Unbound (3 page)

I reached for the glass and damn near missed the thing. It took that action for me to realize that I was much more intoxicated than I thought. I considered calling Adam and asking if he wanted to come have a few drinks but then remembered that I had left my broken phone in the hotel room after throwing it against the wall. 
Dammit.

I got halfway through the beer and was struck by a moment of perfect clarity. There was nothing profound that caused it. I was simply looking at myself in the mirror behind the bartender. I saw my face looming over the tops of liquor bottled like some weird abstract cloud over a mountain range of glass. My head felt like it was filled with a small tide pool and my stomach slowly turned in place from all of the drinking. But still, the moment of clarity was unmistakable. It hit me like a bullet right between the eyes.

This doesn’t have to be your life. You don’t have to be here.

It was true. After coming back from Afghanistan, I had been offered a life that no other veteran ever got. My story was a heroic one; even I had to admit that to myself from time to time. The story of Serpent Team, the rescue of the school kids and the death of every member except myself had even been made into a movie. A year later, I had somehow landed a bit part in an action movie and then, a few months later, had been offered the leading role in a romantic comedy. I spent the following seven years making movies—twelve in all. Nine of them had been action films but the three that had really put me into the A-list category were the romantic comedies.

Mine was a good story and I guess I understood why the media had been so fixated with me. To have gone from a soldier than endured a nine hour gunfight against fifty enemies and to be the only man left standing… it was one hell of a story. America had embraced me as a war hero despite the fact that I had been unable to help any of my squad members survive the ordeal.  I hadn't rescued all of those children on my own after all but it seemed like that's what I was credited with.

Deep down, I think the feelings of disenchantment with my Hollywood life came from guilt—guilt that I had not been able to save them… that they were dead and I had women like Aubrey wanting to sleep with me while I brought home paychecks of six or seven million dollars for three months worth of work.

You don’t have to be here…

I downed the rest of the beer and slid the glass across the bar. I looked at it blankly and started thinking about the limo that I had at my beck and call in the underground garage beneath the hotel.

“
Another?” the bartender asked, taking my glass.

“
No, I don’t think so. Change of plans.”

“
Heading up to see that remarkable young lady after all, huh?”

I shook my head regretfully. “God, as crazy as it sounds, even to me, no….I think I’ll let her keep her dignity and get a good night’s sleep.”

I threw three twenties on the bar and gave the bartender a nod. I took a moment to catch my bAdamce before I walked back towards the exit and the hotel lobby beyond. I walked slowly, cycling through an incredibly foolish and ill-advised plan in my head. I advanced carefully to the front desk and tried not to be annoyed when the young woman beamed when she realized who I was.

“
Mr. Stone,” she said with just the slightest sensual inflection to her voice. “How are you tonight?”

“
Quite drunk,” I admitted as I sagged against the countertop.  “So hey, I seem to have misplaced my phone. Could I by chance use one of yours?”

She nodded enthusiastically, happy that she could help. She lifted one of the large black desk phones from behind the counter and placed it in front of me.

“
Thanks,” I said.

I stared at the numbers for a moment but realized that I had no idea how to get in touch with the limo driver. His number was saved on my iPhone which was upstairs.

“Shit,” I hissed to myself.  I rolled my eyes as I picked up the receiver and punched in Adam’s number, which I had memorized years ago.

He picked up on the third ring. “Go for Adam.”  I rolled my eyes. 
What a douchy way to answer the phone.

“
Hey Adam,” I said.

“
Devlin.  What's up?”

“
I told you,” I said with a laugh. “My name is Jack.”

“
You know, the scary thing is that you sound really serious about this,” Adam said.

“
Yeah.  Hey, I need the number for the limo driver. I seem to have accidentally deleted it from my phone.”

“
Okay.  Where are you calling from?”

“
The hotel lobby. Misplaced my phone.”

“
One second,” Adam said. I heard the slight sounds of Adam looking through papers and then he was back ten seconds later. He gave me the driver’s name—Dalton—and his cell number which I scribbled down on the hotel stationary which the girl behind the desk had so graciously offered to me when she overheard me asking for someone’s number.

“
Now why do you need his number at such an hour?” Adam asked.

“
Thanks,” was all I said and then ended the call.

