The End of All Things Beautiful (9 page)

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I say, turning around as I start
to walk back to my car.

“Why did you?” Benji asks, a harshness to his tone. “It’s been
nine fucking years.”

I turn around and face him once again. My hands on my hips ready
to have this conversation; one we should’ve had years ago. “You could’ve found
me.”

“You’re the one who left.”

“You changed,” I say back, but my voice comes out as a shout and
I feel myself growing defensive.

“So did you,” he shouts back, his posture growing stiff as I
watch the anger build inside him. Although the gun is resting at his side, he
clenches his hand around it tightly, his knuckles turning white.

“It was stupid of me to come here.”

“Then leave. Fucking leave, Campbell. Just like you did before.”
I step back as he yells this time, loudly, so loudly that it echoes in the vast
emptiness.

His voice is a growl that startles me; I’ve never heard him
sound so hateful and cruel before, not that I have any idea who he has become.
But I like to believe that somewhere behind this man in front of me is the boy
I fell in love with.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, seething with anger. I slam the car door
so hard it shakes everything inside. I tear out of his driveway bound and
determined to drive off in a serious fit of rage and show him exactly how
pissed off I am, and then I remember I’m almost nine hours from home, it’s
after eight p.m. and I have no idea where I am.

And there isn’t a single fucking hotel in this tiny ass town.

I’m swearing up a storm, as my GPS won’t let me search for
anything while the car is moving. Stupid fucking computer! I just need to get
the hell away from here and everything looks the same in the dark.

I finally come across the bar I was at just a little while ago,
and knowing there isn’t anything else open, I pull in. I find my location on
the GPS and begin to search for hotels, a part of me hoping that maybe it was
wrong the two other times I ran this search and suddenly a hotel will appear
out of nowhere.

Fat fucking chance.

Same as last time, thirty miles north of here there are a few,
so I grab my phone and begin calling, but I’m shot down by all four that are
available, which is unbelievable. The first one is hosting a wedding and is
completely booked, the second one is filled with construction workers who were
placed far from home to work on an oil pipeline that extends from Alaska all
the way to the UP, the third no longer exists, and while the fourth had a few
rooms, the pictures I found online look like the Bates Motel. No, thank you. As
stubborn as I’m being though, it might be my only option.

My stomach growls loudly reminding me that I still haven’t
eaten. I look at the bar, the lights are still on, but the parking lot is now
empty. Letting out a desperate sigh, I exit the car.

When I walk in the bartender is wiping down the counter and he
smiles at me, but his eyes are twinkling with mischief. I take a seat on the
stool I occupied just a little while ago. He reaches under the bar and pulls
out the potato skins, setting them down in front of me.

“For you,” he says, and chuckles a little. “I kept them warm.” I
give him a confused, but grateful look and he adds, “You think you’re the first
girl to come in here looking for Ben?”

“Guess not,” I say, my tone dripping with aggravation. “I’m not
other girls,” I add, feeling the need to defend myself.

“You came back here looking like all the others. Guessing he
pulled the shotgun on you?” He laughs, and shakes his head.

“And then he yelled at me,” I say, as the bartender sets another
cider down in front of me.

“He yelled at you?” he asks, his tone almost shocked. “That’s
not like Ben.”

“That’s because I’m not like other girls. I’m
the
girl.”

As if he understands exactly what I’m saying, he slides my cider
over and sets a tumbler of scotch down. “I think you’re gonna need this
instead.”

“Thanks. I’m Campbell,” I tell him, and something in his
expression tells me I didn’t need to introduce myself, like he already knows
who I am. There’s something in the way he looks at me that causes me to grow
uneasy, but I still extend my hand across the bar.

“Alex,” he says as he takes my hand. “Don’t drink too much,
there’s no place to stay in this town.”

“Yeah, I know.” I roll my eyes, letting out an annoyed huff, and
I begin to eat the lukewarm potato skins.

I put back the scotch rather quickly and immediately down the
cider. Fuck Benji and his holier than thou attitude. At least I made the effort
to find him. He did fuck all in nine years, but now he wants to put all the
blame on me? I don’t even know why I came here. I knew this was how it would
turn out.

