Room 143

Chapter 2

Nash

Three Months Later

“Are you f*ckin’ kidding me right now?”

The words are pushed beyond the tightness of my throat in an anger I’m not sure I can ever fully express. It’s a rage I’ve felt for the last five years. Since my life changed in the seconds it took for an old man to drive home drunk and run a red light. Following the rules of the road would’ve meant that instead of being here right now, I’d be at home, tucked into bed with my wife, and a four-year-old son we’d been looking forward to since the moment she got the positive pregnancy test.

But that’s not my life, and I’m not there. Instead, I’m sitting in another bar, trying to figure out if I heard the words spoken correctly.

“Nash, just hear me out,” the youngest of my brothers, Austin, holds his hands up in front of my face.

I’m not sure if the motion is more stop in the name of love or don’t shoot me motherf*cker. If he’s smart he’ll go with the don’t shoot me motherf*cker. “I don’t have to hear you out. I don’t want to hear you out.”

He grabs hold of my bicep. His fingers digging into the red and black checked material covering muscles that have been honed over five years of grief and loneliness. Forged out of self-preservation, insomnia, fear, and a hollow ache in the pit of my stomach. F*cker’s telling me to hear him out? The sounds of the bar dims in my ears, almost as if it’s coming from above a hole I’ve been dropped into. The laughter, the sound of boots on the hardwood floor, the music – none of it registers as loud as it should. The vacuum is too deep.

“Are you listening?” Austin’s mouth moves as I read his lips.

This sh*t happened right after the accident, and I know what’s coming on next. The pounding of my heart, the whirling of the room, and eventually the pain of my body hitting the floor as I pass the f*ck out. Throwing his hand off me, I make for the door as quickly as possible. People are trying to talk to me, probably ask me a question about why their cars are acting up, trying to figure out when they should bring their bike in for an oil change, seeing if I’ll do something on the side for free.

I don’t answer any of them. My eyes are trained on the exit, and I don’t stop my forward momentum until I break through that door, into what is a warm April Spring night here in Harper Valley, Georgia. I’m bent at the waist sucking in gulps of humid air. My chest heaves as I try to bring oxygen into my lungs. I tap my ears, hoping to hear things in real-time now, as loud and clear as they should be.

“Nash!”

I whirl around seeing two friends and both my brothers making their way toward me. They’re circling me like they’re a pack of wolves, and I’m a wounded animal. Apparently Austin didn’t leave the key on the table, where I’d left it in my haste to get the f*ck outta there. He holds it in his hand, extending his arm, where he holds it in his palm. My own itches with the indecision to take it or not. Which pisses me off even more. It’s the desire I have to grab hold, what all of that means.

When I don’t make a move, he advances closer, gets all up in my personal space. We’re the same height, even though he’s five years younger than me. His voice is low, pitched so that only we can hear the words he speaks. “It’s time, brother.” He claps me on the shoulder with his free hand. “It’s time to take your life back.”

Take my life back? How do you take your life back when you’re a twenty-eight-year-old-widower who lost his wife and unborn child in a car accident at twenty-three? Even if lately you’re feeling the loss less and the loneliness more? The memories are more muted than they’ve ever been, and you have to look at a photograph to remember clearly where the freckles were on your wife’s face. How do you stop from grasping at those memories, no matter how much they hurt? The hurt is an emotion that at least gives me a sharp pain in my chest, a feeling where there’s been none for so long.

“It’s only been five years.” The words are ripped from my throat, sounding harsh and croaked against the dry sandpaper that is my vocal cords. It reminds me of the times I tried to put my emotions into words after Katie died. I’d cried too much for people to understand me. For months I’d almost been a mute, until one day I could speak without sending myself into an emotional meltdown.

“Five years is a long time.” Austin holds the key in front of my eyes this time. The gold lettering of the name of the hotel and the number of the room catches the flood lights outside the bar. It’s the north star on a dark night, a flash of fire in the cold, a cold drink on a summer day. There’s a part of me that realizes this could be my salvation. If I rip the key out of his hand and go to this room, I won’t be alone. For one night, I won’t face the oppressive silence of a house that should be filled with Katie singing and the loud noise of a little boy running up and down the hallways. But I’m not sure I can take the step yet. “Take it.” His words echo my thoughts. ”And do with it what you want. Just know she’ll be waiting there all night. We told her it might take us some convincing to get you to go. No hard feelings if you don’t. She’ll be there whether you go or not.”