I punched in the driver’s number and waited through four rings. When he picked up, he sounded sleepy and a little irritable. “Yeah?”

“
Dalton, this is Ja... uh... Devlin Stone,” I said, smiling at how I had almost referred to myself by my new name. “Are you available to pick me up?”

“
Yeah. I’m sort of just hanging out here in the car tonight. I’m still in the garage.”

“
Perfect. I’ll see you in about five minutes.”

I smiled at the girl behind the desk and pushed the phone back towards her. “Thanks so much,” I said.

She nodded like a giddy little school girl. I fully expected her to start blushing at any minute. I wondered if there were any actors that actually enjoyed this treatment. It seemed sort of distracting and gross to me.

I looked towards the elevators and when I stepped on, I eyed the P button. I considered going back to the penthouse and Aubrey to at least let her know what I planned to do. But I knew that she’d do everything she could to talk me out of it. Leaving her without letting her know was a dick thing to do, but it was the easiest way. I thought I’d be able to forgive myself for running out on here sometime later in my life.

With a sigh, I pressed the G button and felt the elevator start sliding downward. I almost reached out to press the Emergency Stop button with the intent of going back to the penthouse floor and ignore this stupid plan. But I kept myself in check and when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal the garage, I stepped out quickly.

The limo was parked only a few spaces away. A tall, lanky man wearing a suit was standing against the hood, waiting for me.

“
Where we headed?” Dalton asked.

I had no luggage of any kind. I had a spare bag in the limo trunk with a few basics…I wasn’t even sure what was in there. A tee shirt and gym shorts, I thought. Maybe some shoes.

“
The airport,” I said, without thinking.

Dalton seemed surprised when I got into the front passenger seat. He smiled and took his place behind the wheel. He started the car and pulled out, heading for the upper level and the streets beyond.

“
Need me to call and book a flight?” he asked. “Where you going?”

“
Alaska,” I replied.  The word came out of my mouth like I had planned it all along but truth be known, it was the first, most remote place that came to my mind.

“
Alaska? Jesus.  What the hell for?”

“
Why not?”  I shrugged, not looking from the tinted window.

“
Sure thing.”  Dalton laughed and nodded.  “Any place in particular you wanna go?”

“
Nope.  Just away from here.”

“
You got it.”  Dalton picked up his phone and punched in some numbers. Within a minute or so, he was on the phone with the airport, setting me up on a flight to some where in Alaska.

I chuckled as the limo cruised down the street.
Nice job, Jack,
I thought.
Let’s get out of here.

3—Mac

When customers like Amber Dawson come into the store, I wished that I had the budget to hire at least one more cashier so I could hide in the back. As it was, there was only myself and the two part-time employees, meaning that I carried the bulk of the hours on weekdays—particularly the middle of the day when the place was basically dead.

Not that I had anything against her.  I mean, hell, a while back, I had once been like Mrs. Amber Dawson: unemployed, bored, beautiful, and a gossip. It was a pretty lethal combination. If I was being honest, the real reason I didn’t like to be around Amber wasn’t because she was a gossip.  It wasn't even because she was nosy and a know-it-all.   I cringed around her because Amber reminded me of how I used to be,
before
the divorce.

When Amber walked through the front door of The Pine Way, I became very aware of my frayed brunette hair, the dark circles under my eyes, the weathering of my flannel shirt, and the fact that I was always tired. Amber was simply the kind of person that made you aware of your own faults—not on purpose, but by default.

“
Hey, McKinley,” Amber chirped, her voice like music, her smile like a radiant crystal chandelier. “How’s it going today?”

“
Going,” I said. I did my best to look busy with the inventory sheet behind the counter, but failed miserably. “You?”

“
Well, I was wondering what the latest and greatest was in organic power bars. I’m starting this new class at the gym that’s a combination of Yoga and Pilates and was looking for something with lots I energy that doesn’t taste like cardboard.”

Pretentious,
I thought.
What the hell do you need a class like that for? You’re perfect.

