Bait (Wake, #1)(88)

It got very quiet and everyone sat, putting the vision of my wildest fantasy and my worst nightmare in front of me all at once.

The priest spoke loud enough for all to hear. We were gathered there that day by God. Good, maybe he would share some of the blame.

I felt sick.

Catholic ceremony. Stand-up. Sit-down. Peace be with us all. Peace wasn't with me. That was one thing I would forever be holding. For someone else I guessed.

They gifted each other metal rings.

They said the Lord’s Prayer.

And then violins played.

They were pronounced husband and wife. He kissed his bride. My Betty. My Honeybee. She kissed me goodbye.

The sun was bright. What a terrible day for a wedding.

I stood too soon. I couldn't stay a minute longer. The couple parted from their inaugural kiss as his and hers. Her hair and veil blew as a breeze passed me and touched her. She looked straight at me.

I took one last look at her. I kissed the palm-side of my fingers, as she watched me standing there like a fool. The luck of it was that I was in the back and everyone was looking at them. Her face froze on mine.

Grant smiled at his parents.

She stayed still in her spot as he started to walk them forward and the opposite way down the aisle. But in her distraction, she paused. He noticed and looked at her and followed her gaze to me. He whispered something in her ear, shaking her concentration and breaking her connection with me.

She shook her head, rattling her thoughts. She turned to him.

My brother caught it, too. His head looked over his shoulder and directly at me. It was a look of shock and then pity.

My feet were steadfast and moved without my telling them to. Into the car. Onto the road.

I heard my cell phone ring. I suspected it was Cory and let it ring to voicemail. I'd text him later.

I drove south. Toward home.

I stopped for gas in a small town hours later and refilled the rental. I didn't even have a real tie to the vehicle I was escaping with. Escaping. That's what it felt like.

I thought the further I got, the more miles I put between us, that the pain I felt in every cell would dull. It didn't.

I could still hear the violins.



“Casey, it's me. I don't know where you went. Shit. Why did you come? Why did you do that?” I listened to Cory's voicemail. He sighed then went on, “I know you were there. Dammit. Just…just call me when you get this. Text me or something. Let me know where you are. I'm sorry. I love you, brother.” Then he hung up.

I'd driven straight back to San Francisco. I didn't arrive in town until around six thirty in the morning. When I walked into my apartment, the sun was coming up and I was thankful to be so tired. My eyes gave in and I fell asleep the second my head hit the couch.

When I awoke around three that afternoon, I listened to my voicemail from Cory again and read the texts he'd sent.

Cory: Would you text me already? Where are you?

Cory: Are you okay? You're pissing me off.

Cory: TEXT ME!

If I could feel anything, I would have felt bad for freaking him out.

I had the rental picked up and I headed to the bar. Hindsight would show that the Hook, Line and Sinker was a terrible choice. It was only early afternoon, but I had a lot of things to drown and I needed to get started.

Me: Home.

There I'd sent a message to Cory.

Then I sent a message to Nate asking if he was working tonight. It was a Sunday and I knew he worked every other one.

Nate was working at HLS and I was glad. I had every intention of drinking until I was kicked out, and at least I could talk him into serving me past when everyone else would cut me off.

“Hey,” I said to him as I walked in. He sized me up, not saying anything. There were only a few others in the bar playing darts and two were shooting pool. No one sat at the bar.

I chose the stool in front of where he was stocking bottles and changing out the nozzles on the liquor. He had most of the bottles on the bar so he could clean the glass shelves and mirrored wall behind them. He still didn't say anything, but he examined me pretty closely.

He reached under the wooden bar and pulled out a double-shot glass, sliding it to me. I stopped it with my hand.

“Troy or Cory coming?” he asked.

“Nope.” My eyes landed on the bottle of Remy Martin and I thought how f*cking appropriate. Without a second thought to the glass, I opened the bottle and tipped it back. It was strong and it burned going down. Accustomed to the taste, Remy being a once upon a time friend of mine, he bit me back when I rushed him down my throat.

It was raining, fitting, and I'd really dressed up for my night out. Flip flops, brown tattered cargo shorts, white T-shirt, and a zip-up Bay hoodie. I showered quickly, but didn't shave. I didn't even look at my hair and let it dry like it was. I'm sure I looked really f*cking mental. I was a book worthy of being judged by my cover.

“Looks like I'll need another bottle of Remy for the shelf, you just bought that one.” He chuckled, not having a care in the world, and joked like the world wasn't on fire. I supposed his wasn't, but there was enough smolder coming off me that he could at least tone down his chipper f*cking tone. “You're the only guy that drinks that stuff anyway.”

I hadn't drunk it here since that first night. I looked at him squinting. “Same bottle?”

“Same bottle,” he said, walking to the back room for its replacement. It was still mostly full. I both hated it and loved it at the same time. I didn't want to empty it. It was pitifully ironic.