Hope on the Rocks by Annabeth Albert
Three
Quinn
I wasn’t in my own bed. There was too much light, for one thing. My bedroom had blackout curtains—a hazard of unpredictable hours and a lifetime of insomnia. But even with my eyes shut, aggressively bright light kept filtering in. And the bed smelled woodsy and not like the lavender detergent I used because allegedly it helped with sleep, same as my pricey curtains. Ha. Neither had helped yet.
But for once, I felt as if I’d slept too much, not too little. I blinked my eyes open, trying to take stock of my situation.
“My head.” The sunlight sliced through my brain, a sharp, searing pain joined by a duller but still noisy throbbing as I attempted to sit up. Vertigo. I definitely had vertigo. I rolled my head. My ears didn’t seem clogged, so allergies were unlikely as a culprit. It was almost like I had—
A hangover.
Oh God. My eyes went painfully wide as the previous night came rushing back in snippets.
The pictures.
The crushing, unbearable sadness.
How lonely my place had felt.
The decision, evidently terrible, to go have a drink at the Rainbow Tavern.
The hot lumberjack bartender.
His banter equally as distracting as all those muscles.
I almost could have gotten a buzz, simply watching the guy work. But clearly, I’d had some stronger stuff too. There had been something sweet and chocolatey, made especially for me. And…
And there my memories got hazy. I want to kiss you. I’d said those words, but to whom? Clearly someone, especially given the strange bed. Had I hooked up with someone at the bar? I was almost fully clothed—pants, socks, no shirt, but I had a vague recollection of vomit rather than passion being involved there. No embarrassing stickiness in my pants or intimate soreness. Likely I didn’t have unprotected sex to add to my list of sins.
But where the hell was I, if not at home or with some random hookup? I was disoriented, and my lack of glasses wasn’t helping anything, keeping the room as blurry as my memories. And vertigo remained a factor in my ability to leave the bed.
“Hello?” I called, really hoping this wasn’t going to unfold like some scene in a bad horror movie.
“You’re up.” A bulky form appeared in the doorway. The room was serial-killer bare, right down to the lack of curtains and nightstand or other furniture besides the bed, but the voice was friendly, not ominous. And familiar.
I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus sans glasses. “My…uh…I can’t see you.”
“Here. I put your glasses on the windowsill to keep them safe.” A big hand gently placed them on my face rather than in my outstretched hand. Caring. Somehow the unexpected gesture felt strangely familiar as well
I blinked again. The lenses were clean, not smudgy. Surely bad guys didn’t clean glasses. Slightly reassured, I slid my gaze up to—
The friendly bartender. Even more attractive than my hazy memories, all massive arms and tree-trunk thighs and brooding lumberjack vibes with his ginger beard, worn jeans, and plaid shirt.
“I don’t remember your name.” My voice came out a little woozy, like I was still buzzed, but the culprit here was his blinding hotness.
“It’s Adam.” Something crossed his face. Might have been disappointment. Damn it. Why couldn’t my mind have supplied that one detail?
“Sorry.” I resisted the impulse to slump back against the bed. Adam and all those sturdy muscles were pretty darn unforgettable, and he’d evidently been far kinder than I deserved. Least I could have done was held on to his name. And now my vertigo was worse. I rubbed my temple.
“It’s okay.” He held out a bottle of water and what looked to be two over-the-counter painkillers. “Here. Take this before you try to get up.”
“Thanks.” I studied the pills, not his face, afraid to let him down again.
“They’re generic acetaminophen. I can show you the bottle.”
“No, I believe you.’’ I swallowed them down, continuing to drink the water. God, had I ever been so parched?
“Careful. You don’t want to hurl again.”
“Again?” I whimpered. I must have been right about the cause of my missing shirt. Humiliation washed over me. I didn’t do things like this. Ever. I didn’t drink. Didn’t black out. Didn’t go home with gorgeous strangers. Except, apparently, I had.
“Yup.”’ He nodded. “You had a rough go of it. Your shirt too. But I’ve got one you can borrow.”
