Chasing River (Burying Water #3) (16 page)

“I heard something about that. But she broke it off, right?”

I shake my head slowly. That’s the story Bonnie told everyone, even though I knew it wasn’t true. Jesse didn’t care enough to correct it. “He ended it the second day into our junior year. She was devastated. She spent our entire junior year trying to get back with him. Secretly, of course. She’d never admit to being hung up on a guy to anyone.”

She chews the inside of her mouth. “You think that’s why she went after me?”

“She had a
huge
crush on Jesse.”

“Huh.” She leans back into her chair as realization takes over. “So she’s probably the one who vandalized Poppa’s Diner, isn’t she?”

I shrug. “She never said anything to me about it. Probably because she knew I’d never be okay with it. But she was hanging around with Doug Bentley and those guys, too.”
Complete shitheads.
“If I had to guess . . .” Bonnie has been my best friend since kindergarten, but she has her faults. One of them is being a jealous, competitive bitch, especially when it comes to guys.

“And you honestly didn’t know about any of this?” Ivy’s eyes remind me of an owl’s—piercing—as she tries to read me.

“I knew that she didn’t like you, but I didn’t know why.” And to be honest, I never really bothered to ask. I didn’t care. “Bonnie and I had a rule about Jesse: she wasn’t allowed to talk to me about him.”

She chews the inside of her mouth, pondering that.

“If I wanted to keep you two apart, believe me, it would have been because I had
your
best interests at heart, not Jesse’s or mine. My brother was a major fuck-up. My father almost arrested him for stabbing Tommy,” I remind her.

She rolls her eyes. “I knew Jesse would never do that. I can’t believe your dad even considered it.”

“He was just doing his job.” And it nearly tore our family apart. “He let you off for the diner, though, right?”

She sighs, the steam fueling her anger before evaporating quickly. “Yeah, because he had no real proof. But my parents still made me paint the entire wall because they figured it was somehow my fault that it had happened in the first place. Plus Poppa banned me from the diner. For life.”

“That old man has a long memory,” I murmur.

She strums the tabletop with her fingers. “So she’s probably the one who started that rumor about me making out with Liz DiPalma behind the portables too, then.” My knowing stare answers her question. “What a fucking bitch!”

“Well, to be fair, you did shave your entire head out of the blue and start hanging out with the school’s token lesbian student almost exclusively, so anyone could have started that rumor.”

“Liz is a nice person.”

“I’m sure she is. But that was high school, and teenagers can be jerks about that kind of stuff.”

“What a bunch of assholes.” Ivy flags the waitress down for another round.

I think I’m going to puke.

But I also feel somehow lighter with all that dirty laundry finally aired. “So you actually thought I was masterminding your systematic destruction?”

“Wouldn’t you? I mean, no offense, but that group was like some single-minded neutron force and you were its leader. You all looked the same and acted the same and dressed the same.” She snorts, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. “I remember when you started coming to school with those perfect, fat curls. Bonnie and all the others came to school with perfect, fat curls the very next day. It was pathetic.”

“Curls? You hated me because of my hair?”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“All I know is that judging me for that would be like me judging you for your hairstyle choices.” I stare pointedly at the shaved sides, hidden beneath that mass of long black hair.

“Maybe. But at least I didn’t sit at that cafeteria table every day at lunch and gossip about everyone.”

“Ivy . . . half the time I wasn’t even listening to what anyone was saying,” I answer truthfully. There were so many rumors milling around, I didn’t even remember the one about Ivy being locked up in a mental institution until tonight, when she brought it up. All I really cared about was that I wouldn’t be at the receiving end of one of the nastier ones.

But Ivy has clearly never forgotten, all these years later.

“That group was always talking about someone. Laughing at someone.” She shakes her head. “High school sucked for me.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t so great for me either.”

She tips her head back and throws out a huge, “Ha!”

“I’m serious, Ivy!”

“Most popular girl in school . . . perfect body . . . perfect face . . . valedictorian . . . sheriff’s daughter . . . surgeon’s daughter . . . freaking Rodeo Queen . . .” She bends each finger back on a hand, counting all the ways that my life sounds so wonderful on paper.