No hard feelings? F*ck theirs. What about mine? I snatch the key from his hand, shoving it into my jeans pocket, before I stomp to my truck. Jerking the door open feels good. Slamming it shut feels even better, and when I start it, put it in drive and throw gravel as I peel out of the parking lot, I feel motherf*cking amazing.

Only I don’t, not really. I feel empty, the same way I have for the last five years. Pulling my truck over to the side of the road, I beat my hand on the steering wheel, cursing God, myself, the driver of the car that hit my wife, the doctors who couldn’t save her, and the circumstances that put her in that situation. This time though, the vice grip on my heart isn’t as tight as it’s been in past years, tears aren’t streaming down my cheeks, and I’m not burying my sorrows in a bottle of Jack.

“Nash, what are you doin’?” I question as I lean my head against the steering wheel.

In five years I haven’t been tempted. Not even with the one-night stand I tried to have. Women come up to me at the garage I own with my family, and they slip numbers into the front pocket of my jeans, they flirt, they make innuendos, but nothing has ever tempted me. I figure maybe it’s because I know I’m going to have to see those women again. They were around when I wore the wedding ring on my finger that I now wear on a chain around my neck. F*ck, some of them went to high school with me and Katie. More than one of them was in our wedding.

I haven’t been able to move on, haven’t been able to think about moving on. But tonight, this key is burning a hole in my pocket. The implication of what the guys said is making me want things I haven’t wanted in years. My d**k is taking notice – and I want to weep with joy that the damn thing still works.

“We got you an escort, Nash. Some nameless, faceless woman who is paid to show you a good time. Neither one of you even have to talk names, pasts, or futures. It’s about f*cking, Nash. Something I’m damn sure you haven’t done since that night five years ago. You’re tense, you’re an asshole, you need to let loose, and if the only way you can do it is with someone you don’t know – then so be it.” Austin laid the key down on the table and I backed up like that thing was on fire.

“How do you expect me to dishonor her memory like that?” I lick my lips, tempted. God I’m so tempted. Loneliness has been eating at me, but I don’t want people to see me and think I didn’t love my wife. I did, f*ck I still do, but I’m here, living this existence, and she’s not anymore. I’ve found over the last few months I’m not sad. I don’t still look for her everywhere and the other day at the store; I thought another woman was cute. Maybe I’m ready to move on, but I don’t know that I can admit that to other people.

“It’s not dishonoring. You have a life to live, Nash. Katie’s dead. When are you going to understand that?”

It was at that point the panic took over and why I ended up here, right now, on the side of the road. The truck idles as people pass me by. I’m sure they see the Gilbert and Sons Automotive decal on the back window and wonder what the f*ck I’m doing on the side of the road. Thing is, I can’t make myself turn around and go home to that f*cking empty house, but I’m not sure I can pull this keycard out of my pocket either.

Gripping the ring that hangs around my neck, I wonder what Katie would say. Would she have waited for me or would she have moved on if our situations were reversed? For the first time, I take an objective look at my life. It’s time to do that, to stop holding my grief in front of me like a shield to force everyone else away. Katie was gorgeous, the center of attention, and the person everyone flocked to. I’ve always been the quiet, brooding, darkness to her light. I always wanted to be hiding in the background. I was content to be her support, to hold her up when she needed it. The problem with that is, I don’t know how to let people support me. I’ve always been strong, but tonight that strength is slipping. I hate that f*cking empty house and the memories that play like a rock song at an outdoor concert. The sound is loud, but muffled, and not clear anymore.

No doubt in my mind she would have been scooped up by someone. It wouldn’t have taken her five years. Not my Katie; she would have made peace with her decision and moved on, because that’s the kind of person she was. Knowing that I’m even thinking about doing this tells me that Katie’s with me tonight.