He tossed me a black T-shirt advertising the Rainbow Tavern. Much too big, which wasn’t surprising given the man’s professional-wrestler proportions, but I put it on regardless.
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
“So you’ve said.” His smile was more than a little strained.
“Sorry. I’ve clearly been a burden.” I couldn’t remember most of it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
“Nah.” He waved away my concern. “You try to get up and visit the bathroom, and I’ll get started on my famous hangover breakfast.”
“I really don’t think I can eat.”
“You can.” He clapped me on the shoulder, his hand big and warm. “Food will help, trust me.”
“All right,” I said meekly. Following even his simple orders felt good, a way to shut up my racing mind. And strangely sexy, pleasing the gruff bartender with my obedience. Which was ridiculous. This was a mission of mercy, not the start of anything, and I didn’t need to repay his kindness by allowing all these stray lustful ideas to roam through my brain.
Trying to push my inconvenient attraction to Adam aside, I took my unsteady body to the nearby bathroom, exactly as he’d said. I took a moment to freshen up, using toothpaste on my finger to try to do something about my horrendous cotton mouth. His T-shirt was soft and smelled like the sheets, vaguely mountain-y. Maybe I needed to reconsider my detergent choices because his kept creating more inappropriate thoughts.
Or maybe that was the man himself. Damn it, why couldn’t I remember if we’d actually kissed? I didn’t necessarily want to remember the vomiting part of the night, but more specifics of our conversation would be helpful. And I so seldom kissed anyone these days that if I’d locked lips with that perfect fodder for lumberjack fantasies, I’d like to recall it.
I made my way to the main part of the house. The place was older, probably midcentury, with small, boxy rooms notable for the many windows with views of the nearby lake. Prime real estate, if nothing else. The sun streaming in made my head throb worse, but there was nary a curtain in sight. Not much in the way of furniture or décor either. Lumpy couch in the living room, small table with two mismatched chairs in the dining area, and beyond that, a narrow kitchen where Adam was stirring something in a skillet.
“Have a seat.” He pointed at the table where two glasses of water were already waiting.
My stomach didn’t know what to make of the aroma of food, but I obeyed. Rather than stare at him cooking, I studied what I could see of the kitchen. The cabinetry was likely original, while the older white fridge was dotted with magnets advertising various liquor brands and a picture of an elementary-aged child beaming at the camera.
My stomach roiled anew. “You have a kid?”
“Ha.” He snorted. “Teddy’s not mine. He’s my sister’s son. I was living with them, helping out when he was little, but recently, my sister started seeing this guy who got a short-term gig in Alaska. She’s spending the summer there. Left the minute school got out. I miss the little guy like crazy though.”
“Yeah.” My chest hurt, and I dropped my gaze to my hands, twisting them around in my lap. “I can imagine. Your sister’s lucky to have you.”
“Eh. It goes both ways. How about you? Any kids?” he asked it all casual, not even looking up from the stove, but I couldn’t answer. Even swallowing a couple of times didn’t work.
“Not anymore,” I finally managed to mumble.
“Oh damn.” Adam paled, his freckles standing out starkly. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry about your loss. Damn, man. I assumed you were coming off a breakup. I had no clue…”
Hell. Now I had to speak, correct his assumption. “Paloma didn’t die. And it was a breakup. Not all that recent either.”
“Still sounds like it sucked. Custody crap is no joke.” He put another pan down with a thump. “My old man didn’t give a shit about visitation. And my sister’s ex barely pays the support the court ordered him to, but he sure as hell had something to say about her going to Alaska for the summer.”
“There wasn’t a custody dispute here.” My voice was weary because this was territory I’d gone over and over with others in my life. “We weren’t married. And like I said, it’s practically ancient history at this point.”
“History can still suck,” he said, shaking his head before cracking an alarming number of eggs into a bowl. “What changed yesterday?”
“Who says something happened?” His ability to read my mind was getting a little freaky now.
“Something happened to make you drink. My money’s on social media stalking gone bad because that crap is always a mistake. Broken hearts can be good business for the bar, but still, it’s always a damn bad idea to look an ex up.”
