Page 43 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

LINCOLN

Iwatched Celeste leave, too ashamed to call after her.

But not so far up my own ass I didn't make sure she got inside her car.

I wiped my hands over my face as she drove off, trying to ground myself enough to think clearly.

The buzz I'd embraced only a few minutes ago was now an aggravating blocker.

It had all spiraled so quickly. At the beginning of the night, I'd convinced myself I had a handle on everything, that the drinking wasn't a reactionary response to all my disappointment, but a celebration of my choosing to be my own person.

The look of hurt in Celeste's eyes was a stab to the chest. The tension and pain lodged inside, burning as it melted.

My immediate instinct was to call one of the guys.

Ask them to pick me up and help me sober up in time to drive across town and pick up the set pieces.

But as soon as I unlocked my phone, I hesitated to pull up anyone's contact. It was past midnight, and they’d been firm on their stance of how I should have handled my failure this summer.

I couldn't stomach another disappointment from people I knew wouldn't give up on me (no matter how much they should).

Frustration at every single decision I'd made to get to this point boiled to the surface. Why did I come here tonight?

I knew Celeste wanted to leave. I knew that hours ago. She'd been so patient.

Something in me needed to prove I could still live life if hockey weren't on the table. I needed a good enough distraction, so I didn't sit and ruminate on everything I'd ruined.

I hadn't left because the noise and drinking were the pause button I needed on life. And a small part of me, a part that seemed to feed off my budding insecurity, wanted to show Celeste who I really was. How careless I could be, just so she completely understood what she was getting into.

So she had a reason to leave you. So you didn't have time to screw it up any more than you already have because you're not worth it. You're a lost cause.

The thought began as a whisper, expanding with every second that ticked by. I was doing it again, self-sabotaging when things had started to get good. Ruining something that was working because of a belief that'd attached itself to me over a decade ago.

"Shit," I breathed out, trying to contend with my growing headache and the knowledge that this is a cycle I've built and fed into. And when everyone in my life mentioned it to me, I ignored them. Convinced them, with hollow words, I could maintain control.

I didn't know how to fix myself, but that wasn’t the top priority tonight. The sets were. Celeste was. She'd given me every ounce of her trust, and I'd tucked it into the back of my mind, forgetting it was the most valuable thing I possessed.

Without wasting another second, I pulled up navigation on my phone and typed in the nearest gas station.

Thankfully, the campus was close, which meant the most essential places were within walking distance.

I alternated between jogging and walking, acutely aware of the ticking clock.

The opening show was today at three PM. That meant I had fifteen hours to pick up the set pieces in the next town over, drive back to Tinsel, figure out how to get the keys to the playhouse, transfer everything inside, and put it all together before the curtain rose.

Exhausting but not impossible…for a sober person. For a drunk asshole? Time would tell.

The gas station cashier looked concerned when I stumbled inside.

"Can I help you?" he asked, voice gravelly.

He watched as I made my way to the back wall, set on grabbing every cold bottle of water I could carry.

"I'm in some deep trouble, Dave," I said. His name tag had been upside down on his shirt, nearly faded from what I assumed were years of wear and tear from his shifts.

"What kind of trouble, kid?" He glanced outside as if he'd find someone strapped up and waiting for me at one of the empty pumps.

"The kind that will determine the fate of my entire existence." I pointed at the steel tin of coffee. "How much?"

Dave scanned me, wary and unsure if I was a threat or a joke. My look of sheer exhaustion convinced him of the latter.

"Two fifty," he said.

"And how much if I use one of those?" I pointed to the jumbo-sized slushy cup.

"Six and a free call to the ER," he said. "Aren't you one of those Mendell kids? Hockey player, right?"

"Guilty." I dumped my water bottles at the counter and headed for the coffee.

"Yeah, I thought I'd seen you in here before."

"You're usually on the morning shift. Your kid is in high school, right? You said he wanted to run for Mendell. Cross country," I noted while trying to decide if I really wanted a 32-ounce cup of coffee. I needed enough fuel to stay up until I installed the sets.. Desperate times.

"That's right." He huffed, surprised I remembered. "He got a scholarship."

"Congrats." I swayed a little but managed to catch myself on the counter, resting my forehead against the cold surface. "Great school. Athletic department is in shambles, but by the time he's a junior, I'm sure they'll have it all figured out."

