Page 2 of Blood Ties
“Okay,” I sigh, “Let’s get going.”
There are some stilted attempts at conversation as we walk along. Felix muses about what’s wrong with his car, and May hopes aloud that we won’t be late for the music festival. But soon silence falls as we all focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Even with the sun sinking toward the distant mountains, it’s hot out here. My shirt sticks to my back and my mouth goes dry. I grab the water from Felix, but it does little to quench the feeling. It’s like my whole body is being slowly sapped of moisture.
About halfway through our walk, the desert around us is dyed red by the setting sun, and not a single car has passed by. It’s eerie out here. So isolated that I’m not sure it even has a name on a map. I really hope the building ahead isn’t just some abandoned old relic. If we’re really on our own out here, we’re screwed. Heat like this can kill.
We all rest and pass around the water jug. Felix takes a hold of May’s giant suitcase, and she gives him an apologetic smile. We’re all too tired to speak. Even Caleb, who is notorious for having an opinion about everything, just spends the brief reprieve cleaning his glasses and catching his breath.
I wipe sweat off of my forehead and finish the last of the water when it’s passed to me. When I lower it, I catch a glimpse of something on the horizon, and break into a smile. “Look!” I point toward the building we’ve been heading for. As the sun sets, neon lights have flickered on like a beacon in the night. “Civilization!”
“Oh, thank God,” Caleb groans, and starts loping along with renewed energy. The rest of us are close behind.
“I think that sign says ‘bar,’” Felix says.
“Hallelujah,” May whispers, a new bounce in her step.
The second half of our trek passes much more quickly with that light waiting for us on the horizon. But the closer we get, the more my relief twists into anxiety.Civilizationmight be a strong word for what we’re walking into. There’s nothing nearby except for a single gas station that looks like a great place to get stabbed... and a church, right beside the bar.
The bar itself is a rickety old dive that seems more likely to give me tetanus than a decent cocktail. And once we stagger into the parking lot, the sparse collection of beat-up trucks does not inspire positive thoughts about the clientele. Loud country music spills out of the open door, and there’s no bouncer outside to check IDs.
Maybe I’m being too judgmental. But May slows down and slides her fingers into mine as we get closer, and she’s usually the bold one.
At least we have the boys as a buffer. Especially Felix, with those big shoulders and southern charm. Even Caleb has the good sense to hang back and let Felix lead the way.
The smell of the place hits me first: stale beer and cigarettes and a faint tang of sweat. We’re definitely contributing to the last bit after our walk, but still, I can’t help but wrinkle my nose as my sneakers stick to the linoleum floor. The back of my neck burns. Eyes watch us from the ramshackle wooden stools at the bar, and the booths lining the wall, and the pool table in the center of the room. This is clearly a local watering hole, and the locals in attendance areoverwhelminglymale.
My skin itches at the scrutiny. I wish I was wearing more than the lacy black crop-top and high-waisted shorts I threw on for the car ride. I clear my throat, and slide my phone out of my pocket to check if I have any bars yet. No dice.
“Hey there,” Felix says, approaching the bar with a broad grin, still lugging May’s suitcase behind him. “We were just passing through and...” He leans in to talk to the bartender, a grizzled old man with a suspicious squint in his eye. The mournful wail of country music drowns out the rest of the conversation. Caleb sidles up behind Felix, folding his arms over his thin chest.
I tug on May’s arm, tearing her attention away from the men at the pool table. “Bathroom?” I ask, and she nods. We follow a neon red sign to the single-stall room, which is tiny and covered in graffiti but surprisingly clean otherwise. The two of us take turns using the toilet and freshening up as best as we can with water, paper towels, and the deodorant I brought. She pulls out some makeup to retouch, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You really planning on getting your flirt on in a place like this?” I tease over her shoulder as she reapplies her red lipstick.
“If it helps get our car fixed, why not?” she shoots back. “Anyway, some of those trucker guys are kind of cute.” She pushes her tits together and winks at me, and I grin, shaking my head.
I study our reflections as she finishes up. May always looks perfect, with her long blonde hair, big brown eyes, and effortless beauty. I look extra sharp and prickly in juxtaposition to her. My frame is thin and angular next to her curves, my brown bob and pale features severe compared to her warm tan and soft waves. My resting bitch face is especially bitchy after the long walk, but she’s all honey and softness.
Yet I know all of that makes us a perfect duo. When she whirls around to beam at me and declares herself ‘ready to mingle,’ I crack a smile and prepare myself to babysit her drinks all night.
As we walk out, Felix has the bartender laughing at some story, and Caleb is sitting on a stool chugging water. Two glasses are waiting for me and May, and as soon as we’re finished gratefully drinking them down, a pitcher of beer replaces them on the counter.
“On the house,” the bartender says with a nod. “Already told your friend here, but the mechanic’s on his way. Mr. Duvall will get y’all kids fixed right up, don’t you worry.”
“Thank you, sir!” May gushes, pouring a tall glass of beer for herself and another for me.
Maybe it’s the free beer, or the surprising warmth of the bartender, or the fact that I’m drinking while severely dehydrated, but soon my tension melts away. Soon enough May is giggling while a trucker teaches her how to line-dance, and Caleb is showing off his talent for pool, and Felix is talking cars with a group of men all nodding along with very serious faces. I sit quietly at the end of the bar, nursing a beer and enjoying the atmosphere.
Then the door opens behind me, and a cool breeze drifts across the back of my neck. I turn to look over my shoulder, and lock eyes with a man walking into the bar.
Something in his dark gaze sends a shiver all the way through me. I hold his eyes for a couple of seconds, studying him. He’s maybe a handful of years older than me, somewhere in his late twenties, and at least six foot two. And he’s handsome, no doubt — well-carved features accentuated by a hint of scruff and a scar that slices across one sharp cheekbone. His thick, dark hair is pushed back from his forehead and curls around his ears in a tousled but effortlessly attractive way. It’s almost criminal how good a plain black t-shirt looks when it’s stretched across those broad shoulder. The other men at the bar step aside to let him pass without seeming to realize that they’re doing it.
But thattwistin my stomach — is it butterflies or fear?
Discomfited, I break away from his gaze, turn back to the bar, and finish my drink. I drum my fingers on the sweating glass and glance around at my friends again. They’re all deep in their respective conversations, holding court for the locals. Easy chatter, easy laughter. But suddenly all I can see is how much we don’t belong.
I check my phone, but it’s the same as every time I checked it before. No service.
Nobody knows where we are right now.
