Desperate

VERONICA

~“You want somebody, just anybody,”~

~To lay their hands on your soul tonight,”~

~You want a reason to keep believin’,”~

~That someday you’re gonna see the light,”~

~’Cause you’re desperate… Desperate…”~

~’Cause you’re desperate now…”~

~– David Archuleta~

~***~

The Drunken Irish’s Beer Place was buzzing when I walked in.

I loved the vibe here: the tipsy patrons swaying on the dance floor, the servers in their old-timey outfits, and the friendly bartenders who served drinks with wide smiles and a sense of fun.

I hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate this place when I was here with Warren a couple of weeks ago.

But now, I had the chance to admire the beautiful wooden floor that stretched across the room, the barrels that added to the decor, and the warm, inviting feeling that washed over me as I stepped inside.

I found an empty stool at the bar and noticed a few guys giving me the once-over.

I knew I looked good tonight, in my favorite black skinny jeans that hugged my curves, a red coat over a white knitted tunic, and black leather boots.

My dark curls tumbled down to my waist, and my dark eyes were framed by thick lashes and smoky makeup.

My lips were a bold red against my pale skin, and my cheeks were flushed from the blush Santana had given me as a going-away gift that morning.

But I wasn’t here to find a one-night stand.

Tonight, I wanted to take care of myself.

I wanted to feel beautiful again, to feel valued, to feel like even if I didn’t have much to offer in terms of personality, at least I still had my looks, even if I was a bit on the curvy side.

I needed this night, for me, and I was going to make the most of it.

The bartender who came over was the same one who’d served Warren and me the night of his proposal.

He was even more attractive than I remembered: tall, maybe even taller than Jax, with a head of dark hair styled into a thick mohawk, striking purplish-gray eyes, and ears full of piercings.

He was built like a brick house, with a physique many guys would envy.

His muscles were evident beneath his black tee, and he had intricate tattoos on his upper arms.

I found myself wondering if he had a Hindu sun tattoo on his back, which was silly since I’d never seen this guy before Warren and I came here.

“I recognize you,” he said by way of greeting when he came over to serve me.

His voice was deep and melodic, just as I remembered from my last visit. It was a beautiful voice, and I was sure that if he wanted to, he could’ve made a killing as a phone sex operator.

Or a porn star, given his impressive physique.

“You’re the girl who came in with the guy who proposed to his boyfriend, right?”

I laughed.

“That’s me,” I said, resting my elbows on the bar. “And I remember you too, Mr. Bartender.”

He grinned. “I’m pretty sure I introduced myself to you.”

I was pretty sure he had, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name.

“I’m sorry,” I said, giving him an apologetic smile. “But you’ll have to forgive me if I can’t remember my bartender’s name right now.”

“Understandable,” he said with a good-natured smile. “I’m guessing you being here alone has something to do with your memory lapse, right?”

As a bartender, he’d probably seen countless people like me, so I wasn’t surprised by his keen observation.

“You’re right,” I said, my smile fading. “Be a doll and bring me some whiskey.”

He burst out laughing. “~Be a doll~?”

I shrugged, a small smile returning to my face. “You’re my server tonight, so I might as well call you a doll.”

He didn’t see that coming, and he laughed even harder, like what I’d said was the funniest thing he’d heard all night.

“You’re something else, Veronica,” he said as he uncorked a new bottle of whiskey.

“You remember my name?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“Your memory’s failing you again,” he teased. “Even if I didn’t remember your name, I have this knack for guessing—and getting right—anyone’s name.”

“Actually, now that you mention it, I do remember,” I said, chuckling. “And I also remember your name is Frey!”

Frey flashed me a grin. “My name isn’t that easy to forget. It’s pronounced like ~free~, just spelled differently.”

“As I said, considering everything that’s been going on, it slipped my mind,” I said, my amusement fading once again. Meanwhile, Frey, the friendly bartender, handed me a glass full of whiskey.

Then, to my surprise, he said, “Save me the seat next to yours,” and went to say something to the other bartender, who nodded, grinning at his friend and slapping his back.

Frey laughed and then walked around the bar to join me.

Now that I could see him fully, I realized he was incredibly muscular.

His jeans hung low on his hips, his shirt had ridden up to reveal a chiseled abdomen and a V that disappeared into his jeans, which were tucked into black army boots.

