Little Tastes of Red Mire

(3) Changing Wade: I Know A Guy

Wade

The little silver Honda zipping in town wouldn't normally have set off any kind of alarms in my head, had it not been for the fact that the driver was doing thirty-five through an active school zone with no signs of slowing down — grinding my molars in irritation I flipped the switch in my car and set off the lights atop my car, wishing people would behave for just one day or at least until I could get rid of the pulsing ache in the base of my skull. It took a few moments for the driver to realize that I was them I was after before the car swung its way toward an empty lot not far from the end of the school zone. I didn't recognize the vehicle, which would've set warning bells off in my head had I been able to think clearly. Red Mire didn't get too many newcomers, but on occasion, families would come to settle and join our ranks — new vehicles weren't completely out of the norm. Once I settled my car into the park I took a steadying breath to help the pulse dancing behind my eyes and put on my most professional face possible I was able to push the door open and start toward them.

The crunch of my shoes on the gravel mingled with the sound of passing cars in the air and for once I was thankful that it looked a little like rain overhead. There was only one body in the vehicle that I could see from my vantage point. My fingers rapped the window lightly, eyes only on the feminine hands fidgeting — these days I couldn't be too careful. The glass slowly slid down between the two of us and I was suddenly blasted with a light sandalwood scent that kicked me back to my senior year. Head both throbbing and spinning, my eyes lifted to meet hers — breath dying in my throat. It was surreal looking into those eyes once again, the gold dancing in the depths of green just as hypnotic as it was so long ago.

"Anna-"

"Officer Montgomery." Her curt response was a knife in the gut, but not undeserved. I knew why her eyes hardened when they looked at me, why there was a flush of red that crept up her cheekbones as she stared me down. I just didn't think it would last so long. But how could it not? I'd broken her heart in the worst way possible, also breaking my own, after so many promises of a life she deserved. Promises I regretted not keeping to this day. What kind of man had that made me? The answer was simple then, it hadn't made me one, but I chalked it up to still being a boy at heart, no matter if I had been 18 at the time.

Seeing her response rolled over me uneasily and I swallowed the guilt and pain in my throat, to force out the words I had recited what felt like a million times before- why I was pulling her over, what I needed from her; it was hollow. Her expression didn't change as she dug through her purse to hand me her license, or her insurance information. I didn't have to run it to know, but did anyway, walking away gave me a moment to collect myself. Under normal circumstances, I would've just brushed off this encounter, but lately, as in the last few years, I'd begun to question what I was doing with my life. I was nearing thirty and giving no signs of settling down, and each woman I tried to get to know, to acquaint myself with just didn't meet my standards. Natalie Halliday hadn't been smart enough. Jennifer Darning had been too meek. Felicity Grands too flighty. They weren't her. None of them could hold a candle to the girl I had loved, never even stood a chance. And with each failed relationship I could see myself falling into the footsteps of a life long bachelor. Lonely, eating leftovers my mother sent after Sunday dinner and watching my siblings find their other halves and build families. The loneliness had started to creep forward, the depth of my disparity consuming like rage. And yet the only woman I could still want to this day was sitting idly in a car in front of me, silently resenting my presence and waiting to be rid of me. I stared down at her license, dumbly scrutinizing her picture with rapt eyes. She had only grown more beautiful with age. Her hair was now a sleek shoulder length, still untouched by unnatural boxed colors, vivid green eyes, and enticing smile. I didn't want to let go of the plastic card, simply because it was all I would have beyond memories that would one day fade. I knew I couldn't sit here in my patrol car much longer, and I also knew I had to write her a ticket, but I didn't want to add another reason for her to hate me. The pressure behind my eyes increased with each heartbeat. Numbly I gathered my pad and began to fill out the citation, filling in the appropriate fields. Images of the last time I'd seen her floated through my memory, the dress, the bouquet, the church. I was pining after a taken woman, a woman who likely hated me with all of her might. And I didn't fault her. It was a long walk to her vehicle, to hand her the citation to sign. I didn't look in her eyes as she took everything back, couldn't force myself to see what I knew was staring back. I bid her a safe trip and cautioned her to watch her speed, before woodenly turning toward my own car and walking back. As I listened for her car to start, I knew that the only future that even made sense for me was driving away, and was never going to look back.

