Essence of Time (17 page)

“No, and you know it too.”

“Well, call me when you find one…”

“Maybe. Just…” she hesitated a minute not rising to his tease like she normally would. “Be careful, okay big brother?”

“I’m always careful. Love you. Talk later.”

The next morning Evan met him at the brewery, two cardboard cups of steaming coffee in hand. Blake sighed.
What the hell was it with everyone lately? Didn’t they want the two of them to be happy?
He smiled, took the coffee, and let the guy give him a mini-lecture about Suzanne and her “state” and his place in her life right now.

“Are you happy with my work Evan?” Blake asked calmly. His boss looked momentarily nonplussed. 

“Well, yeah. You’re a kick-ass brewer and are one of the reasons I’m having to get bank loans to expand.”

“Are you happy with Suzanne’s work?”

The guy sighed and chuckled a little. “All right I get you. I’m just…”

“I know, I know, worried someone is going to get hurt.”

“I can’t have a potential fallout from a break up, or whatever, affect us right now, okay? I’m thinking of the brewery. I have no doubt that you guys are, happy, you know, in each other’s pants twenty-four seven. No,” he held up a hand as Blake started to protest. “It’s cool. She needed someone like you. I know you won’t hurt her on purpose. It’s just…oh hell, never mind.”

Blake watched him wander over to the Tap Room door and settle down with his laptop. A strange knot of anxiety had formed in his gut. He sipped, sat, and forced himself to recall how he’d left her just an hour or so ago, and smiled at the memory of her again, determined not to let all the naysayers keep him from the core of his new happiness, with Suzanne.

When the end came two weeks later, it blindsided him.

Chapter Six

“Blake,” Suzanne was walking through the brewery, click-clacking in her “selling day” high heels. He looked up from his inventory sheet and smiled. But it died on his lips at the look in her eyes.  He frowned and took her elbow, guiding her away from the gaggle of brewers relaxing at the end of a long day. Taking a long, deep breath of her, he willed his heart to stop pounding so hard. He was like a teenager with a crush. He tried to kiss her in a dark alcove between the brewery and Tap Room but she turned her face away. He caught the glint of tears in her eyes from the bar lights.

“What? What’s wrong?” He took a step away.
Calm down Thornton. Let her talk. It’s probably nothing.
She’d been seeing the therapist for about a week and a half.
Probably needs to vent or something.
Her next words silenced the inane babbling in his head.

“It’s over.”

He gulped, glared at her, decided to be obtuse and make her explain. “We have plenty of amber to run your promotion this month. How could it be over?” He crossed his arms to disguise how hard he was starting to shake.

“No. Not that. You and me. It’s…over. It has to be.”

Blake’s voice shook. “Don’t you think we should have this conversation somewhere else?”

She glanced into the Tap Room, bit her lip as a tear slid down her face. “No, I don’t. It started here. I’m ending it. Here.”

He whirled away from her and stalked back into the brewery. His brewery. Where he’d met her, fallen for her, had her for the first time, and now, apparently was being dumped by her. He couldn’t breathe. Walking past the staff, all calling to him to join them for a beer, he shoved the back door open, bashing it against the concrete wall in the process and walked into the parking lot. The cool, early fall Michigan evening was perfect. His favorite season was right around the corner. And he’d been stupid enough to think he’d be sharing it with Suzanne.
Jesus, you are a class-A fool.
He put his hands on his truck hood and tried to calm his pulse rate. A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

He glared at her, fury pounding through him. “What the fuck are you talking about Suzanne? We…we are…what did I do?”

She gripped his bicep, but he shook it off.  She took a step back; the look in her usually expressive eyes was flat, devoid of absolutely anything. That was as alarming as her words. “It has to be this way Blake. I…I can’t let go of what I did as long as I’m with you.”

“This is some kind of therapy bullshit talk.” He clutched her arms, desperation making him breathless again. “You need me, remember?” She looked away from him, down at the ground, up at the sky. “Look at me damn you.” She leveled that flat gaze at him. His heart sank. “Shit.” He let go of her, started walking away.

