Damn indigestion.
A few hours later, after leaving the majority of the guys propping up a whiskey bar in the city, Max headed back to the small but comfortable hotel they had been put up in. It wasn’t that watching other people get shitfaced while he stayed sober wasn’t super-duper fun, but there was only so much Max could resist before the scent of bourbon developed into a siren’s call.
He’d called Tate as he walked the four blocks, explaining where he was and what he’d been doing. It was a casual conversation—they shot the shit, he dodged questions about Grace, and they caught up—but Max could hear the underlying concern in Tate’s voice that appeared whenever Max called unexpectedly. Months ago the sound of it would have had his molars grinding, but now he found himself smiling. It was a good feeling having people on his side.
Throwing himself down on his hotel bed and switching on the TV, Max glanced at his watch. It was a little before midnight. He tapped his cell screen against his knuckle, wondering whether Grace would still be up. She’d said something about a girls’ night so it was entirely possible. With a shrug he started typing out a text.
Back at the hotel. How was your night?
He sent it, threw the phone down on the bed, and heaved himself up and to the bathroom to clean up before he went to bed. He heard his phone vibrate as he finished brushing his teeth. He wandered back into the room, pulling his Henley over his head and kicking his boots to the corner of the room. He picked up his phone and frowned at the text.
Kmoxk Knixk
“What the hell?” Max smirked.
Seems someone has been at the cocktails again.
Yupl
Be safe. Have fun.
I wush you ware here. O miss yo.
Max chuckled while trying to ignore the warm sensation whispering across his neck.
Put your drink down and go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Home goin now. Yo mish me toooooooooo!!!!
Max snickered at the numerous heart-eye emojis at the end of her message and shook his head. He put his cell on charge, resisting the urge to text her back.
It didn’t matter in any case; they both knew she was right.
As forecast, the storm rolled in at seven o’clock Friday evening of the following week.
It arrived with a ferocious roar and streaks of lightning followed by rain, the likes of which Grace had never seen. The humidity that had built over the past few days had been so brutal, like breathing water through a sieve, that Grace had given up even attempting to run while it hung around. Instead, to pass the time when she wasn’t behind the bar, she cranked up the AC and worked on her photographs.
A flash of lightning illuminated Whiskey’s, setting the lights to flickering. Grace jumped from her spot by the fridge and looked toward the window. It had been in full flow for a good hour with no sign of letting up. It was going to be all sorts of fun getting home tonight.
For a Friday, Whiskey’s was all but empty except for Earl, Caleb, who’d just finished his shift, and a couple of regulars who spent so much time in Whiskey’s, Grace wasn’t sure they remembered where they lived anymore. Word had gotten around so quickly about the oncoming storm that even hot wings and liquor couldn’t entice the masses. Folks had the right idea. The only reason Grace was working was that Holly was unwell, seemingly a victim of the dreaded sickness bug that had made Grace’s life a misery more than a week ago.
Thunder shook the bar. Grace’s eyes widened and Caleb chuckled. “Ah, don’t you worry none. This is tame compared to our usual summer storms,” he offered. “You’ll be fine.”
Grace wasn’t so sure. She was just relieved that Max and the rest of the guys weren’t heading back to Preston County until Sunday, when the storm was forecast to be at its weakest. Roads would be treacherous and she’d do nothing but spend her time worrying about him getting back safely otherwise. She poured herself a soda.
Lord. She couldn’t wait to see him. It had seemed like the longest eight days of her life. They’d texted and even spoken on the phone a couple of times—even though Grace could sense Max’s awkwardness when they did—but it wasn’t the same.
An almighty crack of thunder that sounded as though it was directly above the bar snapped out the lights for a brief moment. A car alarm wailed somewhere outside as though crying out in surprise. Despite it nearing the end of July, the sky was black as rain barrelled down onto the ground below.
“Maybe I should close up?” Grace muttered, eyeing the wavering strip lights and glancing around at the faces sitting at the bar. Surprisingly, they all looked to be of the same opinion despite it being before 9 p.m. “We’d all be safer at home, right?”