*

"One more, Damon," I mumbled, scooting my glass toward the rubber bar mat once again. The scent of whiskey and beer permeated the air along with the sounds of a lonely Chris Stapleton song and breaking pool balls. Shooters was the closest bar to town, but far enough that I wouldn't run into anyone I knew so I wasn't at risk to be pulled in to a conversation I didn't want. I wasn't in the right state of mind to try to converse with anyone anyway. My hand closed around the refilled rocks glass in relief. Another sip toward numbness.

"One more time!" The sound of the familiar voice sent lightning down my spine and I fought with myself to keep from turning around. The deep timber of laughter and tinkling giggle that accompanied knocked me square in the chest; just when I thought I'd get a reprieve from aching memories here they were. I knew without turning that I would see her with him. Annalynn would be in the arms of Steele, an ache in my chest that grew with each heartbeat. Steele and I had solidified our friendship after she had split after he had kicked my ass for hurting her — our friendship had only grown deeper when we had both enrolled in the academy. And of course, he would be here. It was our weekly hangout. But why would he bring her here? Steele knew that I still pined for Annalynn. Knew my regret inside and out, and the idea of him purposely bringing her here made my desire to whoop his ass grow with each laugh that ripped from her throat. Chris Young's voice kicked in next, a somber song that struck me as ironic.

I wanted to be brave enough to turn around, to face her, but something inside said not to. I didn't want to see her in his arms, I knew she loved to dance. Her two-step skills used to far surpass mine and Steele had always been up to twirl her around the dance floor.

I continued to sip on my drink, refusing to look around. It wasn't until the thick familiar scent of Stetson cologne permeated my personal space that I looked up. Dark eyes met mine, nearly black in the low lighting, and Steele was smiling smugly at me. The slick bastard.

"Gonna hide over here, Montgomery?" His tone was light but I could sense the taunt in it. He knew I had ticketed her today, knew she absolutely loathed me. Why was he hanging her right in front of me?

"I'm fine right here." I didn't acknowledge the wording choice, I just went back to my Jack and coke, cowardice radiating from every pore.

"Ya know, you never struck me as a chicken shit, Wade." Ruffling feathers is what Steele had always been good at, and he was always damn good at pushing my buttons. Buttons that were slightly buzzed and itching for a fight.

"Go dance with her and leave me be." Was that a pathetic pleading note in my voice? I couldn't tell.

"Wade,"

"Please." It hurt to even say it, but he needed to know that I couldn't see her again. That even being close to her made me ache for a life with her that I had carelessly thrown away so long ago. For a life that I would never have because I was a stupid, hormone-ridden teenage boy so concerned with popularity and reputation that I had given up the only worthwhile thing I would ever have beyond my family. I needed him to go. Them to leave and allow me to sulk. Because I was at the point in my own sorrows that I wasn't beyond begging. I would fall to my knees in a bar full of drunkards and barflies to beg forgiveness from the angel God had sent me — ask her to give me another chance.

"Man,"

"Steele?" Her voice was a sweet as I could remember and I was sure it was only because she didn't recognize me cowering here under the brim of my battered Texans hat — one she'd bought me as an anniversary gift nearly 8 years ago.

"Look, man." His tone was low, I wasn't sure she was going to be able to hear him over the blasting Cody Jinks song. "She's back for a reason. Take it as punishment or a sign, but nut up and figure your shit out because this is the last chance you'll get." The threat in those last words was there, and with those parting words, he was off to twirl the blonde beauty around the dance floor until her heart was content and her head was spinning to match mine.