Of course, I didn’t say anything. I walked quickly from behind the counter and led Amber down the center aisle of the store. The Pine Way was a small store for outdoors enthusiasts, carrying food, clothing, gear and all things in between. The décor looked like a log cabin, right down to the immaculate cross beams that ran along the roof. In the winter months, we even kept the fireplace going, complete with rocking chairs to either side. But being June, there was no need. Even in Alaska, most people didn’t find much need for burning perfectly good fire wood when the weather was as beautiful as it currently was.

I led Amber to one of the newer power bar selections. I actually knew very little about many of the food and supplements the store carried, even though I owned the place. I just simply didn’t like the way they tasted, but I knew that lots of the hikers and marathon runners were really into certain brands.

“
The GoBar,” I said, indicating the box on the shelf and hating the way it made me feel like a salesman.  
“
The hikers that have been coming in here swear by it.”

“
And it’s not fattening?”

“
Not as far as I know. There’s some buzz about it on the internet, too. It’s supposed to be super healthy and provides energy without causing a crash.”

“
Sold,” Amber said, picking up a dozen of the small bars. As she looked at them, she tossed back her beautiful blonde hair and read the ingredients on the back of the wrapper.

I turned and rolled my eyes as I made my way back to the register. I didn’t like how just
seeing
Amber made me upset and borderline angry. Had I really grown to be
that
bitter ever since Mike had walked out four years ago?

I tried to ignore this idea as Amber approached the counter and paid for her power bars. I attempted to look happy, knowing that any thoughts about Mike and the end of our marriage tended to make me look incredibly sad and, as a result, much older than my thirty-six years. I knew that I was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way but when thinking of Mike
and
being in the presence of the well put-together Amber Dawson, there was very little that I liked about myself.

As I put Amber’s bars into a plastic bag, she gave me a sad look that made me want to punch her in her cute little forty-two year-old nose.  You know, the look with the tilted head and the almost frown?  That one.

“
What are you doing for lunch?” Her crystal-blue eyes appraised me as she smiled.

“
I pack every day.” It was a lie. I just wanted her out of the store. I even added some speed and zest to the comment so she’d think I was in a hurry. But she didn’t bite.

“
I’m on my way to Deitrick’s for a smoked salmon walnut salad. Why not come with me? You need to get out of this store Mac.”

I bit my lip to keep from saying something that I'd regret.  “You're probably right
, but I'm good.  Thanks.”

“If you don't mind me saying so
,” Amber said with a frown, either not hearing me or not caring, “life is short.  You should consider making some changes in your life… like maybe finding a man?”

I stopped what I was doing and stared at the counter for a moment, taking in a deep breath.  “Hey, you know, I’ve heard of those,” I snapped. “They pass gas, think with their crotches and walk out on your after nine years of marriage. Not much there, really. I’m not impressed with what I’ve seen so far.”

Her mouth popped open.  I don’t know what I said that took her off guard, but she took her bag and nodded. She took a step back and gave me that frown again. “Have a nice day,” she said. It was a simple statement, but she might as well have called me a bitch… at least that’s how it made me feel.

I raised my hand and almost called out to her as she walked away, thinking I should take her up on her offer. But in the end, I didn’t. I watched her leave the store, her perfectly sculpted ass looking as if the jeans that covered it had been painted on.

When she was out of sight, I could literally feel myself relax, tension leaving my chest and shoulders. But I also felt like a miserable old crone. I looked to the clock, saw that it was indeed lunchtime as Amber had suggested, and decided that I
would
go grab lunch somewhere. I
could
be spontaneous. I could be different…so long as it was within my meager budget.

Five minutes later, I was putting up my OUT TO LUNCH sign and locking the front door. I let the tension of Amber’s visit and all of the ugly thoughts I’d had about myself just melt off as I stepped out into the gorgeous Sitka afternoon.  The sun was high and its rays felt amazing on my face as I smiled up at it.  I glanced around the bay, taking in the shimmering cold water and the span of tall Douglas fir and Sitka spruce dotting the shore on the other side.  I sighed.  I did need to make some changes in my life.

****

I ended up grabbing a roast beef on rye at the small deli on the end of the pier two blocks over from The Pine Way. My store, as well as several others, were located on a long strand of side streets and business-centric piers. Teens would call the scene hipster while older generations would call it liberal. I myself really liked the set-up. I knew the business owners well and they knew me.