He was ruggedly handsome, and while I wasn’t the only woman who noticed, I was the only one he chose to sit next to.

My surprise at his sudden move faded when he said, “Why don’t you tell your friendly neighborhood bartender about your problems?”

I laughed at his silliness because he couldn’t have been more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine. “Aren’t you supposed to be a bartender?”

“Bartenders can double as therapists,” he informed me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I sometimes wonder whether being a bartender should require a psychology degree.”

“You’re not wrong,” I conceded. “So let me ask again. Shouldn’t you be working right now, as a bartender?”

“Same answer,” he replied, a grin playing on his lips. “My customer looks like she could use a chat, so I took a break. I was due for one anyway.”

I shot him a puzzled look. “What makes you think I’d spill my problems to a total stranger?”

“Because sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who doesn’t know you or anyone in your life than to someone who’s known you forever,” he said, not missing a beat.

“Plus, whatever you’ve got to say, I can promise you I’ve heard worse.”

He was probably right about that last part.

The first part, though, reminded me of what Dr. Miller had said about talking to a professional. But Frey the Bartender wasn’t a therapist, not really.

What he had was more like street-smart wisdom. But maybe that was what I needed right now, instead of listening to some uptight woman spouting psychological jargon I could easily look up in a textbook.

I’d already tried a bunch of new things, like seeing that therapist or being brutally honest. Why not chat with a total stranger?

“Okay,” I said, taking a sip of my whiskey. “I’m in.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Frey grinned. “Beautiful women’s problems are my specialty.”

My lips twitched.

“I bet they are,” I murmured, then looked down at my whiskey. “I got out of the hospital this morning.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Isn’t it bad for you to be drinking, then?”

“The doctor didn’t say anything about it, so I guess not,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Okay,” Frey conceded. “So why were you in the hospital?”

To my surprise, it was easier to tell him than it had been to tell my family and friends. “Because I slit my wrist.”

He clearly didn’t expect that answer, judging by the way his stunning pale violet eyes widened. He smiled then, but it was a grim one.

“Okay, you should’ve warned me it was going to be a bloody story—literally. I don’t mind,” he added, “because I can still promise you, I’ve heard much worse.”

“So why do you look so shocked?” I shot back.

“Because you didn’t seem like the wrist-slitting type,” he responded with brutal honesty. “But I guess I should’ve known better than to judge a book by its cover, for better or worse. Please go on.”

He was one odd guy, but I found myself doing as he asked.

“I was at a work party, and one of the coworkers chewed me out for stealing my boss’s attention while her friend—who I thought was my friend too—is actually in love with him.”

“Which, for the record, I had no clue about because she never said anything.”

“I was really vulnerable at that time, and her words brought up old memories and I lost it, so I took the sharp earring I was wearing and cut my wrist to make it stop.”

I was staring grimly at my glass by the time I finished explaining.

Frey, though, looked intrigued. “Would you tell me about these memories?”

It felt good to tell someone about it all, someone who had no basis to judge me. It was easing the tension I’d been feeling for the past few weeks.

But was I ready to talk about what led to all this?

He saw my hesitation.

“The memories are painful, huh?” At my silent nod, he said gently, “You don’t have to tell me, Veronica. But from the look on your face, it seems like you’ve been carrying this for a long time.”

“I’m not going to judge you in any way. I’m just here to listen. Think of it as confessing to a priest.”

For some reason, his words gave me courage. I gave him a small smile, which disappeared when I took a deep breath.

“When I was in high school,” I began slowly, “I met a girl who I thought was really cool. She was beautiful, slim, popular, and had this aura about her that just drew people in. Her name was…is…Hailey Pritchard.”

Frey nodded, probably figuring out what was coming next. I took another deep breath and let out some of the skeletons I’d been keeping in my closet for too long.

“Hailey was friends with everyone, and that included me. I’d never had friends before, and when I had her, I felt like my world was right again. I’d been a mess after my dad died.”

I mentioned my dad’s death to explain how the change felt back then. I wasn’t going to touch the subject of my dead father with this stranger—or with anyone else.

That was one skeleton I couldn’t let out just yet, or maybe even never.

From Frey’s expression, he understood that.

“So, what happened between you and Hailey?” he asked gently.

I smiled without humor and took another sip of my whiskey.

“There was a guy. Parker Stevens. He was a senior when we were freshmen, and he was the most popular guy at school.”

