Chapter 4: Whiskey and Memories

Moonlight Grill was the place my brother and Alex Lane always took me to.

They’d talk about homework while I sampled food from outside the house. The jukebox played old Garth Brooks songs, and the neon beer sign flickered over the Formica counter.

This time, I was alone.

The whiskey hit my tongue like fire. I coughed, eyes watering, but forced another sip. My glass left a wet ring on the sticky tabletop.

They say a single drunken night can wash away a thousand sorrows.

I hugged the bottle and cried, not even knowing how to drown my sorrows right. My reflection in the window looked warped, mascara smudged, lips trembling.

I told myself again and again that Alex Lane didn’t care for me, and I wouldn’t choose him.

Just get drunk once, and I could let him go.

I tried to convince myself, took another sip, winced, and swallowed hard.

“If Anna can’t drink, she shouldn’t force it. Forcing a match never ends well.”

“She won’t pick Alex Lane again, right? Look at Jason Carter—he ran ten laps around the football field after leaving the house, grinning the whole time. He must think Anna likes him.”

“Not so sure. Anna might still force her love on Alex Lane. Whether it’s a sweet apple or a sour one, once she picks it, it’s hers.”

Why do they talk about me like this?

“I’m not choosing Alex Lane.”

I couldn’t help but choke out the words. My voice sounded small, even to me, drowned by the clatter of dishes in the kitchen.

The commentary paused, then rolled on, even louder.

“She can see the comments?”

“She must be drunk, talking nonsense.”

“Her friends only make sure she’s safe. They won’t meddle in her life. Is Anna gonna spend the night out?”

“Jason Carter got dragged here by his buddies for dinner. How can we get him to see Anna? Hurry, hurry!”

Jason Carter—what does he have to do with me? Why do they want him here?

Annoyed, I shut my eyes, blocking out the words. The background faded, leaving only the distant sound of a train horn across the river.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

I ignored it.

The knocking paused, then started again. The bartender looked over, worried, but I waved him off.

I threw a shot glass at the door. “What’s all the noise?”

The glass shattered, and the door swung open.

Jason Carter, tall and solid, filled the doorway. He turned and dismissed the friends behind him, his silhouette framed by moonlight. There was a steady calm about him—an anchor in my storm.

He walked in and crouched beside me. “Anna, are you drunk?”

I turned my head away. “No, just had two sips.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

I looked at him. He raised his hand, seemed unsure, then pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket, offering it to me.

It was pure white, with no embroidery.

I didn’t take it. Through the blur of tears, I studied him quietly.

He’d been out at the border, his skin tanned and tough. Not as fair as Alex Lane, but solid and strong.

Alex Lane always smelled faintly of cologne. Jason Carter smelled like sun-dried sheets and wild grass.

It wasn’t bad. He must have just showered; his hair was still damp. The scent reminded me of summer afternoons, playing hide-and-seek in the fields out back.

I pinched the tip of his hair. He froze, eyes wide, not daring to move.

I thought of those words in the air, all the talk about Jason Carter, most of which I didn’t understand.

He did look strong, but what did that have to do with me?

I leaned in, searching his eyes for any hint of what he felt. “Would you ever want to marry me?”

Jason Carter’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he nodded, not hesitating. “Yeah. I would.”

I smiled, eyes curving. “Then you can walk me home.”