“So tell me, Alex, how’d you end up in this small town?” I ask,
trying make small talk and take my mind off the fact that I have no place to go
and that I know with certainty that Benji hates me. I’m zero for two when it
comes to men, first Carson and now Benji.

“My dad bought this place when he retired from the military. We
had a cabin up here for years; used to come for the fishing, and he decided to
retire up here. Died a couple of years ago and I took over.” He’s casual in the
way he speaks, like his life is easy, as if he has nothing but time. It makes
me think that maybe this small town life isn’t so bad. I feel like I never have
enough time, my job demanding, and the city always loud and bustling.

“Have a drink with me, Alex,” I propose, holding up my empty
bottle of cider and he smiles at me.

“Why not?” he says, reaching back and grabbing a bottle of
whiskey from behind him. Pouring us both a glass, he smiles at me again and
says, “I think you could use some company and just so you know, I don’t make a
habit of drinking with my customers.”

“Awww, I’m flattered, but see, Alex, I’m not a customer. We’re
friends now and I’m about to drink for free.” I take a long swallow and he
follows along, both of us putting back our whiskey far sooner than necessary.

“You think so?” he jokes back, as he sets his empty glass on the
bar, his tone flirty.

“I know so,” I retort, winking at him.

“You’re a cheeky girl, Campbell. I can see why Ben’s still hung
up on you.” His words catch me off guard and I cock my head to the side, giving
him a questioning look. Next thing I know he’s setting a shot down in front of
me and the moment has passed.

I hold up my glass, my eyes lingering on him for a long second,
a loose, but sad smile on my face, “Here’s to new friends,” I say, and we put
it back together.

An hour passes quickly and I’m far drunker than I planned on
getting, but Alex keeps serving them and I keep drinking. He has me laughing so
hard at one point that tears stream from my eyes. As much fun as I’m having, I
know I still have no place to stay. Benji hates me, and I’m almost nine hours
from home.

“You weren’t supposed to get me drunk,” I say, as a hiccup
escapes my mouth and causes Alex to laugh out loud.

“Same goes for you,” he says argumentatively, but still playful.
I watch him pick up his phone, holding up one finger as if to signal he’ll be
back, he steps away from the bar.

He returns again with another shot, his face flushed, and is now
wearing just a t-shirt and jeans; losing the wool sweater he was originally
wearing. He holds up his glass and says, “Last one of the night.”

I giggle; I’m too drunk to care that I have no place to sleep
tonight. “Cheers!” I slur before adding, “Here’s to sleeping in my car!” And
Alex lets out a deep laugh that I find terribly adorable. After what happened
with Carson and then Benji, it feels good to have a guy just enjoy my company
and laugh with me.

In the next second, the door to the bar swings open and Benji is
standing there.

I look quickly at him and then to Alex before shouting, “Oh my
god, I know him!” My finger is pointing in the direction of where Benji is
standing and my words come out a garbled mess, but that doesn’t stop Alex from
laughing again.

“She’s all yours, dude,” he says to Benji.

“What the fuck, Alex?” I demand, realizing in this drunken haze that
he called Benji to come get me. “I thought we were friends?”

“We are, Campbell, which is why I’m not letting you sleep in
your car.” He winks at me and Benji scowls at him and after what Alex said, I
wonder if Benji is jealous. In the past it was never hard to make him jealous;
I always belonged to him.

When I step off the bar stool, I find that I’m far drunker than
I thought, I mean I know I’m drunk, but paired with the small amount of food I’ve
eaten today, I’m pretty much shitfaced. I stumble and grab the back of the
chair to steady myself and in that instant, Benji’s arm slips around my waist,
pulling me into his side.

“Come on,” he says quietly, and his voice makes me weak. It’s
been so long since I last heard it and right now it’s exactly as I remember. No
animosity or uncertainty behind it, just kindness.

“Wait,” I practically shout, clinging to Benji’s arm for
support, I turn to look at Alex. “I need to pay my bar tab.” I flash him a
wicked grin and he chuckles.

