Pieces of Summer (A stand-alone novel) (3 page)

Chapter 4

CHASE

“Are you seriously not coming to the grand opening tonight?” Whit groans, following me through the house as I search for my elusive belt. The hell did I do with it?

“Nope,” I tell her, cursing when I get desperate enough to start searching under couch cushions.

“I don’t get it. This is huge for me, and you act like you don’t want to know anything about it. You haven’t even asked who my boss is or what she’s like. You haven’t asked about what my responsibilities will be or… Well, anything. You don’t even listen when I try to tell you about it.”

Whit’s not usually so dramatic, hence the reason I’ve been with her for five months instead of one.

“Last I checked, you don’t exactly know anything about my business, Whit. I don’t give a fuck about the bowling alley. Sorry. It’s a stupid waste of time. That place is a money pit and will fold after the summer. Just watch and see. Someone is committing business suicide.”

When I turn around, she’s glaring at me like she’s wishing she had the power to incinerate things on command. I don’t need this shit right now. Just knowing someone bought that place has been pissing me off. Knowing someone is probably fucking up the plan I once had is… Fuck it. I’m not going to think about this high school pipe dream bullshit.

“Finally,” I growl, seeing my belt peeking out from under the recliner.

Just as I grab it, Whit snatches it out of my hand, forcing me to groan in frustration.

“I’m late, Whit.”

“You’re having beers with Blake. It’s not like you’re on your way to a job—like me.”

“What do you want to discuss?” I ask, exasperated. “What’s the wonderful world of working in a bowling alley like?”

I finally feel like an ass when tears well up in her eyes.

“You know what, screw you,” she mumbles, tossing my belt at me.

Running a hand through my hair, I follow her into the bedroom.

“Sorry. Okay? Just… You know summer makes me cranky. This isn’t news.”

She cuts her eyes toward me. “So I’m supposed to grit and bear it for three months because you hate tourist season. Which by the way, tourist season brings everyone a lot of business. A lot of people need that money to last them until the next summer.”

Pointing at my chest, I narrow my eyes. “I don’t. I specifically set up a business where I didn’t have to rely on tourists. Not my fault that others didn’t do the same.”

“Good for you,” she says bitterly, jerking her shirt over her head to pull on another one.

“Damn it, Whit. I’m sorry. Okay? I just… Fuck it. Sorry.”

Telling her I don’t want to hear about the bowling alley will just make her confused, which will lead to questions I won’t answer, and more fighting I’d like to avoid.

“Will you now ask me about what I’m so excited about?” she asks me, putting on a white, button-down shirt.

“The fact you won’t smell like fryer grease?” I ask jokingly, hoping to defuse her bad mood and also sideline the bowling alley speak.

Lanes to Strike? The fuck kind of stupid name is that?

Endless Summer… That was supposed to be the cheeseball name I concocted once upon a time when I was a pussy-whipped, dumbass teenager in love with a girl I never should have had.

“No,” Whit says, smiling.
Right. We’re talking
. “My favorite part is that I had a conversation with my new boss lady. That’s right. Boss
lady.
I called her about some of the rules I was going over, and we drifted into a discussion about some of the drinkers eventually grabbing my ass or coming on too strong. You know Emit won’t kick them out at the diner, but I was telling her about some of my concerns since there won’t be just beer at the bowling alley; there’ll also be liquor. Which means more grabby hands.”

“If you need me to handle something, call me,” I say with a shrug.

When her eyes narrow on me, I realize that I apparently interrupted before she was finished.

“Way to sound completely indifferent, jackass. Would it kill you to get pissed about guys wanting what’s supposed to be yours? Or maybe feel an ounce of jealousy?”

There’s a trick question in there. I feel it.

“I’m not a caveman, Whit. Jealousy is a stupid waste of energy. Either you’re going to be faithful or you’re not. Simple as that. As far as guys grabbing at you, you’ve always handled yourself just fine. It’d be a bit dickheaded of me to step in and belittle you by handling it without letting you stand up for yourself. But if any guy ever crosses a line and you can’t handle it, I’ll gladly take care of it and you know it.”

Why am I still getting glared at? I think that was a well-executed speech.

“Anyway, that’s not even what I was trying to get at. I spoke to her about it, and she said if any guy so much as breathes on me disrespectfully, to kick their asses out. Security will back me. It’s… I feel like I’m finally being taken seriously, Chase. It’s a huge deal to me.”

As much as I can’t stomach the thought of anyone fucking owning that place, let alone having Whit work there, I force a smile. It’ll keep me from getting castrated in my sleep. I hope.

“Happy you’re happy, Whit. That’s all that matters.”

Finally, she smiles, and I slip my belt on while walking away without worrying what will happen to me later.

“I’ll walk to the bar after work is over and drive you and your truck home if you’ll give me a lift.”