“He was the football team’s captain and quarterback, he had tons of friends and he was the best-looking, which made every girl adore him, and he could also get any girl he wanted.”

My smile faded. “Guess who he decided he wanted?”

“You,” Frey said quietly.

I nodded.

“It was kind of romantic, actually, the way we met,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips at the memory. “I was sitting in the school’s quad, enjoying the winter air, and reading a book when a football hit my head.”

“He was the one who threw it, and when he saw it hit me, he came running over, all concerned. He had a rare golden heart, that boy, before it got corrupted.

“So, he bent down to my crumpled form and asked if I was okay. I was fifteen and pretty innocent, so I blushed like mad and mumbled something back.”

“He thought I might have a concussion and helped me to my feet. I was heavier back then,” I added, chuckling softly.

“And I remember thinking it was a shame I wasn’t thin and petite like Hailey, because maybe then he would’ve carried me princess-style to the school nurse. But that didn’t happen. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around my waist.”

“But I was still thrilled with how things turned out, especially because everyone in the quad saw him helping me, a tall, large girl, when he could’ve been hanging out with his friends or making out with some bombshell.”

“At the infirmary, he stayed with me while the nurse got me some ice for the bump on my head,” I continued.

“I was a nervous wreck by then. It’s not every day a hot guy takes care of you after hitting you with a ball. And when I was lying on the infirmary bed with an ice pack on my head, he stayed with me, and we talked.”

“I somehow got over my shyness, because he was so easygoing and relaxed, and I found it easy to talk to him.” After a brief pause, I added, “Like I find it easy to talk to you.”

Frey smiled. “We hot guys are more understanding than you girls give us credit for.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Very humble of you.”

He grinned. “I try. Now continue.”

With a sideways grin I didn’t think I could manage while telling this story, I did as he said.

“Anyway, after that day, Parker started seeking me out. We talked a lot, spent a lot of time together, and eventually, he asked me out.”

“Of course, since he was hot and I couldn’t believe he was interested in me, I said yes. It was the worst decision of my life.”

“I can guess the rest from here,” Frey said, “Hailey was in love with him, and when she found out you, supposedly an outcast, got your hands on him, she lost it.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I snorted a little, and grimaced. “Hailey didn’t just lose it; she went ballistic. Then she decided to make my life a living hell for ~stealing~ her guy.”

Frey gave me a sympathetic look. “It must’ve been tough.”

“You have no idea,” I said earnestly.

“She made me feel worthless, ugly, and stupid. She called me names, turned everyone in the school against me, and bullied me until I couldn’t hold onto my new relationship with Parker.”

“After we kissed—he was my first kiss, you know—I broke up with him because I thought maybe then, Hailey would stop.”

“What I didn’t expect was for Parker to tell me he was in love with me, and then, the day after I broke up with him, he went crying to Hailey.”

“They became a couple soon after we broke up, the “It” couple since Hailey became the head cheerleader and the most beautiful girl at school.”

“Which put her at the top of the social ladder alongside Parker, and they flaunted their relationship in my face.”

“It broke your heart,” Frey’s voice was full of compassion.

“Yes,” I said coldly, my hands clenching. “Because I loved that jerk, and if it hadn’t been for Hailey, I probably would’ve stayed with him.”

“But what was worse, was that even when I finally let go of Parker, Hailey still bullied me, still tormented me, still humiliated me in front of everyone.”

“Even after she got the guy she wanted, she was so into bullying and feeling superior to me, that she couldn’t stop.”

“And Parker, the blind jerk, let her do whatever she wanted because he ~loved~ her.” I spat out the word. “He couldn’t have possibly been in love with me if he fell for Hailey so quickly.”

“It was then, when he stood by and watched Hailey torment me without lifting a finger to help, that I realized his heart wasn’t as pure as I thought, and he was actually a weak jerk.”

Frey wore a grim expression. “That’s when you tried to end your life, isn’t it?”

Startled, I snapped my eyes toward him. “How did you know?”

“Because your story reminds me of someone else’s,” he admitted, his smile turning a little bitter.

“You slit your wrist because you thought maybe, if you were hurt badly enough, someone would care about you, that Parker would care enough to stop the bullying, if this is where it led you.”

I took a sip from my whiskey.

“Bingo,” I said flatly. “But it didn’t stop anything. It only made the bullying worse, and made me see the school’s counselor regularly, who by the way, knew nothing.”

