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If it was anyone else – she’d be having a good time.
Anyone else.
Take Ruby, for example. A snowstorm? Ruby loves being all cozy in the cold weather – they’d order hot chocolate to the room, snuggle up, pop a movie in. But well, Ruby probably wouldn’t be caught dead sitting on any surface in the dingy, little motel that Beth was currently stuck in. In fact, she’d frantically Lysol every surface, and the nearest corner store is miles away, so that means no re-stocks on the wipes. Once the Lysol stash in her purse was depleted, Ruby’d start prayin’ to Jesus about the state of this bathroom.
Plus, Beth doubts very much this establishment even serves hot chocolate… or… anything for that matter. Maybe condoms? Or cheap cigarettes?
Definitely cigarettes, based on the smell coming from her pillow.
Annie would be fun though! Yes, Annie would make this nightmare bearable. Maybe they’d break into the minibar and down tiny vodkas until they were nice and good and drunk and silly. But God, Annie would throw up on the car drive back to Detriot the next morning, guaranteed. And tonight was stressful enough without any sarcastic comments pushing Beth towards a migraine, so… maybe not Annie.
That doesn’t mean this is ideal. It is certainly not ideal. There are many people she’d rather be with as she waits out the weather in a small, sleazy Canadian town.
Not Dean, though. Heaven forbid that man sleeps anywhere without his apnea machine.
And God no, not her kids.
“You good?”
A low rasp brings Beth back to reality, finding herself carefully perched on the side of a mustard-colored bedspread, staring blankly at the peeling, sun-bleached wallpaper.
A tired-looking Rio is hovering near the door handle. His eyes shadowed. His typically-crisp, black shirt sitting crumpled on his narrow frame.
They had driven all day. Big Al had bailed on the meeting, and they left as soon as possible to beat the incoming storm. They’d almost made it, but 3 and a half miles to the border the Wagon started to fishtail. The snowfall was getting to be white-out conditions anyway, there was no way they could safely continue homeward.
So instead, it was Stanstead, Quebec, and the Brown Beaver Inn.
“Mhm.”
Beth hears the door click softly and turns her head around once more to face him.
“Where are you going?”
“’ T’get a drink.”
Huffing out a humorless laugh, she eyes him suspiciously. Surely, he’s joking. They may as well be dropped on another planet – The Brown Beaver Inn wasn’t exactly known for its hotspot location.
What was it known for? She shivers at the thought.
“Where?!”
“Darrel’s. Saw a sign on the way in. Seems open.”
Beth sighs, shifting her weight, preparing for rest.
“More fun with friends.”
Huh?
“Oh. Oh, no. I’m just gonna try and get some sleep.”
Apparently never too tied to be an asshole, Rio’s lips turn up into a self-satisfied grin.
“Nah. That’s what it says on the sign. ‘Darrel’s: More fun with friends”.
Rolling her eyes, she clicks off the bedside lamp. She’s able to pass a few moments counting the water stains on the ceiling before her throat starts to itch. Bourbon would be nice.
She could just pop over, get just enough booze in her system to lull her into an unconscious state, and then come back to bed.
It was too early to fall asleep anyways. The fallen snow was reflecting in the moonlight, illuminating their cheap motel curtains. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t… if she wasn’t … here.
Besides, she doubts Rio will even want to talk. They’ve both had a day.
Darrel’s was indeed open.
Too open. Too… everything?
The whole interior was truly assaulting to the senses.
And it was only 8 PM.
A quick glance around at the present clientele told Beth that no one here had bothered read the motto glowing on the sign outside.
Not a soul was having fun, and not one person had brought a friend.
A young-ish man in a construction uniform was watching golf on his phone in the corner booth. Another absentmindedly nursed a beer while fiddling with his wedding ring.
Near the front, a burly man in a red and black plaid shirt and orange hunting toque was leaning back behind the bar. He was keeping an eye on an older, leather-clad woman roosting precariously on the nearest barstool. Leather lady seemed to be hosting a who-can-drink-the-most-whiskey-sour competition with herself as the only contestant, and neither she nor the man who Beth figured was the bartender, seemed particularly pleased about it.
Beth scanned the rest of the room, eyeing the sticky green tile floor and north wall, which was covered head to toe in old license plates. Two wall-mounted TVs flashed silently. She paused to watch the soundless gaping screams of hockey fans in the grainy arena.
Darts, a jukebox, a chalkboard advertising for a margarita night four months ago, a dusty Christmas tree, and finally –
A lean figure, head to toe in black, hunching over the end of the bar.