“It’s on me,” he says, shooing me out the door with a dismissive
wave, his smile never fading.

“See, I told you I’d drink for free.”

“And I told you, you were cheeky.” He tosses a hand up wishing
us goodbye as he says, “Good luck to you, Ben. She’s a handful.”

“Don’t I know it,” he mutters back as he pulls me in close to
him again.

He loosens his grip around my waist when we reach his truck as he
opens the door and practically shoves me in.

“What about my car?” I ask, my voice soft as I grow tired.

“Don’t worry about your car.”

A few minutes later, I feel myself being lifted from the truck;
my eyes too heavy to open and I give in without fighting him. With my cheek
against his chest and the warmth of his body soothing me, he sets me down on a
bed and removes my shoes as I fall back against the pillows.

I feel his hand brush my hair back off my face and he presses a
kiss to my forehead. “You can’t keep doing this,” he whispers and I don’t know
if he’s talking to me or thinking out loud, but something in his words fills me
with sadness.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, the tears already spilling from my eyes.

His hand strokes my hair; I feel his lips rest against the top
of my head. “Go to sleep, baby,” he says, and it’s the last thing I remember.

I wake the next morning, the same way I have for a while now
with a familiar throbbing headache that seems to have become a part of my daily
routine. The difference this morning is that I’m calmed by the smell of cedar
and cinnamon and a beautiful silence. There aren’t any honking horns, sirens,
or the background noise of cars passing on the street. The sun is peeking
through the slats in the blinds as it warms the already comfortable room, and
for a brief moment I forget where I am and what happened last night. It’s like
I woke up in someone else’s life and it’s perfect.

But as soon as I sit up, I’m reminded of exactly what happened
yesterday and like the last nine years, it’s a shit show.

I had a screaming match with Carson that led him to admit he
cheated on me. Then a screaming match with Benji that led to me getting drunk
and now I’m waking up with a brutal hangover.

The house is quiet, so I slip out of bed wearing nothing but a
t-shirt and my underwear. But before leaving the bedroom, I call Benji’s name
and get no response. Part of me is relieved because with the way I’m feeling
right now, I’m not sure I’m up for an argument. Yet I’m disappointed because
just seeing his beautiful face yesterday brought back a surge of memories and
reminders of how much I truly miss him.

I hate feeling this way, torn and confused. I don’t even know
where to begin or how after nine years of being apart, that I’m even going to
be able to fix any of this.

I drag myself into the kitchen, my bare feet cold against the
wood floor and I stop dead in my tracks when I see what is sitting on the
kitchen island.

A chocolate donut, a bottle of grape Gatorade and two aspirin,
along with a note that reads:

C-

Had to go to work. Stay as long as you need.

-B

I read the note over and over, searching for something in it
that gives any indication that he still cares, that he doesn’t hate me. I guess
him remembering what I like to eat in the morning when I wake up with a
hangover is a slight indicator and it makes me smile a little.

I walk around his house, and it is unreal. A huge log cabin with
cathedral ceilings and exposed beams; it smells amazing and everything about it
looks like it was taken directly from a magazine. I look out the massive floor
to ceiling windows at the back of the house, taking in the towering pines and
the small pond: the landscape like a picture.

I sit down in an oversized leather chair that looks out on to it
all as I finish my donut and Gatorade. And in a moment of sheer blissfulness I
let myself believe I live here…with Benji.

An hour later, I’m showered and dressed, my suitcase somehow
managed to get back here with me and I’m sure I have Benji to thank for that. I’m
feeling a little better and as I step outside onto the large wrap around front
porch, I find my car sitting in the driveway.

I could leave and never look back, but that’s not why I came
here. And despite being terrified to confront everything from our past, it
needs to be done. But how do I even begin?

I can see Benji’s shop at the end of the gravel road. It’s about
a mile away and I could drive, but I decide to walk it, hoping the cold air
will clear my head. And maybe, just maybe, it will give me some insight on what
the fuck to do next.