“When I tried to confide in her and tell her about some of my problems, she not only didn’t help, but she broke the first rule of any person with a psychology degree and gossiped about it with the other teachers behind my back.”

“Hailey overheard it, because how could she not, when rumors started spreading that I was a nutcase. She used it to torment me even more and shatter my self-esteem.”

“That’s brutal and cruel,” Frey said angrily. “That’s not humane, that kind of bullying. It wasn’t fair.”

“You’re telling me,” I said bitterly. “It was awful. I dropped out of school because of that.”

“Well, that we have in common,” he told me with a serious look. “I also dropped out of school around my freshman year.”

Taking a breather from the heavy memories, I said, “I would’ve pegged you as a dropout, but that would make me a judgmental bitch.”

His laugh lightened the somber mood. “Can’t blame you. I do have that look.”

I managed a small smile, something I didn’t think I could do after dredging up those dark parts of my past. “Yeah, you do.”

He laughed again, then his eyes turned serious. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through so much, Veronica.”

“Yeah,” I said, my smile tinged with sadness, “I’m sorry, too. But the past is the past, right?”

“I’d usually agree, but given you just got out of the hospital after another suicide attempt, I’m not sure that phrase applies to you.”

He had a point. “You think I’m still stuck in the past, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, not mincing words, “but hey, I’m not here to judge. Like I said, I’m here to listen, and that’s what I’m doing.”

I smiled again. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you?”

His laugh was a bark of amusement.

“And once again, you surprise me with your lack of observation,” he said, clearly amused. “What part of me is small, exactly? And I’m not sure about the doll comment, either.”

Grinning now, I said, “You didn’t deny that you’re weird, though.”

He grinned back. “Touché.”

Feeling a weight lift off my shoulders, I gave him a genuine smile. “Thanks for listening, Frey.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, surprising me by taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. His was big and warm and rough against my much smaller and softer one.

“Anytime you need someone to talk to, or a place to go, you can come here.”

His words made me smile ruefully. “That’s what the therapist told me a few days ago.”

Frey gave me a knowing look. “Let me guess; she offered you therapy sessions, and you’re thinking about saying no.”

“Exactly,” I said, sighing. “You know me better than most of my friends and family do, Frey. That’s messed up.”

“It’s just because I understand what you’re going through,” he said sincerely. “I know a guy who's just like you, after all.”

“But if you really want my opinion, I think you should see that therapist, because darling, even if you don’t think you need one, your subconscious knows better.”

“Did she say anything useful other than offering you therapy?” he asked.

I nodded. “She told me that I needed to find an activity to help me regain control over my life.”

“She said it could be anything as long as it fully engages my mind. It could be martial arts or even learning to play an instrument.”

His eyes lit up. “You should’ve mentioned that sooner!”

“I’m a trained martial artist, Veronica. I have a black belt in Karate, I’ve mastered Krav Maga and kickboxing, and I’m also pretty good at Tai Chi and Yoga. Martial arts and mind conditioning are my specialties.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised, though I shouldn’t have been. A guy as built as him obviously worked out in some way, so why not all of the above? “That’s awesome.”

“I can train you, if you want,” he said, smiling. “It’s been a while since I had a new student.”

“You’re offering to mentor me?” Now the shock was completely justified.

“Of course,” he said, looking pleased with his own idea, “I love mentoring, and from what you’ve just told me, you could use some mentoring, so why not?”

Why not, indeed?

This kind man was offering to teach me martial arts and mentor me physically and mentally. It was more than I could’ve hoped for. So really, why not?

“You know what? I say yes,” I said, feeling a spark of hope. Maybe Frey the kind bartender could actually help me.

“Great!” he said, then took a napkin and pulled a pen out of his pocket. He wrote down a phone number. “Call me tomorrow morning and we’ll set up an official meeting.”

He handed me the napkin.

Taking it, I looked at the bartender with new eyes.

“Thank you, Frey,” I said, feeling a wave of gratitude for this stranger. “For being here for me tonight, and for offering to mentor me.”

His eyes softened.

“You’re welcome, Veronica,” he said, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. “And now, I have to get back to work. Any drink you order tonight is on me.”

I chuckled as I took one last sip of whiskey.

“No, I think I’m done for tonight,” I told him, looking into his purplish-gray eyes and smiling softly. “I accomplished what I came here for.”

And believe it or not, I really had.