Page 15 of Caught in Us
Callie giggles at my distraction. She wouldn’t find it so funny if she knew what was going through my head.
“Sorry. What?”
“Just don’t scare her away.” Jill narrows her glare. “I remember how you were—always getting under her last nerve. I don’t want her to run again, or feel uncomfortable now that she’s back. I want my best friend back in my life again.”
“Of course.” I swallow hard. “I won’t do anything to piss her off.” At least intentionally. No, I want answers, too. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get them.
10
Alicia
Three years ago,first night in London
Tomorrow I check into my dorm and meet my program coordinators, and my new life begins. I tried to time my flight so I arrived a few hours early, but my options were limited and the last thing I wanted was to show up late to my first day. Which is why I’m checked into this hotel smack in the middle of the city, bored out of my mind, and filled with a restless energy I can’t seem to escape.
I should be tired. Jet lagged. Focused on tomorrow. Resting.
Instead, the four walls of my room feel as if they’re closing in. I can’t stop thinking about Chase. My father. Then Chase again. Fuck. I have to get out of here. I need some air. Clutching my coat in one hand and my wallet in the other, I fly from my room like my own thoughts might set me on fire.
There’s an elevator but when I push the call button the doors don’t open right away. Fuck it, I’m taking the stairs.
Down the three flights sends my pulse racing to match my thoughts. I push out into the lobby. Better. But still. I think of him. I wonder if I made the right choice.
It’s a little late for regrets but my chest doesn’t seem to understand. With each passing second my ribs grow tighter. My breath shortens. I think I’m having a panic attack.
I stumble toward the entry and push outside, the damp night air a mild relief. I lean against the building and finally catch my breath. I’m okay. I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. It’s been a long day, following an even longer two weeks. I’m not Superwoman. I’m only human and I’m allowed to feel.
The problem is I don’t want to. I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop.
I need to forget. I need temporary relief. I want to be numb.
My gaze darts to the flood of laughter and music that pours from an open door. The pub is less than twenty feet away, and I take each step with an eerie sense of resolve. As if I’ve already decided.
This is a bad idea.
Nothing good comes from a recovering addict wandering into a bar.
Inside, a game is playing on the televisions and no one pays the lost American girl much attention as she finds an empty barstool. It’s nice to sink into the scene, like walking into someone else’s world. A place where there are no bedridden fathers with brain damage or ex-lovers an ocean away. Everyone here is joyful. Or at least they are until the ref makes a call, then everyone shouts obscenities as if they might actually reach the field.
“What can I get you, love?” The burly man behind the counter interrupts my people watching.
“Oh, I’ll . . .” I hesitate, but only a second. “Whatever you have on tap.”
“You sure?” He regards me with a refrained sense of humor. “We brew our beers dark and bitter here.”
He’s teasing because I’m American. That I can take. “Oh, I’m not a light beer drinker.” Or at least, I wasn’t.
He grins and pours me a pint, setting it on the bartop. “Want me to start you a tab?”
“No.” At least I have the good sense to shake my head and pull out a few bills to settle up.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says, then makes his way to another waiting customer.
For the next hour, I fade into the background, enjoying the anonymity of being a stranger in a new town. No one to judge me. No one to know my past. Even though I want to, I don’t drink the beer. Not a single sip or taste, almost as if I’m proving a point to myself. I’m in control. I’m able to sit here with no witnesses around and abstain. Of course, I get that it’s ridiculous. That it’s a dangerous game.
I expect the bartender to give me shit about it. But each time he glances over, taking in the full and now very warm glass, he lifts his brow in question and leaves me in peace at my slight head shake in the negative.
After the game on the television ends, the bar clears out and I realize I should probably head back to my room. Only I can’t stand the thought of being alone. At least in this pub I’m surrounded by people. There are conversations to overhear. A busy street outside to watch.
