I pointed at the first thing I saw.
Schwarzsauer, which sounded suspiciously like Schwarzenegger when I said it, but the owner nodded all the same.
“Yes. Yes. Gut.”
Then he turned to Hunt, who looked just as lost as I did. He pointed at something and the owner said, “Yes. Himmel und Erde. Is you say, ‘Heaven and Earth.’”
Great. I got the terminator, and he got heaven and earth. The owner took our menus and left. I picked up my glass, smelling the dark, fruity scent.
“Are you not going to try it?” I asked.
Hunt eyed the glass for a moment, and then shook his head. “No.”
“Do you want a beer? We are in Germany, after all.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay.”
“All right, spill. You’re what twenty-five—”
“Twenty-seven.”
That made him five years older than me.
“Okay, so you’re twenty-seven, which is—*newsflash*—old enough to drink.”
“I’ve done plenty of drinking before, Kelsey. I just don’t do it anymore.”
“Bad experience?”
“Bad life.”
His hands were stiff and jerky as he unfolded his cloth napkin.
“What happened?” I asked, then regretted it a few seconds later. He’d been charming and funny for most of the day, and a dark cloud rolled over him. He had the same tension in his shoulders as the first few times I saw him. “That was stupid. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“No, it’s fine. It was what always happens with alcohol. A
little became a lot, and my life unraveled around a bottle.”
“So you’re . . .”
“An alcoholic, yes. I was up to one-year sober this time. Or I was until the other night.”
“Was?” I asked. I wracked my brain to try and remember if I’d seen him drink anything. Maybe he’d fallen off the wagon right before I met him.
“I took a drink that night at the baths.”
“When?” I searched through fuzzy memories.
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”
“It just doesn’t. It happened. It’s over.”
A thought stuck in my mind like a thorn. And maybe it was part memory or just because I knew myself, but I said, “It was my fault, wasn’t it? Whatever happened . . . you broke your sobriety because of me.”
My stomach clenched, and I felt sick. Maybe I drove everyone to drinking. Not just my mother.
“No, princess. It was my choice. Don’t take that on you.”
He didn’t deny it though. He didn’t deny it, and my head was spinning. He continued, “It’s not my first time off the wagon, and it probably won’t be my last” His eyes shot to the wineglass, and he added, “But I’m good for now.”
I cleared my throat and pushed my chair back.
“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”
I tried to make a graceful exit, but the owner ran over as soon as I stood up. He asked me something in German that I didn’t understand. I just smiled and said, “Bathroom? Um, toilet?”
Nodding, he pointed me toward a dark hallway in the other corner of the restaurant. I ducked my head and practically ran away.
17
I opened two storage closets before I found the unmarked bathroom, and stole my way inside. I braced my hands on the porcelain sink and leaned my head against the cool glass of the mirror. I don’t know why it was affecting me so strongly, but I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
Jackson was a good guy. A great guy. I’d gotten myself drugged, and he took care of me. I’d oscillated between epic screw-up and bitch at light speed, and he was still here. And somewhere in between all that, I’d ruined a one-year accomplishment.
Now wonder he kept rejecting me.
Not for the first time, I had to wonder why. Why did this great guy give two flying f**ks about me? I think he cared more about what happened to me than I did.
It didn’t matter where I was or how many planes or trains I’d taken to get there, the darkness always caught up to me. Not because of bad luck or karma or anything like that. Disaster followed me because I was the disaster. I was a walking, talking hurricane, and my idea of living was taking everyone down with me.
I looked up into the mirror. It was circled by rusting metal, and the low yellow light overhead glowed in the reflection. And there in the center was a girl with pale hair and pink lips. Beauty Queen material. That was what my mother had always said growing up. She wanted me to be the next Marilyn Monroe. She’d tell me that on mornings when she was drunk and retired to bed because of a “headache.” But beauty was a poison. A lie. It was a facade, and nothing more.
When I looked in the mirror, all I could see were the things they tried not to see. The bags under my eyes. The smudged mascara and sunken cheeks. The too-thin arms and the lines around my mouth from frowning. But those imperfections had nothing on the ragged soul that resided underneath.
That was the thing I couldn’t change. I could paint over it with makeup. Distract myself with parties and guys and traveling. But you can’t run from who you are . . . not forever.
And here in this small café in this small German town with possibly the most perfect guy in the world . . . it had finally caught up to me.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Kelsey?”