Different Roads (17 page)

            She
ended the call and threw the phone onto the bed beside me. "You need to
block his number," she ordered.  She recognized the look of dejection on
my face and said, "Jaq, I know it's hard right now, but it'll get easier. You
just have to avoid him and anything or any place that's even remotely connected
to Damon Blackwell. That way, you'll be able to see him through more objective
eyes. Right?"

            I
nodded, "Right."

            She
held out her hand, "Come on. Let me wash your hair for you. Then we'll go
eat a gallon or so of ice cream. Ice Cream is the miracle cure that always
helps to put everything into perspective."

            "Is
it okay if I get it wet?" I asked and pointed to the back of my head.

            "Probably
not. But we'll be careful," she sighed, squeezing my hand.

            I
frowned, "I trust you. I guess."

The
days after I ended things with Damon were intensely painful for me. I knew what
the best, most logical choice was. But like the alcoholic who swears off booze
the morning after a particularly nasty night of puking drunk-dom, stopping my
Damon addiction cold turkey was equally as difficult.

I marveled at the irony of how, yet
again, Seth Thomas had charged in, all knight in shining armor-like to save my
pathetic ass. Was there a special alert system that I was unaware of which let him
know whenever I needed help? Like the bat signal did for Batman? Had aliens unknowingly
embedded some sort of microchip under my skin that went off like tornado sirens
whenever I was headed down the road to Stupidville?

I sat on the edge of the bathtub shaving
my legs when the blue butterfly tattoo on my inner wrist caught my attention.
It was a beautiful, yet heartbreaking reminder of how the one year anniversary
of Brad's accident was quickly approaching. I traced my index finger along the
intricate wings and Brad's gap-toothed grin floated into my awareness.

"Knock-knock?" Shelley called
out.

"In here," I told her. When
she walked in, I held up my wrist. "What was that thing Brad always used
to say? Something about not being with the one you love, but loving the one
you're with?"

"Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.
Love
the One You're With
," she answered. "Why?"

A trace of a smile played with the
corners of my mouth, "I'm going to have that tattooed on my wrist next to
the butterfly in honor of Brad. Sort of a permanent memorial."

Shelley's eyes crinkled with a smile and
she nodded in agreement, "Rockin' idea Jaq."

"I know, right!" I smiled,
pretty proud of myself.

"Shannon will be here in about an
hour," she said over her shoulder as she left. "Be ready, okay?"

"Are you sure you guys don't mind
me tagging along?" I asked.

"Every time," Shelley muttered
and I could almost hear the eye-roll in her voice. "Shut up and get
ready."

I chuckled at her response. It had been
forever since I'd actually left the house on a Saturday night to go anywhere
fun, and I was looking forward to going to the little hole-in-the-wall bar to
watch karaoke with Shelley and her older sister. Shannon wasn't a drinker, so
she volunteered to be our driver for the night.

The bar was pretty much a dive, but it
was cozy in a smoky, sweaty, hayseed kind of way. I liked it because we were
about twenty-five miles away from any other place I'd been known to hang out in
the past.

We grabbed a booth near the stage, and Shannon
went to get us something to drink. I scanned the Stetson wearing crowd and said
with a grin, "Someone needs to tell these people this is Missouri, not
Texas."

Shelley giggled and nudged me with her
elbow, "You hush up now," she said with a pathetically fake southern twang.
"You know what they say about riding a cowboy."

I rolled my eyes and snorted, "You're
so bad."

"Ha! Just wait 'til you hear me
sing," she told me with a wicked smirk across her face.

"Oh dear God. I have heard you sing
and seriously? You could use some lessons," I informed my extremely tone
deaf friend.

"Whatever. You're just
jealous," she stuck her lower lip out into a mock pout.

"Yeah, that would be a no," I
laughed and shook my head. I had started to forget my problems already and with
a little booze in my bloodstream, I was sure I'd feel good all over by the end
of the night.

"Don't look now," Shannon whispered
when she returned to our table carrying a tray with two beers, two shots, and
something virginal for her. We leaned closer to hear her over the crowd and she
continued, "But there is one extremely doable young dude with a cowboy hat
sitting up at the bar right now."

Why is it that "don't look
now" always makes people look now?

"Shan, in case you haven't noticed,
'dude with a cowboy hat
' doesn't exactly narrow things down,"
Shelley commented and sprinkled salt on the back of her hand for her shot.

Shannon slid into the booth across from
me, "Shelley? Don't you worry about it. Hot guys with tight,
mouth-watering bodies, and killer smiles? So off limits for you little sis,"
she winked at me and clinked her soda glass against my beer bottle. "What
do you think Jaq? Game on?"

I tipped my beer back and washed down
the tequila with a big gulp, "I think I'll sit this night out, but you go
for it Shan," I laughed. She tugged the front of her top down, exposing a
little more of her ample cleavage and shimmied side to side a couple times causing
me to snort involuntarily.

"Jesus Shan! How old are we now, twelve?"
Shelley rolled her eyes and hissed, "You're
thirty-two
. Don't you
think these
boys
are a little young for you?" It was no secret
Shannon liked younger men -- a fact which never failed to creep Shelley out. Picking
up any man wasn't in my cards; I was strictly on a window shopping expedition
for the night.

I couldn't remember when I'd laughed so
much or had such a good time, and it was wholly liberating. Several shots and
beers later, I started to loosen up a little bit. I licked the salt from my
lips and peered into the smoke-filled haze of the crowded room, my eyes focused
on a guy bent over the pool table. I'd been covertly watching him for awhile.
He had buzzed blonde hair and liquid green eyes and I was starting to toy with
the idea of challenging him to a game of pool.