“I didn’t look them up. A mutual…” I trailed off, realizing I was on the verge of spilling this whole messy drama instead of being quietly grateful for him making me food. “You don’t need all the gory details. Why am I telling you all this?”
“Because I’m a professional listener.” He glanced at me and made a “go on” gesture. “Continue. I’m almost done here. You can pay me back for breakfast by telling me your tale of woe.”
“Woe is right.” I rubbed my aching head. “Anyway, a mutual contact posted pictures. I wasn’t stalking. I don’t do that.”
I couldn’t do that. For one thing, it hurt too much. Maybe, at first, I’d done some Internet sleuthing, but I’d quickly come to see that way led to pain. Better to treat the heartache the way I’d been doing: moving away, closing that chapter of my life, and not taking it out for re-examination.
“It’s okay, even if you did look your ex up. Might be a bad idea, but you’re allowed to be human. Here you go.” He slid me a cup of coffee and a plate with an enormous piece of something made out of eggs.
“What is it?” Wait. That was rude. I sucked in a breath. “Sorry. Thank you. This looks…different.”
“Ha. It’s a frittata with eggs, bacon, and pasta. Spaghetti is my secret ingredient. Carby enough to soak up your hangover, but bland enough to not send you running back to the john.”
“I see.” I poked experimentally at it, not at all sure how my stomach would react.
“Usually, I’ve got leftover noodles, but for once, I didn’t, so I had to boil some up. That’s what took longer.” He grabbed another plate from the cabinet.
“You made pasta for me?” The thought of him going to extra trouble made me strangely emotional. I’d already been so much of a bother for him. Hijacking his night. Being sick. God knew what else.
“Well, and me.” He gave me a lopsided grin as he sat down opposite me. That grin did things to my insides. I’d be grateful to any stranger for such kindness, but him practically striding straight out of my fantasies added another layer of complexity to my churning feelings. The easy way he took care of me, everything from my glasses to special-made pasta, spoke to the sort of deep cravings I usually managed to ignore.
“Thank you.” I took a small bite, mainly to be polite, and discovered he was right. “This is good. Like a pasta carbonara in omelet form.”
“Yup. Told you. I might not have a hangover, but it’s still tasty. So, tell me about these pictures. I swear breaking up had to have been easier before people went around sharing every little detail of their lives online.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, then sighed. Might as well tell him what he wanted to know. “This would have hurt even without pictures. A mutual acquaintance from my time in Eugene had recently returned from attending a wedding. My ex’s. Some big, fancy affair. No one told me. Not one person thought to tell me.”
“Damn. That’s cold, man.” Looking up from his food, he shook his head. He had eyes a startling shade of blue, that crisp true blue of Crater Lake or another natural wonder. But it was the sympathy there that kept me talking.
“What really hurt was seeing Paloma. She’s so big now. Such an adorable flower girl. No way does she remember me. She’ll never know…” I had to stop and swallow again. I took a long drink of coffee, trying to calm myself.
“She might. Kids are funny that way. I can’t remember what shirt I wore three days ago, but I can still tell you all about this one boyfriend of my mom’s who smelled like a particular cigarillo brand and taught me to hunt. They dated less than two years, but I remember him.”
“Thanks.” I liked how easily Adam talked about his life and his past. He was a good listener, no doubt, but I appreciated his own willingness to open up as well. “But no, it’s not like that. She was a baby. I was newly out of residency and working at an ER in Eugene, near the university. Finally had enough breathing room post-school to think about dating. I met this great guy—”
Adam speared his next bite rather violently. “Something tells me that by the end of this story, I’m not going to think he’s that great.”
“No, he is. Brilliant scientist. He was a doctoral student in microbiology. We fell hard and fast for each other. A few months after we started dating, Luke found out that a fellow student he’d seen for a short time prior to meeting me was pregnant. Neither of them wanted to resume their relationship, but he wanted to be involved in the baby’s life.”
“Stepping up as a dad is the least he could do. Trust me. Like I said, I know deadbeats.”