A familiar and welcome sight among so much tacky unfamiliarity. Despite the way she despises the neon pulsing in rhythm with her burgeoning headache, or the sappy country song playing a touch too loud overhead, something about the twangy lyrics and blue light dancing off the bridge of his nose made her chest swell.
He had always been that way, a lifeboat among strange. A peculiar comfort as she trudges further into her own unknown
Would the sight of him alone at a bar always feel like coming home?
“Bourbon, neat.”
Can’t trust the ice in a place like this.
Rio’s head whips around as she slides into the stool to his right. He unfolds his hands from where they had been cradling a vodka and wrings his fingers in his lap.
She could feel his eyes on her, but continued to face forward as Plaid Shirt Man wandered over and poured her a finger of Jim Bean, wordlessly returning to his phone.
“Are you Darrel?” Beth asks pointedly as she accepts glass, her voice laced with soccer mom enthusiasm.
Beside her, she could feel Rio dip his head down and shake it. She pictured the amused grin reluctantly tugging at his lips, the way she knew it was.
‘Uh... I’m… Kyle?” The bartender responds gruffly, apparently bewildered that someone would speak to him, let alone in such a shrill and abrupt manner.
“Hi, Kyle.” Beth smiles her winning PTA smile. “I just assumed, you know, cause we’re at Darrel’s.”
Beth catches a soft snort as the lanky shadow beside her tips the remains of his vodka to his mouth.
“Oh uh.. ya that’s just, like, the name.”
She turns to face Rio now, taking him in. That soft feeling continuing to spread through her chest, no doubt spilling out into her gaze.
“I was kinda hoping to meet Darrel.” She takes a healthy sip, coughing a bit at the bite.
He’s smiling openly now, tired eyes twinkling in the ghastly reflection of the “HENS / ROOSTERS” bathroom sign.
“What brought you out huh? Bed not comfy enough?”
“If you can even call it a bed.”
Rio grunts, gesturing for another round. Kyle, not wanting to be roped into any more conversation or questioning, passes the drinks with a quick flick of his arm and then retreats back to his watch station over Mrs. Whiskey Sour, who is still at it, by the way.
They drink in silence for a moment or two, both lost in their own thoughts. Both following imaginary strings back to their own lives – lives that are playing out somewhere in the distance over miles and miles of snow-covered highway.
“Kids OK?”
“They’re with their dad.”
“Dean.” Rio gulps back some more vodka.
“Dean.” She echoes, solemnly nodding before following suit.
God, this bourbon was not good.
Reading her twisted expression, Rio raises his glass.
“Vodkas trash too.”
“Well shit, Darrel.”
Two drinks turn into three. The edges of the bar settle comfortably around them. The ache of the day becomes gradually buried in stale cigarette smoke and the steady sink of spirits down their throat.
You wouldn’t know it from lookin’ at her, but she’s pretty good at rollin’ with the punches. It’s one reason he keeps her around.
Ya sure, she’ll ask for the manager if you fuck up her salad or whatever, but when things are truly out of her control, like today, she ain’t one to whine. Guess it just comes with having one million kids.
Earlier, he’d wanted some distance. 8 hours in a car with anyone is enough to make you wanna open the driver’s side and roll out onto the highway, but toss in the weather, a failed meet, and a fuckin’ waste of a weekend – shit -
But now, s’not bad, her company. Better than drinking alone.
“Excuse me?” Elizabeth’s laugh was breathy as she feigned indignance.
“You heard me. Said you’re a bad liar.”
She shakes her head incredulously, blonde curls bouncing around her neck.
Three drinks in and her cheeks pinken. Three drinks in, he’s noticin’ it.
Every time.
Yeah, he’s still got it bad. Shit ain’t good for him.
“Ya mama, you got tells. Those baby blues be givin’ you away every time.”
“I’ve lied to you.” She adds playfully, jutting her chin out, pursing her lips in a challenge.
Booze and her stubborn ass were a dangerous combination. He could feel his veins itch, a warning sign flaring low in his stomach.
Cause here’s what he knows about Elizabeth Boland, besides the obvious stuff, her schedule, the kid’s schedule, social security number, business things.
He knows she yells at her phone when it’s not working, or when Ruby does somethin’ nasty on Words with Friends.
He knows she obsessively applies coconut hand cream, and that she brushes her teeth after every meal. He knows she’s got a green thumb but hates to use it, and she tells people she’s allergic to shrimp, but she actually just doesn’t like it.