He caught me leering openly gawking at
him, and our eyes locked. He nodded his head in my direction and smiled,
revealing a perfect set of whiter than white teeth. My cheeks flushed and I'm
pretty sure part of my icy reserve started to melt into a puddle under his hot gaze.
Feeling more brave than smart, I grabbed my beer and started to slide out of
the booth. Shelley put her hand on my arm, "Where are you going?"

"That pool table has been calling
my name all night," I informed her.

Her grip tightened, "You might want
to wipe the drool off your chin before you introduce yourself to, um, the pool
table."

I walked to the pool table, hoping I looked
more confident than I felt. I put my quarters on the table and smiled at
White-Teeth, "Let me know when I'm up." I turned to walk back to the
booth when I heard him say, "Hey, you might as well wait here. I'm almost
done kicking Jared's ass."

I shrugged, "Okay, sure." I
walked over to stand next to him. "I'm Jaq, by the way."

"Harold," he smiled.
Harold?
Really? Who names their son Harold?
As though he heard my unspoken jabs
about his name, he said, "I'm named after my dad. My friends call me
Junior."

"And just so you know?
Junior
is taken," a female's whiney baby voice said from somewhere behind me. I
turned to face the poster child for skank, who was shooting daggers at me
through bloodshot eyes. She brushed past me and stood possessively between
Junior and me. "So back the fuck off."

I held up my hands, "I don't want
any trouble. I just want to shoot some pool." Roughly translated:
I
did
want to have hot sweaty sex with Harold on the pool table until I saw your
skanky ass. Now, I just want to crawl under the pool table and disappear.

"Not with my man, you're not,"
she said.

I shrugged and said, "No
problem." I swiped my money off the table and slithered back to the booth
with my imaginary tail tucked between my legs.

"What?" I glared at Shelley's
smirking face.

"I was getting ready to take off my
shoes," she giggled. "I thought for sure there was going to be a cat
fight. Damn."

"I'm a lover, not a fighter,"
I mumbled.

That was my initiation back into the
land of the living. One night did not mean I was ready to get back on my
bicycle and ride, but it was a start.

The
last time I'd been inside
Infinite Ink
, Brad was still alive and hard at
work doing a huge back piece on some guy fresh out of Afghanistan. The familiar
buzzing of tattoo machines quieted in sync when I walked through the front
door. The owner, Libby, glanced up from the magazine she was flipping through,
"Jaq, hey sweetie pie. Long time no see!" Her voice was deep and gravely
from too many cigarettes.

            "Hi
Libby," I smiled self-consciously under her scrutinizing gaze. She'd been
like a mom to Brad and knew we had been close.

            "What
can I do you for honey?" she asked. Libby moved up here from Louisiana a
few years ago and she was all about the honey, sweetie, and baby doll
salutations. When I held out my wrist and explained to her what I wanted, a
faint smile tugged at her mouth, but her eyes glistened sadly. She nodded and
hollered at some guy named Vance to help me out.

            I
turned as the sound of footsteps approached. Holy hell. Vance was hot. His eyes
peeked out beneath a fringe of bangs and he asked me to follow him. We worked
out all the details and I got comfy in the chair. "You weren't here the
last time I came in," I said.

            "Nope,"
he continued messing with the caps of ink and adjusted the lighting. "I
took
his
spot." My eyebrows drew into a frown, and I wasn't sure
what he meant. When he noticed the confusion on my face he pointed to the
tattoo on my wrist. "Brad's spot."

            My
mouth formed a silent "O."

            Vance
went to work and I tried not to think about the multiple needles dragging
through the tender skin of my inner arm. Occasionally, the bell over the door chimed
the arrival of a new customer who wanted to add either more holes in their body
or more color to their skin. It was just a normal reaction to glance in the
direction of the door each time. "Ah shit," I muttered when I caught
glimpse of the latest customer.

            Vance
looked up and snorted, "You know Damon?" My stomach turned inside out,
and I squirmed in the chair.

            "Yeah
you could say that," I sighed. I had come to terms with Damon not being a
part of my life, and his calls and text messages had stopped, so I figured he'd
given up. With any luck at all he wouldn't see me, and I wouldn't have to test
my willpower. It was one thing to quietly get over Damon by not seeing or
talking to him. But meeting face to face was going to suck, I was sure of it.

            "All
done," Vance sat back on his stool and peeled off his latex gloves.
"What do you think?"

            My
tongue felt three sizes too big for my mouth and I tried to find my voice,
"Looks great," I finally managed.

            "Damon's
my three o'clock," Vance said.

            I
nodded, "Okay, yeah sure," and pushed to my feet. I hoped my wobbly
legs would hold me up, but I teetered off balance for an instant. My hip bumped
into his floor lamp, sending it clattering noisily to the tiled floor.

            He
reached to steady me, "Hey are you okay?"

            I
gave him a weak smile, "I'm fine. I must have stood up too fast."

I handed him the cash for his work and shot
a hopeful glance toward Damon and Libby, praying they hadn't heard the racket.
No such luck. Libby raised her eyebrows and looked over her glasses in my
direction. Damon folded his arms in front of his chest and a shit-eating grin
lit up his eyes.
I got this. I so got this. I can't do this. Fuck. I am so
screwed.

            Damon's
eyes burned into me with one of his panty shedding smiles and dammit to hell if
I didn't feel myself smile back. "Long time no see Jaq," he said
softly.

           
Not
long enough
. "Damon," I nodded and moved past him to slip out the
door.

            He
stepped in front of me and planted his hands on my shoulders. When I didn't
meet his eyes, he tipped my chin up with his index finger, "I've missed
you. How have you been?"

            "I
ca-can't do this Damon," I stumbled over my words with a tongue that was just
as twisted as my stomach felt. "I need to go."