Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

far as I go. Even as I say the words in my head, I know it’s a lie. What really scares me is just how far I really might be willing to go for this girl, and I wonder if there’s a line in the sand.

An hour and two drinks later, I still haven’t spotted Sara. The DJ calls everyone to be seated for dinner, and we find our table. Plated dinners are served by wait-staff dressed in formal attire. The meal is decent, but I’ve lost my enthusiasm, and with each passing minute, I’m getting more depressed. When they clear the main course and begin to bring around dessert, the bar opens back up and the music starts.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say to Misty, standing and tossing my linen napkin down. I’m barely to the exit before I spot Dave Wakefield, our school’s star center, over at the table talking to my date. I roll my eyes, knowing she’ll have her hooks in him in no time.

I stroll back down the hall to the check-in table and scan the nametags that haven’t been picked up yet. There aren’t many, but I spot Sara’s.

I point to them and ask the lone girl still at the table waiting for stragglers. “These people all RSVP’d they were coming, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks.” I shove my hands in my pockets and gaze toward the entrance. Maybe she chickened out. Maybe she’s married. Maybe I’m an idiot.

I stroll back inside, set to tell Misty I’m ready to go, but she’s dancing with Dave.

The DJ is playing all the popular songs from our high school era. Right now NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye” is blasting from the speakers.

I grimace, and pull at my collar, deciding I need some air and a smoke, so I go through a set of French doors that lead out to a terrace. Stone balustrades surround it, but there are steps leading down into a formal garden.

No Smoking signs are posted, so I slip down the steps and out of sight of the windows, finding a marble bench with a large bush hiding me. I dig out a cigarette and light it up, keeping it cupped in my hand so the glowing tip can’t be seen.

I know there’s no use lamenting the past or how badly I wanted Sara to show up tonight. She’s a dream I pissed away.

The music drifting out to me changes over to Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life”. They were a favorite band of Sara’s and suddenly I’m eighteen, riding in my old Chevelle with her in the passenger seat . . .

Twenty years ago . . .

I pull into a spot down by the wharf and jam the gearshift in park. I glance over at Sara, but her arms are crossed and she’s staring out the passenger window giving me the silent treatment.

I’m not sure how to make any of this right, so I stare out the windshield at the surf, and absently tap my thumb on the wheel, matching the beat, and mouthing the words along with the song. It’s my life . . .

Only it doesn’t feel like my life or like I have any control over what’s happening, and I hate it. “You can’t go somewhere closer?”

“We’ve been all through this, Irish. They’re the only ones that gave me a scholarship. Besides, I have an aunt in Savannah. I can stay with her and save on room and board.”

I swivel my head to her. “So that’s it then? It’s a done deal?”

She looks down at her feet, and nods.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Then come with me.”

“We’ve been over that, too. I can’t. Nobody is gonna give me a scholarship. Hell, I barely graduated.”

“You can get a job. We can be together.”

“How? You just said you’ll be livin’ with your aunt. Besides, what skills do I have?”

“What will you do here?”

I shrug. “My uncle said he could get me on with his union. I can apprentice.”

“Doing what?”

“Welding.”

She frowns. “Is that what you want to do? Weld?”

I run a hand over my jaw. “Fuck no. But what am I supposed to do, Sara?”

“I told you, but you won’t listen. You’re smart, Irish; smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

“College is great for you, but it’s not me.”

“What about a trade school? I’m sure Georgia has . . .”

“They got those right here. They got other schools you could go to right here, too.”

“Irish—”

“I don’t want to lose you, and I know if you get on that plane, I will.”

“I’ll be home for Christmas and summers . . .”

“Babe, come on, you know it’ll never be the same.”

“Why can’t you be happy for me? Why can’t you see this is a good thing for me?”

“Because it’s the end of us.”

“Why does it have to be?”

“It just will.”

“So what then? We’re just over?”

“You’re the one leavin’.”

“You’re the one being a stubborn ass about it.” Before I can stop her, she climbs out of the vehicle and stomps away, flipping me off over her shoulder.

And I let her go.

I take a drag off my cigarette, staring over the gardens of the Fife Estate.

She left the next day, and those were our last words to each other; angry, frustrated, spiteful words that I longed to take back.

Three weeks later 9/11 happened, and I joined the Marines. When I came home, I heard she was dating someone. Hell, she’s probably married with a couple of kids by now; who am I foolin’?

I’m drawn from my memories by a woman’s voice, and I realize I’ve been out here long enough to burn the smoke damn near down to the filter. I crush it out, flip it into the woodchips, and I can’t help overhearing the woman’s conversation.

I fade back in the bush, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping.

“I shouldn’t have come,” the woman says. “It was stupid of me to think he’d show up. It’s been twenty years, after all. I doubt he remembers.”

I recognize her voice immediately