I never drink more than one or two at the bar, and she knows it. I’ll be plenty sober to drive myself home. Why is it so damn important that I go to that fucking place?

“I should be fine, Whit. I’ll drive you to town though.”

“I’ll need a ride home, jackass. My car is still getting fixed. Tell Blake to stop having a beer with you and finish it up.”

Great. Now she’s pissed again.

“Fine,” I bite out.

Looks like I’m going to play in my own personal hell. Just picking her up the other day was damn near impossible. It was all I could do to keep my mind off it by staying on the phone and refusing to glance in the direction of the bowling alley.

The top still had a huge tarp hanging over it, which helped it from being real… From being gone… From truly belonging to someone other than me.

Whit smirks like she’s won something, and tosses her purse over her shoulder as I let her walk out first. She talks about the bowling alley all the way there, but I tune her out. It’s fortunately a gift of mine.

As soon as we pull up, I roll my eyes at the massive sign. Horrible fucking name.

Whit takes her sweet time collecting her things, and unfortunately, I see Bill Johnson walking toward me. Cursing, I roll down my window just as he reaches my truck.

“So glad you’re here. Two big ass statues just arrived four days late. Can you give me a hand getting them in?” he asks me.

My entire body tenses all over.

“Sort of running late. Any chance you can get someone else?”

He runs a hand over his bald head. “I wish. Chuck can’t lift a bowling ball without straining his back. And the rest are all women working here, because apparently the boss lady is feminist or something. I don’t want to ask anyone to hurt themselves.”

Whit flips him off.

“I’ll help you, dickhead. We’re stronger than we look. And she’s not feminist. She went based on experience from the applicants. Hence the reason you were hired, since you’re the only one with security experience.”

Bill casts a hopeful look in my direction, but I shake my head at him.

“Don’t look at me. She’s been ragging all day.”

A slight sting draws my attention down to the spot on my arm Whit just struck. She cradles her hand like she’s hurt herself, while glaring at me like it’s my fault.

“Yeah. You’re a lot stronger than you look,” I mutter dryly, climbing out of the truck. Fuck my night. This damn thing is going to become the bane of my existence.

“Thanks,” Bill grumbles. “I’m not sure how in the hell I’m going to be able to stick out a bunch of cranky women. Fortunately, the owner seems pretty cool—she’s a little weird, but cool. I was kidding about the feminist remark.”

I don’t say anything. I just want out of here as fast as possible.

He leads me around to the side, and my feet cement themselves to the ground when I see the two oversized statues…

It has to be a coincidence. A really fucked up coincidence.

“Eagles? Weird, right?” Bill asks, misreading my look. “Guess you like that since you have one tattooed on you.”

He motions to my left arm where a bald eagle is wrapped around in the form of a sleeve.

“Yeah. Little bit.”

“We should get penguins,” Mika says, still designing the inside of our future.

It would sound stupid to people to know a bowling alley is our dream conquest. Well, it’s my dream. She’s just perfect enough to go along with it. It’s the reason I can’t wait for the day we turn eighteen.

“Penguins are lame,” I point out, causing her to chuckle. I really love it when she smiles like that.

“But some penguins mate for life,” she says quietly, looking up with those bashful eyes.

I wish we could just run away right now. Instead, we’re sitting on her roof, staying inside our bubble, and planning for the day when it’s no longer just a dream.

Instead of saying something pathetic, I smirk at her and say, “Bald eagles mate for life. And they’re less ridiculous. They don’t waddle.”

She snickers softly.

“They also usually return every year to the same nest and add to the structure, making it stronger, better, bigger,” I go on, watching as the amusement in her eyes turns to seriousness. “Sort of like us right now. We return every year to the same spot on the same day.”

I gesture around to our place—her rooftop. It’s been our place for as long as we’ve known each other. “And every year we get closer to building something stronger, better, bigger…” I let the words trail off when I start feeling stupid.

Suddenly, she launches herself at me, and my back hits the roof as she straddles me, crashing her lips against mine. I must have said something really right.

I don’t stop to ask her anything. I just enjoy the way she’s grinding on my hips, and I kiss her back, wishing we had longer than just the summer to be this way.

“You okay?” Bill asks, snapping me away from memories that are better left forgotten.

Clearing my throat, I nod. I grab one end, and hold my breath, even though I don’t know why. We quickly walk through the doors on the side, and Bill rushes me toward the entrance way where the two eagles will greet people and dismiss them on their way out.

Just like I had once planned…

Trying not to think about it, my eyes scan the place, and a sick feeling consumes me as I straighten back up from putting the statue down. From the retro carpet of the lobby entrance, to the golden hues of the wooden lanes, everything—I mean
everything
—looks almost exactly like I had once imagined. Other than a few random things here and there. All the important shit is in place though. All the things on my “must-have” list. A list I formed with the girl who taught me how to fuck, love, and hate.