But the two most important things to know about Elizabeth Boland…
She can lie like it’s breathin’ and can drink any good man under the table.
“Lied to me huh? When was that?” He’s perched his elbows on her bar top, chin in hand, leaning in close enough to smell her shampoo.
Something tropical.
“Can’t tell you.”
Rio hums as she tips a smug smile up to her glass. She’s watching his eyes watch her lips.
“Yo, Kyle!” He breaks their trance abruptly, spinning around in the stool and slapping his palms down on bar.
Kyle, having resigned to their presence, doesn’t startle, just raises a bushy brow in Rio’s direction.
“What’re you doing?” Beth whispers loudly. She had shifted closer to him at some point, their shoulders now brushing.
“We’re gonna need tequila. The bottle. Top shelf.”
“They don’t have shelves!” She’s giggling now, the smell of bourbon hot on his cheek.
“Let’s see what our man Kyle here does.
And some limes yah?” He nods his chin up as the bartender reaches underneath and places some salt and lime warily between them.
“Rio, what is this?”
He turns around now to face her head-on, zeroing in on those wide, crystalline eyes.
“A’ight, lie to me.”
Two shot glasses are placed with a thud on the surface between them.
“What?”
“What’s it called, two truths and a lie?” Rio rolls his shoulders back, squaring up against her competitive, inquisitive stare.
“Okay…”
“But can’t just be about any old thing.”
Her eyes dance across his face – searching.
“So, how’s this going to work then?”
“I’ll ask you a question, you give me two answers – ones a lie. I guess the lie, you drink. You fool me, I drink. “
“So, you’re just making up your own game now?”
“Am I?”
“You can’t just make up rules.”
He leans in now, dropping his voice low.
“Can’t I?”
Fuck it, they’re flirting. He wants it, has wanted it. She’s in that enticing place in between bourbon and reality, honesty and fear. He’s watching it all play out across her face, he’s watching the wheels turn. It gets to him, always gets to him, how much he likes pushing her to the edge.
“Fine. I’ll play. But I get to go first. “
Rio swallows. Nods slightly.
“Any question at all?”
“Any question.”
“And you’ll answer?” She is glancing at him sideways, disbelieving.
“I think that's how talkin’ works.”
She rolls her eye at him and then averts her gaze. He watches her swirl an empty glass around for a beat or two, glancing up at him from time to time. He stays neutral, an eyebrow quirked – waiting.
“Why’d you get that tattoo?”
Seriously?
“Aight. First answer…” He trails off, motioning her to lean closer while he whispers.
“When I was new in the game, I needed to prove myself yeah?” She nods her head, captivated. “So, when this guy went behind our backs, I handled him.”
“How?” She was eatin’ this up.
“Knife to the throat. Got this right here as a bit of memorabilia”
He feels Elizabeth gulp beside him as he strokes the wings near his jaw.
“Next answer?”
“Next answer… had a boy named John. We came up together. ‘sposed to have his back one night, but I lost track of ‘im. He got choked out behind a van.
“ So…memorabilia?”
He nods, biting his cheek a bit to hold a serious face.
Beth sits wide-eyed, leaning back in her stool.
“Um, the first is a lie?”
“Nope.”
“You slit someone’s throat?!” Her anxious too-loud whisper is just enough to break through his façade and make him crack up.
“Nah.”
“Wait, what?”
Rio’s snickering curls up into a wide, sly grin. “Made ‘em both up.”
Beth, scoffing, swings around in her stool as he tips his head back in laughter.
“Whatchu so curious about? I got it ‘cause it looks dope!”
Beth crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not playing if you don’t play by the rules.”
“Ooh cause you loooove playin’ by the rules huh?”
“Drink!” She demands, stabbing her pointer finger at the tequila in that bossy way he loves.
“Fine, fine, fine.” He’ll behave, but first, he delights in watching her subtly bite her lip as he runs his tongue slowly across the length of his outstretched wrist, shaking salt on top.
The tequila goes down smooth, but her arms remained folded.
“I’ll be good. Promise.” Rippling laughter bubbles up again.
“One truth. One lie.” This woman was about to stamp her foot, swear to God.
“Mhm. Rules are rules.”
She rolls her eyes again.
Rio stretches his legs out, flexing his hands. The ride had him all tensed up, but the tequila was finally getting through to his joints, melting his tension.
“My turn though. I drank didn’t I?”
“Fine.”