As I took in the facades of the quaint stores and buildings, I wondered how many of the people I knew felt the same about me as Amber Dawson did. Perhaps Stan at the deli thought I also needed a man (although certainly not him because he was married and had four kids, the oldest of which was preparing for their first year of college). And did sweet Mrs. Torrence think I was still pining over Mike even though he’d made a fairly public spectacle of our last days? 

Four years and you'd think that I'd have something better to toss around in my head.

I thought about these things as I made the half a mile walk between the deli and my store. Between the two, I ran a few errands—the bank and the post office, which were basically the only places I visited regularly—and found myself thinking deeply about the end of my marriage for the first time in several years.

It was painful, of course. And it also led to other painful things. It made me think of my brother David and how I had argued with him the last time I saw him alive. Three months after the argument, I got the call from mom telling me that he had been killed.

Where the hell are all of these negative thoughts coming from?

It was a good question. Sure, some people had bad days where they just didn’t feel up to par, but this was ridiculous. And I could blame it on Amber Dawson all I wanted, but this was coming from somewhere else…somewhere deeper.

I felt like screaming. I felt like crying. And I had no idea why.

In the end, though, I did neither. Instead, I was distracted by the sight of the baby blue float plane that was docked between Tanner’s Fresh Fish and the fishing pier. A small banner hung from the nose-mounted propeller that read FOR SALE. SEE MEL FOR DETAILS.

Mel, I knew, was Mel Tanner, the proprietor of Tanner’s Fresh Fish. I’d seen him taking off in this plane just off of the coast, the little blue plane taking him to one of his preferred fishing spots a few miles away from Sitka. Mel was getting up there in age and I wondered if he was eyeing retirement. I knew he loved his airplane and couldn’t imagine him without it.

Still, something in the back of my head clicked. For the longest time, I had dreamed of offering guided tours of off-the-map locations for hikers and outdoor enthusiasts. It could be done with a boat, sure; but so much of the Alaskan wilderness could really only be reached by flying over acres upon acres of uninhabited land—something a boat could never accomplish.

Before I knew it, I took a detour and heading into Tanner’s Fresh Fish. I figured there was certainly no harm in
asking
about it. If nothing else, I at least wanted to know why Mel was selling it.

I walked into the shop, surprised as always to find that despite his impressive inventory, the store didn’t smell too strongly of fish. Mel Tanner was sitting behind the counter, watching a news program. Like The Pine Way, his store was void of business around the lunch hour. When he saw me come in he smiled and muted the TV.

“
How’s it going today, Mac?” Mel was pushing sixty and when he smiled, he actually looked older than his age. Rumor had it that he was sick with something, but his family wasn’t yet going public with what he was sick
with,
exactly.  My guess was cancer.

“
Pretty good. How about yourself?”

“
I had a good morning of fishing, so I can’t complain.  What can I do for you?”

“
Uh, well, I actually came in because of the banner I saw on the plane. I really can’t believe you’re selling it.”

Mel shrugged but the expression on his face indicated that it was a sore subject. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be and if I’m being honest, I’m starting to get antsy whenever I go up. I think it’s just old age. Besides…there are plenty of fine fishing holes around here.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Tanner had something to do with the decision. I again wondered what Mel might possibly be sick with—that was, if the Sitka grapevine was to be believed.

Not sure how to start the negotiation process, I decided on the best small-town tactic I could think of: getting right to the point.

“
How much are you looking to get for it?”

Mel eyed me curiously and gave me a bright smile. “I didn’t know you were interested in flying. Do you have a pilot’s license?”

“
No, but owning a plane would be just the right motivation.”

He chuckled lightly.  “
I suppose it would.”

I absently toyed with the business cards sitting on the counter.  “
It’s something I’ve been considering for a while,” I said, “but I’ve never had the opportunity. I’d like to offer brief little expeditions to some of the less-traveled hiking and camping routes.”

“Hmph.  That's a pretty good idea.  Would fit quite well with your current offerings
,” Mel said with an enthusiastic smile. He thought for a moment and then looked out of the window behind his store where the little airplane floated. “I’m asking sixty-five thousand for it. The interior is a little busted up; the seats are cracked and peeling and, to be quite honest, smells a hell of a lot like fish. But for someone local, I’d knock five grand off.”