I start my own list, mimicking her finger-counting gesture. “Girl most talked about in school . . . girl who could never misbehave because her father was the sheriff . . . girl who most guys were afraid of dating because her father was the sheriff . . . girl who was never really sure who her true friends were . . . And how do you remember so much about me, anyway?”

She twirls her coaster. “Did you even notice that our lockers were four apart my first year there?”

“I saw you in the hallways sometimes.” She had a tamer, almost mousy look to her back then. Less makeup, no tattoos. More plaid and loose-fitting blue jeans than lace and Goth. I remember thinking she could be pretty, with a little bit of work.

Her voice drops its edge, leaving vulnerability behind. “Then why didn’t you ever say hi?”

I open my mouth to answer but nothing comes out, because I don’t have an answer. Not a good one, anyway.

I’m saved from making something up by one of the men who stumbled out of the bar earlier, on our way in. He’s drunker and comes to a standstill in front of our table, his red-tinged, glossy eyes boring into me.

“Can I help you?” I finally ask, sharing a glance with Ivy.

He drops to one knee in front of me. “I need me an American wife so they’ll let me into America!” he professes in a slurred Irish accent, grabbing my hand and pulling it to his lips.

I tug but he holds on tight. I look to Ivy for help but she’s laughing. No one around seems at all uncomfortable. Several are cheering and clapping, in fact.

“Go on now, Killian. Before I boot you out.” River sets three shots on the table and then peels the guy’s grasp from my fingers. I revel in the heat of his palm as he hangs onto my hand for three long seconds, giving it a light squeeze before finally letting go.

“Thanks . . .”
Superman.
That’s now three times that he’s come to my rescue.

The sly twist of his mouth is so subtle I almost miss it. “You’re going to make me crack another bottle, if you keep this up. Locked yet?”

“What yet?”
What does that mean?

“Ask us in another hour.” Ivy lifts her glass. River does the same. I groan, lifting mine.

“Cheers.” I watch him bring his to his mouth and pour it down like it’s nothing. I’m tempted to plug my nose to handle this but I don’t, seeing as he seemed impressed by Ivy’s tough-girl choice of hard liquor over beer.

River sees my sickened face and just laughs, collecting the empty glasses and heading back to the bar.

“God, how can you stomach this?” I stick my tongue out with disgust.

She shrugs. “We can call it a night if you can’t handle it.”

“No!” That came out a little too eager.

She glances over to the bar and then back. “He’s not your type.”

“You don’t know what my type is.” She may be right, but making such a frank observation irritates me. She’s judging me again.

“Well . . . let’s see. There was Neil Allen, the preppy son of the mayor, who lived in a million-dollar house. Where is he now?”

“Harvard Law.”

“Right.” She drags that out with an obnoxious know-it-all voice. “You were with him for a long time.”

“Most of my junior and senior year.” Though I’ve known him all my life. I used to throw mud at him in the kindergarten playground. He was the captain of the ski and debate teams, honor roll; tall and blond and somewhat baby-faced, now that I think back to it. I don’t think he even started shaving until college. He was considered the boyfriend to have in high school from any parent’s point of view, and I had his eye for almost two years. I broke up with Neil before we both left for college, not willing to try a long-distance relationship while he was out East. That was the official excuse, anyway. I was ready to end it months before, but I didn’t have the heart. He was such a nice guy, and we had such an easy, calm relationship. That was part of the problem. While my friends were partying in Portland and Seattle, we were sitting at home, watching movies. Even the sex was boring. What teenager has boring sex?

“And your boyfriend in college, what was he like?”

“Who says I had one?”

Her steady gaze is drenched in amusement, like the very idea that I’d suggest I wasn’t tied down in college is preposterous.

“His name was Brody,” I admit reluctantly, though I won’t admit out loud that he reminded me of a slightly older version of Neil, in that he was tall, blond, and handsome in an average way. An intelligent guy, also from a small town.

“And he was in school for . . .”

“Philosophy major. He planned on doing his PhD and becoming a college professor.” We were together for almost three years, until I realized that I liked the idea of him—the comfortable hum of routine he brought to my life in Portland, while I was in school—but I didn’t love him. I made a clean break when I moved back to Sisters.