“Hmmm.”
He drums his fingers “What’s your guilty pleasure?”
“Chili cheese dogs.” She doesn’t miss a beat.
“Yah?”
“Yep. The works. State fair, Baseball game, gas station, doesn’t matter. “
Damn.
“Or?”
“Or
“Romance novels. “
He really can’t help the Cheshire grin that spreads with the images that jump to mind,
“The dirty kind?”
“The filthier the better.” Beth stays upright, her posture tight and eyes sparkling.
It’s a good move, baiting him with something a little taboo to distract from the truth. He’s one step ahead of her though.
“Alright, lemme think.” He leans back now, fingers tented.
“I know you love those gas station Slurpees, had two on the way up. So, my votes with the chili dogs, I think you double down and get a meal-deal every so often.”
“Drink. Annie likes cheese dogs, not me.”
He fills another shot and shoots it back. Not so smooth this time.
“Figures. Alright Miss 50 shades, your turn.”
They are silent for a bit, relaxing into the dim lighting and tinny country beat.
Beth turns, a more contemplative look on her face.
“How’s it work with your son?”
Rio’s shoulders tense a bit. “Whatchu mean?”
“Like with his Mom, how’d you get together?”
“Why, you jealous?”
“No follow-up questions. Just answer.”
A couple minutes pass as he collects his thoughts. Slowly, he twists his body towards her. Their legs having become increasingly entangled as they inch closer to one another.
“One-night stand. She’s a friend of a friend and was ready to settle down anyway. Gave me the option to be out, but I didn’t want no kid wondering about his daddy. So, I set her up nice. We split the time. We’re cool.”
“Okay, or…” She’s watching him closely, clocking his movements.
“High school sweetheart. We connected a couple years back. Things felt right so we gave it our best shot but turns out … it just wasn’t in the cards.”
Beth stares, her jaw set all goofy and determined, like a cartoon detective before solving the case.
“The second one is the lie.”
“Bottoms up.”
She continues to watch him over the rim of her shot glass.
“High school sweetheart? Really?”
“Family friend too.”
“Were you two married?”
“No follow-up questions.”
They fall into a sort of rhythm, drinking quietly, making small conversation.
They’re drunk enough not to be calculating. Far enough out of town to sit with who they really are, at least for an hour or two.
“What’s the deal with your parents?”
Beth had been lost in thought for a while, sipping a wine? The question startled her from her hazy state of mind.
Wine? When did she order wine?
“Mom passed a couple years ago, cancer in the liver. Dad left when I was 15. Turns out he had another family upstate. “
Rio had that look, the one that told her she had his full attention, the one she craves.
“Or?”
“Or
Mom’s in a home 3 hours north, we’ve lost touch. My aunt keeps Annie and me updated. I don’t know my father.”
“Last ones a lie.”
Beth slowly fills her shot glass and tips it back.
“It’s those eyes darlin’. They’re shifty.”
“You got the first one wrong..”
“Thats ‘cause I can’t picture you keepin’ your cool reading about them burnin’ loins.”
It’s Beth’s turn to grin, she leans in so her sweatered breasts graze his arm.
“Who said I keep my cool?”
“Your turn.” Rio hides his smile in the bottom of his empty glass.
“Hidden talent?”
“Alright. Easy. I can cook or I can dance.”
Beth was unspooling. Her cheeks were warm, and her eyes felt heavy. The room had blurred into a pleasant sparkling backdrop, highlighting Rios cheekbones, catching on his ever-present smirk.
She tips her head back lazily, humming loudly in thought. She must have closed her eyes, as suddenly Rio was standing between her legs, a hand outstretched.
He’s swaying a bit, or is that her?
She grasps his hand and is hoisted up.
“Oh, I see. The correct answer must be cooking. You can cook.”
He yanks her in closer, a little rough as his chest ripples with a hearty laugh.
His hand is heavy on the small of her back.
“Just follow my lead.”
It doesn’t matter that they were slow dancing to an America-First rap country song, that Man-on-Phone was starting to stare, or that there was no dance floor at all except the space in front of an unused dartboard.
Or that she doesn’t dance. Not – not like this.
It doesn’t matter one bit. His breath was ghosting down her neck, his temple pressed slightly against hers.
She follows his steps. Twirling when he pulls her out, spinning back in, trying to catch his eye.
“Where’d you learn this?”
He dips her.
“Mmm, can’t tell ya.”
He pulls her back in tight, stretching his palm around her side. She melts to his form, settling into his hard lines.
