Page 58 of Any Port in a Storm

“Um. Thanks.” It’s a struggle to think coherently right now. Seeing Alex here is so surreal, it feels like I’m in some sort of hellish fever dream. Him being drunk and teetering lecherously toward me is taking the nightmare to another level entirely.

Alex closes the distance between us, managing to lean his suited elbow against the edge of the jukebox after three sloppy attempts. “So, how’ve you been?”

I feel sick. I’m going to be violently ill, right here on the sticky floor of this disgusting dive bar I never should have agreed we go to in the first place.

“I’ve been fine,” I manage after a minute. I don’t know what else to say. How do you even summarize four years of your life for someone who used to be the most important person in it? A person who stole your innocence, who made promises they weren’t at all prepared to keep?

A person whom you never expected to see again.

Hoped never to see again, to be honest.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Nick grab our beers off the bar and drop a crisp bill in their place. Knowing him, it’s at least a twenty. He’s a chronic overtipper.

As Nick walks toward us, I slide further away from Alex.

“I’ve been doing well, also,” Alex slurs, as if I asked. “I’m working for Mariano Realty now. I was actually their top seller last month.”

“Wow,” I reply, beaming Nick desperate “save me” signals as he appears with our drinks.

He must pick up on the subtext, because he wrinkles his brow. “Everything okay?”

“Alex Lindberg.” Alex sticks out his hand, but Nick just stares at him.

“This is Nick,” I mumble, gesturing to him and then grabbing my beer.

Nick clocks Alex’s inability to keep himself upright and takes a step toward me. “I think we’re done here.”

Alex turns his shoulders, boxing Nick out of the conversation. “Look, Laurel. I’m sorry for everything that happened, way back when. I wasn’t in a good place. I was immature, and I definitely didn’t handle things well.”

“You didn’t handle things well?” My voice warbles, and I back up against the wall, turning yellow in the neon shadow of the jukebox. I need something to keep me upright. The trauma bubbling up is too much, even with the oddly satisfying revelation that Alex grew up to be a drunken real estate agent.

“I didn’t. But, seeing you now, I’m realizing what a horrible mistake I made.” He moves closer, reaches for my arm. “You’re so pretty. Maybe we could grab a drink and try to talk things through?”

Before I can either pass out or respond, Nick’s hand is on Alex’s wrist. “Touch her,” he growls, “and I’ll kill you.”

Alex lurches backward in horror. “Geez, man. Chill the fuck out.”

Nick’s gaze is pure fire. “I’m not letting you anywhere near her.” He slides in between us, pulling me behind his back.

“What are you, her father?” Alex scoffs. “Laurel, blink twice if you need me to save you from this guy.”

“Okay, enough,” I start, but Nick cuts me off.

“I think you should leave,” he says icily. “If you had any idea how much you hurt her, you’d be out the door already.”

“I was trying to apologize,” Alex mumbles.

“Too late,” Nick gravels. “Get out.”

My breaths are rapid on Nick’s shoulder. I know I should say something; speak up for myself and prove I’m the feminist I always claim to be, but my words have dried up. Between seeing Alex and witnessing this pissing match, my thoughts are far too convoluted to allow for any kind of coherent thought.

“Whatever, dude.” Alex throws up his hands, reeling away from us and back toward the bar. “Laurel, my number’s the same. Call me if you want to talk.”

I purse my lips. “I don’t.”

“Fine. Bye.” Alex shakes his head and stumbles away.

Later that night, Nick’s all settled on the pull-out couch in the living room, and I’m lying next to him, watching Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. When Del smiles and the credits roll, I sneak a glance in Nick’s direction.