“Well, Luke didn’t want to be a deadbeat, or absent either. So, I helped where I could. I was working long hours, but I rearranged my schedule, worked more nights so I could help during the day. With both Luke and his ex nearing dissertation defense, it took all three of us juggling to make sure someone could watch the baby. I spent more time with the baby than Luke a lot of weeks.”
“I remember when Teddy was little.” Adam’s face softened, a fondness there that made me ache all over again. “My sister and I were like shift workers clocking in and out at a manufacturing plant. We’d do a fast hand-off but never had enough time to actually stop and have a conversation.”
“Exactly. Our relationship went from idyllic to strained, but that’s what happens with new parents. Kids come first. Relationship second. I figured we’d get back on track eventually. The three of us got along so well, I never thought…”
“That they would get back together?”
“Damn. You are a good guesser, I’ll give you that.” I whistled low, then forced myself to get the rest of the story out in a hurry. “Yes, eventually, they fell in love. She got a prestigious fellowship in Barcelona, where she’s from originally. He found a nearby post-doc and decided to join her.”
“Wow. No more kid time for you, I take it. Fuck. That’s ice cold.” Adam’s voice had gone from tender to angry.
I appreciated his empathy, but the feelings it stirred were painful, underscoring every mistake I’d made along the way. This was why I almost never talked about the situation. I hated making Luke and Julia out to be the villains, hated my own naivety even more, and truly hated how damn much I still cared, even now, almost two years later.
“Yes. No more kid time. They were just gone. I asked about visiting, but they put me off. They wanted to focus on their partnership. Didn’t want to confuse Paloma.”
Adam frowned. “Babies don’t get confused. They generally like new people to play with. You could have been a friend of the family or something.”
“I know. I offered. They weren’t interested. And now, yesterday, I saw the wedding pictures. And Paloma’s so big now. A real kid, not a baby. She’s changed so much…”
“Sounds like you miss her more than that scum of an ex. Understandably.”
“Luke’s not a bad person. I don’t think he meant to fall in love with Julia. It just happened. And now Paloma gets to grow up with two parents who adore her, grandparents and cousins nearby, gorgeous setting. It’s probably the best thing for her.” I’d said it enough times that I halfway believed it, but Adam shook his head like he wasn’t buying it.
“And the worst thing for you.” Reaching across the table, he put a hand over mine. All the air left my lungs in a big whoosh. This much understanding plus a wicked hangover was more than my paltry emotional reserves could handle. How many times had I secretly wished for a champion like this? Someone who got it, who stood up for me even when I tried to dismiss my pain.
“Pretty much,” I whispered, not pulling my hand away, letting the moment stretch out so I could savor the few additional seconds of contact until he returned to his food.
“And I’m not sure having selfish parents is best for anyone.” He stabbed at his food again. “Anyway, sucks for you, man. I get why you drank last night.”
“Nothing else left to do.”
“Yup. Love will do that to you.” He gestured with his fork. “That’s why I avoid it. No exes to pine over.”
“I’m not pining.” My head ached anew from the tension in my jaw.
“I didn’t say you were,” Adam said mildly and pointed at my glass. “Drink more water.”
I wanted to comply. So badly. Every time he made a suggestion, I wanted to please him, and that was a problem. Bad enough I’d bared my soul. I didn’t need to add to my humiliation with an ill-advised crush.
“I should probably get going.” I pushed my half-eaten breakfast away. Adam pushed it right back.
“Hang tight. I’ll run you home. I’ve got to be at the tavern before lunch anyway. And we’re not done talking.”
“Oh, I think you’ve heard more than enough of my rambling tale of woe.” I tried to joke, but it came out a little too sharp. I didn’t do embarrassed well.
“Not talking about that story.” He made a dismissive gesture before taking a drink of his coffee. “I mean, it sucks, and I feel bad you got a raw deal like that. Bastard could have told you about the wedding at the very least. But you need a positive change in subject.”
“I do.” On that, we were agreed. And I did appreciate his empathy and the obvious care he’d shown by feeding me and helping me last night. I probably needed to settle down.
“Good. Then tell me all about you being kinky.”
Or not.
