because of me.
Why would he even do that?
“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Luke heads for the door, his steps quick.
After a brief visit to the restroom to make sure my hair is all fixed, I head back over to our table to hear Bonnie say, “I thought Dean and him were over all that.”
I sit down beside Amber, who’s not bothering to hide her scowl. “Over what?” I ask.
“Something that happened to Dean’s best friend, Tommy, back in high school.”
Tommy . . . “The kid who was stabbed?”
Amber lifts a questioning brow at me and then clues in. “Dakota told you.”
“Yeah.” I give her a sheepish shrug.
“I didn’t say anything earlier because I didn’t want you to worry about having Jesse next door after . . . you know.” She snorts. “Funny, I figured Dakota was too stoned in high school to even know what was going on.”
“Did you say Dakota?” The redhead rolls her eyes. It’s obvious that everyone at this table shares Amber’s opinion, though some are more catty about it than others.
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” I tell Amber. Maybe I can help by talking to the officer about what happened.
She sighs, dragging herself up. “Yeah, I guess I should come with you and see if my brother’s in handcuffs. I’m sure my dad’s here by now.”
I spot the sheriff’s emblem on the white car as soon as we step outside. Jesse’s sitting on a step under the watchful eye of a police officer, his elbows resting on his knees, glaring at Dean, who’s talking to the sheriff.
“Do you know what set him off?” Amber asks.
“I’m not sure.” Did it even have anything to do with me? Or was I just an excuse for Jesse to pick a fight? Is he that kind of guy?
We watch as Dean nods to Sheriff Gabe and turns back toward us. His eyes catch mine briefly but he ducks his head and keeps marching, until he disappears into the bar. I’m guessing Dean isn’t as interested in knowing me as he was earlier.
With a holler and a wave from Sheriff Gabe, the other cop leaves Jesse and his friend sitting on the curb and drives off.
“I guess he’s getting off for that,” Amber says as we watch Jesse and Luke climb into Jesse’s car. “Probably easier for everyone.” She sighs. “I’m heading back in.”
Sheriff Gabe looks over at us, his lips pressed into a firm line. “I’m actually going to ask your dad for a ride home.”
Amber frowns. “Aren’t you having fun?”
“Yeah, I am,” I lie. “I’m just tired.”
She shrugs, giving my arm a squeeze. “Okay. See you later.”
I make my way over to the sheriff’s car. “Could I get a ride? In the front, preferably,” I add with a smile.
He dips his head. “Sure, Water. Come on.”
The farther away we get from the bar, the more I relax. His police radio keeps going off until he turns the volume dial all the way down. “I’m not supposed to be on duty anyway,” he explains, adding softly, “though I don’t really know what that means anymore.”
“You should take a vacation. I’d love to recommend somewhere, but . . . you know.”
His head nods slowly, but his solemn mask never cracks. It doesn’t seem as though he finds my attempt at amnesia humor funny. I can guess that he didn’t enjoy having to bail his son out tonight. “So how come you wanted to leave? You weren’t having fun?” Sheriff Gabe finally asks.
I think about that question as the tick-tick-tick of the turn signal fills the silence in the car. “Not really,” I admit finally. “I just didn’t feel like I fit in there. Amber’s friends are nice and all, but . . . I d
on’t know. Maybe it was too much for me.”
Maybe I would have enjoyed myself had I been with Jesse.
Or maybe I’m just more of a loner.
He chuckles. “Amber’s friends can be too much for me. Amber always was the social butterfly growing up. She didn’t mind the attention at all.”
“I feel like I’m so different from her in that way. Maybe I wasn’t before, but I am now.” I pause before adding, “Thanks for not arresting Jesse tonight. I think that was partly my fault.”
He nods once but doesn’t ask any more questions. I’ve probably created enough work for him as it is. “Wouldn’t have done anybody any good.”
“Will you get into any trouble over that? You know, with voters and letting your son off and stuff.”
His forehead furrows deep. “This is my last term. I’ll be resigning after this. Retiring, technically.”
“Really? The way Ginny and Amber talk about you, I thought you were meant for that shiny badge.”
“Doesn’t hang quite right on me anymore.”
The rest of the drive is silent.
It isn’t until I’m sitting alone on my back balcony, taking in the canopy of stars, that I really think about what happened tonight. I trail my finger against the long ridge running down my face. How many more times will I hide this scar, only to surprise a guy who might otherwise think I’m pretty?
Who will then pass me by once he discovers that I’m not?
I sit back and wonder if I’ll be able to find someone who sees beyond it. It’s just a scar, right? A blemish on the outside.
And a confused girl with no past on the inside.
Mostly, though, I sit and wonder about the guy next door. I wonder where he is right now, because he’s not in his garage.
And that makes my heart heavy with disappointment.
TWENTY-FIVE
Jesse
then
It’s just after ten by the time I turn into the driveway. I take the potholes extra slow for Alex’s sake, but I can’t avoid them completely. Her fingers curl around the door’s molding with each bump.