I don’t know if Ivy can somehow read my silent acknowledgment in her eyes, but she’s smirking like the Cheshire Cat. “Oh, and then there was a doctor, wasn’t there? Alex told me about him. I’m guessing him and this guy, here, don’t have a lot in common?” She must see the discomfort in my face because the smirk slips off and she offers a muttered, “Sorry.”

My eyes roam the bar. I’ll admit the pang in my chest now is nothing like it was before I met River. One date with this bartender and I may never think of “the surgeon” again. That tells me that maybe my pain over Aaron has less to do with missing him and more to do with missing the
idea
of him, and the humiliation of being dumped because, let’s face it, if he
really
cared about me, my age wouldn’t matter.

When I was with him, I felt like I wasn’t far from a trip toward the altar with a well-respected, handsome doctor. I could see the pride in my parents’ smiles, the envy in my friends’ eyes. Which means I’ve now three times fallen for the concept of a relationship—and what that relationship looks like to the outside world—rather than the actual guy I’m with.

“So . . . Where’d you meet this guy?”

“At the park one day. He kind of . . . ran into me.” I toy with a coaster to avoid her gaze.

“Sounds romantic.”

“It was, in a way.” If pipe bombs could be called romantic. He did save my life, though, and that’s romantic, on steroids.
And
he brought my wallet back to me, cash and all, which tells me that he’s honest, a quality I admire. “Whatever. I’m only here for another week anyway, so . . .” Next Sunday will come too soon.

“So don’t waste time being so . . . you.” She sticks her finger into her glass and spins it around. “What’s his name again? River?” Before I can ask why, she’s yelling it across the bar.

Green eyes flash our way and I hold my breath.

She holds up two fingers.

I exhale with relief as I watch him grab the freshly cracked bottle of Jameson from behind him and pour.

“Oh, and Amber’s only here for another week, if you want a chance with her. She’s a bit uptight, so you’ll have to make the first move.” Ivy points at me, in case any people in the immediate vicinity couldn’t figure out that I’m Amber on their own.

The drunken patrons around us start spouting all kinds of encouragement. A dimpled grin fills River’s face as he waves their words off with a dismissive hand.

“Why would you do that to me?” I push through barely moving lips, trying to keep my face expressionless as my cheeks burn.

The blond waitress with the gap in her teeth and giant boobs swoops by then, leaving two shots and a wink at our table.

“That’s for being a snob in high school.” As Ivy picks her drink up, her chest lifts and she sighs, as if in some monumental gesture. “Now . . . to new beginnings.”

“You’re such a bitch,” I mumble. Lifting my shot, I clink her glass just hard enough to splash a little of it on her fingers. “To new beginnings.” I inhale a nervous, shaky breath as I finally dare glance over at River. To see that his eyes are locked on me. A thrill courses through my spine. “And to an interesting week in Ireland.”

“Just gave her back her wallet, did ya?”

Rowen elbows me in the ribs but I ignore him, pouring pints and watching Amber giggle at something her friend said. And pretend she doesn’t know I’m watching her. After five whiskeys, she’s doing such a piss-poor job of it, I want to walk over there and tease her.

And kiss her.

Whatever good intentions I may have had have poured down the drain along with the tap runoff.

“So? Is that why you’ve been wearing that dopey look all night?” Rowen pushes.

“What are ya going on about, now?” I give the bar area a quick scan. Everyone’s got their hands wrapped around a pint and the printer is staying quiet for the moment. Finally. I’ve been waiting for this break.

He leans in to ask, “What’s her friend like?”

“Borderline hostile.”

“Really . . .” Rowen’s face lights up and I roll my eyes.

Pouring myself a Guinness, and a couple of tall glasses of ice water, I announce, “Taking five,” and round the bar with my hands and my smile full. Amber jumps when I set the drinks down on the table.

“Drink these so your heads don’t split tomorrow.” Now that the first round of drunken fools have called it a night and staggered out of here, there are a few vacant stools around. I grab one nearby and drag it over. “Are you ladies enjoying yourselves tonight?”