“Whys that?”
“You’re gonna like the answer too much.” His voice is husky and low in her ear.
She twirls out.
Shania starts through the speakers, and Beth’s ears perk up. God, she loves this song.
Any man of mine…
Better walk the line..
“Tell me!”
She spins back in.
His hands run up her spine, tangling slightly with the bun tied at the nape of her neck.
“I dunno…”
“Tell me!!”
“My grandpa taught me.”
They are nestled close now, not quite dancing so much as they are folded into each other, roaming their hands up and down the other's back, sides, neck. It feels so good to freely touch him, to have the unspoken permission to trace her fingers up the brackets on his spine, to run them softly over the hollows of his collarbones.
Finally, finally, she can touch him again. The relief of doing so without needing an explanation - without him having to see the hundreds of times she’d thought about it before painted across her irises – rushes over her in an intoxicating wave.
Beth pulls back; the room spinning around her.
The chairs are up on up tables – When did they -?
How late is -?
Rio’s eyes are fixed on her face – slow and certain. He’s relaxed, peaceful almost amidst her pirouetting peripheral.
“Let’s get outta here, mama.”
It’s not a question.
Every cell in her body surges to respond. To leave. To run away with his quiet eyes and confident drawl, to never look back.
But she knows – in the distant corners of her sober mind – that leaving means no more neon glow, no more tequila truth, and all the weight of their betrayals will come bounding back into focus. She wants to stay here, swaying around the bare honesty of them on this sticky bar floor.
At least, if not forever, then a little bit longer.
I need a man who knows, how the story goes
He's gotta be a heartbeatin' fine treatin'
Breathtakin' earthquakin' kind
Any man of mine
“One more thing - before we go.”
His mouth quirks at the subtle acceptance of his invitation, not that there was any doubt.
“Wassthat?”
“You think you can dance.. but can you dance..”
Rio is watching her with a drunken lopsided grin.
“..to any song?”
“Anything.”
“Ok, then.” She pushes off him and spins around on her heels, prancing toward a truly exhausted Kyle.
“Kyle!”
He hears that syrupy voice, the one that simultaneously undoes him and pisses him off. And ain’t that her? Always swingin’ her hips on the tightrope between infuriating and unforgettable?
Fuck.
He’s smilin’ stupid, he can feel it. He wants to touch the soft fabric of her leggings, peel them off, slip his hands underneath.
Rio doesn’t get to explore his thoughts much longer as a familiar bass starts thrumming through the speaker.
Bum bum bum da da bum bum
Any other woman
Anyone else
He’d roll his eyes, walk away.
But backing down from a challenge from Elizabeth, nah he ain't ever done that.
Besides, the way her golden hair was eclipsing off the back of that “Cold Beer” sign was something from Heaven, or Hell.. or just.. not here. Otherworldly.
Alright stop, collaborate and listen
Ice is back with my brand new invention.
So maybe he unbuttoned his collar. Just the top two.
Strut forward a bit.
Then maybe the next couple buttons came open, till his chain was swinging to the beat.
Elizabeth had propped herself up on a bar stool and was throwing her neck back in a fit of laughter.
Yah, he might’ve rolled his hips. Got up in her space.
Just as he’s goin’ to hoist that perfect ass up over his shoulder, carry this giggling, now hiccupping, rotten egg of his out the bar and into a bed – a crash startles the both of ‘em.
He must’ve bumped a wine glass. It hit the ground and shatters.
Shit- who ordered wine?
“Alright. That’s it you two. Out.”
“Hey man, we’re just leavin’”
“Yeah!” Elizabeth hiccups. “We’re totally leaving.”
She sidles up beside him. “He’s kicking us out!” This woman cannot whisper.
Kyle grunts in the back, flipping the lights off. ‘More fun with friends!’ flickers and dims in the parking lot outside.
Rio pulls the heavy glass door open, and cold air rushes in. They walk in silence, stumbling a bit, through the night. His ears adjust to the quiet.
She’s shivering, cheeks rosy in the moonlight.
“We’re you…”
“Hm?”
She stops walking to face him.
“We’re you gonna… carry me all the way back?”
“Yeah, was gonna carry your ass home. That’s not what they do in your romance books? Thought you liked that shit.”
Beth hits him on the arm, before pulling him in by the collar. Her cold little nose bumping his.
“Home?” She murmurs against his mouth.
“Ya know, the motel. Whatever.”
“Mm. Let’s go home.”