Page 105 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“Why are you helping me?”
He shrugged as we walked across the playground. “What do you mean? You’re my best friend.”
I stopped walking and looked at him with wide eyes. “No I’m not! You don’t talk to me, remember? You don’t like me.”
“Kinlee Ann Atkins, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m gonna marry you someday, of course I like you.”
“Wh—”
Jace quickly pressed his lips to mine, and when he leaned back, his dimpled smile was covering his face.
I stood there, my face felt hot, and I heard some of the kids around us laughing, making me want to cry all over again. “Why would you do that?” I yelled at him, and wiped the sleeve of my shirt over my mouth.
“I told you, I’m gonna—”
Pulling my arm back like my oldest brother taught me, I let it go, flying right for Jace’s nose. His head snapped back, and his hands went to his nose, blood coming out between his fingers. Tears dripping down his cheeks.
Sissy.
“My brothers said you have cooties! You’re not supposed to touch me.”
“Kinlee Atkins!” I turned to see my teacher, Miss Katy, standing there. “Let’s go. Principal’s office . . . right now. Jace, come with us, and I’ll take you to the nurse.”
My mommy had to come pick Jace and me up from school after that, and when we got out of the car, Jace leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Still gonna marry you.”
Jace
Present day
PULLING UP INTO the bar’s parking lot, I threw my car in park, and slammed my hands down on the steering wheel. “Son of a fucking bitch!” Running my hands down my face, I let my head drop back against the headrest and grabbed at my chest. The pain spreading through my body was enough to c
ripple a man, and I wasn’t even sure how I’d made it to the bar when all I wanted to do was curl up in the back of my truck and give into the pain.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually walked out on Kinlee. I couldn’t believe I’d left my fiancée, the girl I’d loved since before I even knew what love was, standing in our apartment, crying and upset and alone.
But I was upset too. I was so damn mad I couldn’t stop shaking, and the shaking had nothing to do with the crippling pain, but everything to do with that stubborn as shit, ridiculous woman I was supposed to marry in less than a week.
Throwing my truck door open, I managed to get out of my truck without falling to the ground, and made my way inside the bar to sit on a stool.
“What can I get ya?” an old, heavyset man asked me.
This was so cliché. Have a fight with my girl, come to a bar, sit at the bar and spill my fucking guts. “Anything, just make it strong.”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head as he grabbed a tumbler glass. “Seen that look thousands of times. I’ll say this once, and then I won’t get in your business for the rest of the night. Whatever you did to her, coming here and drinking isn’t going to solve a goddamn thing. What you need to do, is go back to her, apologize for what ya did, and keep her in your arms all night. You hear me, son?”
Keeping my head down, I looked up from my fisted hands on top of the scratched, wooden bar, and set my glare on him. “Who the fuck said I was the one who did something?”
“Unless she cheated on ya, or left ya, then ya did something. Because you’re here, which means you left, and leaving during the fight is about the worst thing you can do.”
I’d just had my fiancée tell me to leave our apartment after we’d said things that I was already regretting, I didn’t need this guy pissing me off right now. “Drink,” I said simply.
“ID.”
Grabbing for my wallet in my back pocket, I flipped it open, took out my driver’s license, and slammed it down on the bar. The bartender took a look at it, glanced at me, then went back to making my drink. After I put my wallet back in my pocket, he walked over and set the glass in front of me.
“We won’t be needing that, sorry,” a voice said behind me seconds before a hand clamped around my upper arm and pulled me off the stool. “Come on, let’s go talk.”
I looked back at my best friend, and fellow firefighter, and my scowl deepened. “The whole point of coming to a bar is to drink.”