"Yeah, I heard about all that on the news. Last season was unfortunate. Sorry, you all's season was a bust."

"It happens."

Dave started checking out my supplies while I went for the coffee. "Hey, hey, hold on!"

I stopped mid-pump. "What?"

"I thought you were joking," he said. "You can't put coffee in that thing. You'll burn your hand off."

"Listen, Dave," I said. "I've spent most of my summer blowing up the rest of my runway.

And the woman I fell for over a year ago finally liked me long enough to almost fall for me.

Except I fucked it up by making big promises and waiting until the night of to fulfill them.

So, unless you have another way to keep me alert and semi-sober—"

"Coffee ain't going to make you sober." He finished putting my waters in a bag, then came from behind the counter and grabbed a couple of cold sandwiches, which he tucked into the bag too. "Nothing but time can do that. Food and hydration help."

"I need the caffeine. In an IV drip, preferably. You wouldn't happen to have one of those?"

He scoffed. "Does this look like a hospital or a ritzy clinic to you? "

"Had to ask, you never know these days. I don't plan on sleeping for the foreseeable future, so I'm dedicated to offering my body to science. Maybe I could be your first drip patient? It can't be that hard. Hot water, coffee grounds, and a needle."

"I don't see how that's going to help you win a woman over."

"The big promises, Dave," I reminded him. "Big promises."

He raised a brow, unconvinced, but gestured to a thermos. "I'll let you fill that for the price of a small one if you promise you're not driving tonight."

"Never intended to." I hurried to fill the thermos. I gave him a twenty and waved him off when he tried to hand me change. "I appreciate you."

"Good luck," he said. "And try to get a bit of sleep. I'm sure she'll forgive you if you're a little late on that promise. We all fall short one time or another. Best not to beat yourself up about it."

I nodded, trying to smile. He didn't know what I'd done and who I was. How careless I'd been with someone else's dreams. How much I didn't deserve to rest until I made things right.

As I waited for the ride I ordered, I guzzled two bottles of water and half of the coffee. I'd requested an XL ride and got a guy in a SUV with chipped blue paint and magnetic signs promoting a car detailing company.

"You Lincoln?" he asked when I climbed into the back seat. It smelled like cigarettes and Clorox. "Are you going to New Dane?"

"That's the goal." I slammed the door behind me and ripped open my sandwich.

My headache grew, piercing enough to make the small bit of light pouring in from the gas station sickening.

I needed to focus. Needed to center myself enough to stay alert and ready for the next steps in my plan: making sure Uncle Aaron would open the shop for me.

And convincing this driver to do this trip back while carting the sets.

"That's over an hour's drive away," he warned, voice hesitant as if he was half-hoping I'd put in the wrong location.

"It always is," I assured.

He sighed and pulled out of the gas station. "Alright then. Let's get this show on the road."

"Full transparency."

The words made him glance at me through the rearview, eyes squinted in suspicion. "I don't care what you rate me; I'm not above leaving assholes in curbs in the middle of nowhere."

I laughed despite feeling like something had chewed me up and spit me out. "I'm on a tight deadline. I'm locked in. Laser focused. And I need to know if you're with me. Willing to do whatever it takes to get a job done."

"My man, you're paying me over a hundred dollars." He chuckled, relaxing into his seat now he realized I wasn't going to try to do something chaotic like grab the wheel. "I'm with you."

"There and back again?" I asked. "With cargo."

He frowned, guard going up once more. "What kind of cargo are we talking about?"

"The kind that will hopefully right one wrong, thus setting me on the course to righting every wrong." I stretched out on the backseat because holding my head up had become too strenuous. Were heads always this heavy? Or maybe the neck was the bigger culprit?

"I'm not interested in carting around any drugs," he said. "Unless you're willing to pay me under the table. I have a sliding scale. It's in the passenger's seat back pocket. Take a look."

"No worries, no worries," I said around a mouthful of ham and cheese. "No drugs. It's all fairy dust and wooden towers."

"Huh?"

"She's going to end things, I think." I sobered, resting the sandwich on my chest. "And then, I don't know what's after. I…I don't even like thinking about before because I now know how black and white it's all been."

"This is for some girl?"

"I need a drink," I mumbled.