When my eyes land on the oversized disco balls hanging from the ceiling, my stomach twists into a knot. Right above them is a mural on the ceiling—two eagles flying side by side with a city behind them as though they’re escaping together. I drew that…

No. No fucking way. No—

“Mika!” Whit’s shrill pitch slices through my panic, and my eyes dart down just in time to see a curvy, much different body than what belongs to that name. But the face and the eyes… Those eyes are seared into my memory and haunt me every fucking day.

The second those green eyes meet mine, the smile on her face vanishes, and the tray of glasses she’s carrying shatters to the floor. I almost feel sucker punched by life.

Life is an evil bitch.

Chapter 5

MIKA

“Mika!” Whit’s voice has me jerking my head and changing direction, still clutching my tray of pretty wine glasses I was going to put up nice and neat behind the bar.

I smile broadly at her, happy to see her all dressed up and excited about the big opening. Bill moves, drawing my attention, and my eyes land on a set of devastatingly familiar blues while my world goes crashing down and shattering.

No…. that’s my wine glasses that just crashed down and shattered.

My empty hands stay suspended in the air as all the air is sucked from my lungs, and I stare at the impossible fucked up sense of humor life has as it stares right back at me. Maybe I’m seeing things… Maybe he’s just dangerously similar…

If it’s really him, age has certainly treated him well. His shoulders are broader, his jaw is stronger, he’s definitely taller, and his body… I wish he’d gotten ugly. Life would be better. Why the hell is he here? No. No. It can’t be him.

Considering the hard, cold glare he’s giving me, he knows me. No stranger hates someone that passionately. Even though he has no right to freaking hate me. I’m the one who was hurt, lied to, betrayed…

Fidgeting nervously, I tug at the bottom of my shirt when I see Whit staring at me in confusion. That’s when
he
walks up and wraps his arm around Whit’s waist, still glaring into my eyes like he’s trying to silence me.

“You okay, Mika?” Whit asks.

Still in an eye-lock, I shudder, feeling stupid, embarrassed, and very freaking pissed off. He doesn’t live here. Why the hell is he standing in here right now with his arm wrapped around the model?

My heart does the whole slapping me in the face thing, reminding me it’s sick of being played with, so I manage to look away. Tugging at my shirt again, I look over at Whit.

“Sorry. He… just reminded me of someone I used to know. It surprised me. That’s all.”

Feeling his eyes burning against my face, I kneel down to start putting the larger broken shards on the forgotten tray, ignoring the fact the pieces aren’t broken in the same sizes. I resist the urge to spend forever grinding them into such small fragments you wouldn’t be able to tell they’re not the same size. The urge gets stronger, but I manage to ignore it, since it’s not overwhelming.

“Let me help,” Whit offers.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly—too quickly. “You should probably start checking the music lineup and such.”

I don’t look up. I can’t. This is hell. Actually, this is a level somewhere beneath hell. How did this even happen?

“Want to help me grab that last statue right quick? The doors are opening in less than an hour.”

Bill’s voice is like a hammer to my ears, because all my senses are hyper-alert right now. My heart is slamming against my ribs, because it’s exploding over and over instead of beating. I want to run away, hide, scream, cry… I want to do it all at once, but I’m stuck on the ground, picking up pieces of broken glass that poetically remind me of the pieces of my heart I was once left with because of the same man.

My eyes lift ever so slightly to see him glaring down at me still, and I cut my gaze away.

“Babe, are you okay?” Whit asks him.

I don’t bother looking up. I concentrate on the mess I made thanks to the jerk in the room. A surprising cry of pain escapes my lips before I realize it, and I curse when I see blood pouring from my finger. Damn it.

“Shit! Mika, let me help. Chase, get some towels. Hurry.”

There’s too much blood to put my finger in my mouth unless I sprout fangs and turn into a vampire so I can enjoy it. It’s a small cut, but I’m bleeding like an alcoholic on blood thinners. Shit. My blood pressure must be ridiculous right now.

“Chase! What the hell? Why are you just staring? Get some towels.”

My eyes come up just as he rips his gaze away from me, and he stalks out the entrance, pushing through the doors so hard the glass on them rattles on impact.

“What the fuck, Chase?!” Whit calls after him.

But he doesn’t slow down. He gets in his truck, slams the door, and the beast of an engine roars as he slams it in reverse and cuts it back, speeding off like hell is on his heels.

“What the hell just happened?” Whit asks me.

“Guess he doesn’t like blood,” I mumble.

My eyes land on the lonely eagle by the entrance, and I swear it’s a bittersweet symbolic statement. This isn’t how my new life was supposed to go. It was supposed to read
the end.