He dropped his keys, his old black motorcycle helmet with the “Anarchy” sticker stuck on the back of it, and a pack of Marlboro Lites down on the bar.
“You can’t smoke in here so you might want to try another bar,” I grumbled at him as he climbed up on the seat in front of me.
His tongue was busy poking at his back molars while he gauged my reaction.
“It’s nice to see you too, Taryn,” Thomas said in a low, gravelly voice, reaching into his pocket. He was almost apologetic and definitely not in the mood for a fight. His eyes quickly toggled between me and Marie. “Can I have a beer or should I expect to be tossed out to the curb?”
The low, red circles that rimmed his green eyes were definitely out of place on his face.
Over the years, I had seen Thomas at his best and at his worst, and he was definitely in a new state of low. Something serious must have happened for him to gather up the nerve to come into my pub.
“I thought you quit smoking.” Thomas leaned his elbows on the bar and used his index finger to point to the first cluster of beer taps.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “You want a Sam Adams.” I pointed to the sign behind me that blatantly spelled out that “Management reserves the right to refuse service.”
“And here I thought coming here might actually make me feel better. So much for that idea,” he muttered.
If he was looking for some sympathy he came to the wrong place. I crossed my arms over my chest defiantly. “Wow. You’re capable of identifying your feelings now? That’s new.”
My comeback made him wince. I had definitely hit a nerve. He wiped a hand over his dirty blond goatee, the very same one I used to nibble on. “Well played. I guess I deserved that.” He nodded.
I hated being such a hardened bitch to him. It warred against all those other feelings of first love that still lingered behind. I glanced over at Marie, wondering if she was going to step in and let him have it as well.
Oddly she kept her distance, but I still heard her faint laugh after I dropped that last zinger on him.
I tried to lessen my severity. “Thomas, why are you here?”
I noticed that his right hand, the one still donning that stupid silver pinky ring with the tribal design on it, trembled when he finger-combed his hair back. The memory of that ring made me recall an intimate moment when I thought all my dreams had finally come true. Thomas had just made love to me. We were in his first shitty apartment, which was above a souvenir shop near the boardwalk; his roommate was out at some club so we had the apartment to ourselves.
He was holding me in his arms when he slipped that silver ring off his hand and put it on my finger. A “symbol,” he had said.
Those haunting green eyes that used to make me do stupid things just to get them to look in my direction gazed up at me. “So is that a yes or a no on the beer?”
I quickly pulled myself together. “Do you think it’s a smart move, drinking while riding? I thought you got rid of the Harley.” Thomas shook his head. Those bad-boy lips curved up a little, but not much. “Why don’t you throw in a free shot of Jack?
Maybe I’ll do you a favor and wrap it around a tree when I leave.”
“Promise?”
As if he were looking for backup to fight my heartlessness, he glanced around the pub, only finding unfamiliar faces surrounding him. He let out a huff. “I see your hate for me still runs deep. You done throwing knives, because I’m just about all bled out today, sweetheart.”
What the hell did he expect? He was my first love and the man who single-handedly shattered my heart into a trillion pieces. The scars that he made would stick with me until the day I die. I tried to be cold, indifferent.
“You don’t get to call me sweetheart anymore now. What do you want?” Thomas appeared ready to say something but resigned under some invisible weight that was weighing heavy on those shoulders.
“Since compassion seems to be off the menu . . . one beer. Please.” Something was terribly wrong.
All those years of being madly in love with him crumbled my will as if it were made of tissue paper. I grabbed a mug and poured his favorite.
He slipped his fingers around the handle and took a long gulp. In two swallows, he had most of the glass emptied. “Thank you.” I crossed my arms, waiting.
“Look, I know I’m the last person you want to see, but honestly . . . I didn’t know where else to go.” His hands wiped down his face to reveal very watery eyes and a grim expression set on his mouth.
Some of my iciness melted away and new concern clutched my heart.