“Wait, Blake, please let me explain.” He turned back, and the compulsion to run back and scoop her up, to carry her off, to kiss that crazy idea right out of her head was so strong he groaned with the effort to stay put.  “I can’t take the guilt anymore - over what I did. Being with you just… makes it worse. I don’t love you, Blake. Let it go. It’s over.”

He watched her shake, saw her fold in on herself like a paper crane just as she always did. The caretaker in him roared with need to soothe, but he wrestled that weak-ass bastard down under a hard iceberg of righteous anger. “Believe whatever you want.  But I fucking love you, and I know you love me. I know it. However,” he held up a hand to keep her from talking. She wanted it this way? She would fucking get it this way. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I won’t beg you. Good bye.” He turned away again, walked out of the parking lot and down Stadium Boulevard, quivering with rage and a wrenching agony that would leave him breathless for days and sleepless for many nights.

He walked into a liquor store, bought a bottle of bourbon, ripped the cap off and started walking and drinking. He made it to Sara’s front porch before she got home, but that gave him plenty of time to polish off the booze and huddle, cradling it to his chest like a skid row bum. She hauled him to his feet and wrestled him into her condo before he passed out.

Suzanne watched as the best thing that ever happened to her walked away because she told him to. Blinded by tears she stumbled back against his truck, opened the door and climbed in, sucking in giant lungs full of Blake…malt, hops, leather, sweat, everything about him that she loved. And she did love him. But he deserved something better. Something less broken. She had no idea when she’d be able to sleep through the night again, when she’d get through an entire day not hearing the loud crack of Mitchell’s skull against the banister.

The therapist had advised her to go with her gut, which told her she needed some time alone, truly alone, to sort out the complex intertwining of her feelings for Blake and her relief and guilt about Mitchell. The woman was actually more practical than Suzanne had expected her to be. No kid gloves on her when she made Suzanne face the hard reality of her sleepless nights, her obsessive, caffeine-fueled days. She was barely existing and she knew it. Having near constant sex with Blake was physically satisfying but her heart kept shriveling in her chest, daily. Reminding her how lost and broken she truly was. So much so that she had to push him away, cause the hurt that had flashed in his eyes before it was replaced by righteous, well-earned anger.

She leaned into the seat, kept smelling him, reminding herself this was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. She had to start fresh, alone, not taint him with her dysfunction. The guilt choked her nearly twenty-four seven, even when she acted normal she’d swear there was a neon light overhead flashing “murderer” or “loser” or “victim.” A brutal purge was in order. She thought about selling the house, but Jack had reminded her more than once that the market for high-end homes was so bad she’d be a fool to try it.  So she had rented a condo downtown, was going to move her stuff into it, that afternoon, and be alone for a while. Center herself, without Blake hovering and trying to fix everything all the time.

It was so odd, the way her heart soared and expanded when they were together, but then contracted and made her snippy and mean when all he was trying to do was help her. His constant caretaking made her teeth ache with frustration, then guilt.

 “You are allowed to have anger and frustration Suzanne,” the hard-faced therapist insisted. “While it’s not Blake’s fault he was in your life at that moment, you owe it to yourself to be honest about your feelings. And you owe it to him. Letting him operate under the assumption that you are truly healing, emotionally, with him, is the worst sort of lie.”

She slipped out of the truck, wiped a shaking hand over her eyes, and walked back into the brewery, avoiding the glares from everyone in the place. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from wobbling as she negotiated the watery brewery floor. She walked behind the bar, poured herself a large IPA and sat at the far end, tears welling in her eyes. 

She jumped a mile when Evan slid in beside her. “Hey,” He patted her hand. “How are my little lovebirds these days?” He’d given her exactly one lecture about getting involved with “the kid who was goo-goo eyed in lust.” She’d been furious at him, told him to mind his own fucking business. But his words had haunted her for days, and through the many nights she lay awake, observing Blake’s lovely profile as he slept.  Most nights, she would watch him a while, trying to identify the strange swirl of emotions in her head, before giving up on sleep and heading into a nearby room to read or something. Anything to keep the loud clang of guilt and anxiety out of her head. She did love him, more than was likely logical, but the guilt was killing her. She was certain of two things. Letting him go was the best, and the hardest thing, she would ever do. It was hurt him now or ruin his life forever. Tears would dry on her cheeks before she fell into her usual half-sleep, dotted with images of bloody glass and Blake’s kind, patient eyes. Then he’d be there, when she woke, shivering, a scream dying on her lips. He slept as lightly as she did and was always there.