Decision made, I put the truck in park, stretch out of my leg, and fish the key out of my jeans. Flipping it over in shaking hands, I read the name of the hotel on it. Those gold letters bright in the dim light, Harper Valley Hideaway, tempting me again. One of the nicest ones we have in town, I’m sure not many people would go there for what would equal the hourly rate of a booty call. Most passersby are more than likely business people going to Atlanta, but not wanting to stay downtown.

“F*ck it.” I throw the words up as a prayer before I pull a U-turn, and head across town to where the hotel is located.

I don’t know if I can do this, but I also know I can’t not do it. At some point I have to move on, and all signs are pointing to this being the night I dip my toes back into the water.

The drive there is quicker than I imagined it would be, and when I find myself in a parking spot, I realize I need to shut the truck off. After I do, I sit there for what feels like forever, running my hands along the smoothness of the steering wheel. It’s been years since my palms felt female skin like that, and I have to admit I’m looking forward to it. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I wish I had taken time to clean up my beard, but this lady has probably seen the worst of the worst.

Reaching around my neck, I unclasp the piece of gold holding my wedding ring. I can’t go f*ck another woman while still holding onto a piece of another. I kiss the thin band. “Love you Katie, I’ll never stop.” I feel like it’s important to tell her that, to let her know she’ll always have a place with me. But maybe I can make a place for myself, even if I’m alone. First, I have to take this step, to allow people to touch me again. To feel something other than the pain and anger. Pleasure would be welcome if it can get past the walls I’ve built.

In the cup holder, my cell phone buzzes, and I grab it up, seeing a text from Austin.

A: Her name is Taylor. If you decide to go, I figure you should at least have her name. I know I said you didn’t have to exchange names, but I know you, better than I even know myself. You’ll want to know her name. And I held out hope, there’s condoms in your console. I love you, bro, please don’t think any of us did this for any other reason. We loved Katie too, but

I don’t answer, I can’t. Right now I’m too raw for it to do either of us any good. Lifting the top of the console up, I put my necklace in there, before grabbing out the box of condoms. My heart pounds as I exit the vehicle and walk my way up to the door number engraved on the key card.

Never in my life have I been this nervous before and I wonder. Should I knock? Should I walk in? I’m conflicted; I haven’t had to worry about anyone else other than me for a long time. In the end, I decide I should use the key, because if I knock and I have to wait on her to answer the door, I’m going to be out of here like my work boots are on fire.

I curse myself as I stand here, debating with the angel on my left and the devil on my right. It’s been so easy to lie to myself for the past few years and tell others I don’t need affection, that I don’t need someone around. Back in the beginning I didn’t - no one would be able to take Katie’s place. However, the last few months especially, I’ve been missing companionship, I’ve been jealous of friends who are finding love in their lives. I miss it. I miss sharing my life with someone.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not stupid. This woman will do what she’s paid to do. Show me a good time and pretend like I’m the best she’s ever had. But maybe that’s what I need. There has to be a catalyst that moves me forward from this sh*tty existence I’ve been living, and I can’t help but think this it.

When I put the card in front of the door and it flashes green, the lock disengaging, I almost cut and run. Back to the truck, back to my loneliness where I’m comfortable and I don’t have to fight.

But then I hear a female voice.

“Hello? Nash? Is that you?” Equal parts sultry, questioning, with a rasp that sounds like she’s either a phone s*x operator or a smoker of thirty years.

And I’m curious as to who that voice belongs to. What do they look like? Why are they doing this for a job? I’m intrigued and gutted, because I know that voice doesn’t belong to Katie, but I’m curious.

The curiosity is what forces my hand, and I open the door before I can stop myself, stepping through and letting it shut with a quiet thud. I can’t see her because this is one of those suites with more than one room. As I pass the kitchen and walk into the living room, she’s coming out what I assume is the bedroom.

When I get my first look at her, I know this decision will change my life forever. My heart knocks in my chest, and I have no words to push past my closed throat. The woman standing in front of me has the body of a vixen and the eyes of an innocent.

I can’t wait to see which personality she uses to seduce me, because I’m not walking out of this room without getting what I came here for.