“I broke up with him today.” She sipped and looked straight ahead. Evan sputtered, nearly choking on his own beer. He gripped her arm.

“Jesus Christ, Suzanne. Did he know it was coming?”

“I don’t know. Why does that matter?” She shut her eyes against the tears.

“Damn,” He muttered, standing.  “Is he back there?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, what time is it?” She shrugged, willing the man away so she could mourn in private but he kept talking. “Did he, uh, go home or what?”

“I don’t know.” She refused to turn and meet his eyes.

“Suzanne,” his voice was low, commanding, so she finally looked up at him. “Are you really that cold? That kid was… shit,” her friend and business partner ran a shaky hand over his eyes. “I should find him.”

She turned away, started to put her face in her hands but Evan stopped her. “Why? What happened?”

“Because Evan. I can’t do it to him. He’s too … everything. Young, eager, perfect, I don’t know. Damn.”

Evan sank back into his seat and stared at her. “He’s too perfect. So you dumped him on his firm, young, eager ass, just like that.”

She glared at him. “Don’t be a jerk. You know it’s more complicated than— ”

Evan held up a hand, his eyes hard. “Well, I’m just man-filtering it for you. Letting you know how he likely heard it.” His words stung, but she stood her ground. It had to be this way. No matter how many pieces her heart kept breaking into as she pictured his face before he walked away from her.

“Great. Thanks.” She stared at the wall behind the bar ignoring the sounds of happy people filling the space, enjoying their Blake-crafted beer on a Friday evening. She could barely breathe. The urge to run to him, to throw herself into his strong arms and let him be who he was, her savior, made the room dim for a moment. She straightened, reminded herself that he, Blake, deserved better than that, and ignored Evan until he walked away.

“Blake!”

He rolled over once and landed on a strange floor. His head swam with a sickening rush of nausea. Making a valiant attempt to hold everything down, he shifted, sat and leaned against the couch. He squinted up and finally figured out it was his sister standing over him holding coffee cups. “Honey, I have to go to work. You gonna be okay?”

“No, I’m not,” he lurched up and raced to her bathroom in time to lose it. Once his body stopped rejecting the alcohol, he tried to stand, decided sitting was a way better option, then discovered the lovely cool of her bathroom tiles against his cheek. He waved her away when her high-heeled shoes entered his line of vision. “Go. Work. I’ll be okay. Right here,” he patted the floor.

She sighed, and crouched down, handing him a wet washcloth. “Okay, stay there as along as you need. I’ll check on you later.” He closed his eyes and never even heard her leave. 

By the time she got home that evening, he’d showered, found some clothes he must have left behind and had kept down a few bites of food to soak up the remainder of the booze that lingered in his system. But he couldn’t stop shaking. Alternating between utterly furious and completely devastated, his brain would not still. The logistics were even mind numbing. He had so much of his crap out there at her house. They had their regular sales and production the next morning
.
How was he going to face her?

Sara tossed her keys on the messy kitchen table, set a few groceries on the equally chaotic counter and turned to him. “I told you not to do this.”

He held up a hand. “I-told-you-so’s are not what I need right now, thanks anyway.” He groaned, and clenched his eyes shut, thinking he might be able to erase the image of her gorgeous long red hair, preferably tangled up in his fingers, the sound of her laughter, the feel of her…  “Shit! God damn fucking shit!” He pounded the table then leapt up. “I have to go see her. She’s wrong about this, she’s…” Sara put a hand on his arm. He glared at it then at her and then sat back down. “How am I supposed to work there now?” He laid his head down, realizing that the people who wrote about “broken hearts” truly knew the physical sensation he was feeling. It was the worst moment of his life. Then fury intervened, careening through him, making his face hot. “I’m going to the gym.”