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Chapter One
Dakota
Brightonisoneofthose towns that practically rolls up the sidewalks after the dinner rush ends. The only thing you’ll find open is Pete’s bar and I don’t think that place has been cleaned since before I was old enough to drink.
The sun is setting now so most of the sidewalks are empty. Deciding to stay in the city was probably the best decision I’ve ever made. If I could have avoided Brighton altogether I would have. That construction on the main highway was a thing of nightmares though, so small town detour it is.
I try to keep my eyes ahead, reminding myself not to look around. There’re too many bad memories here, from my shitty family and my exes, to the small minded pack politics that ran this place.
“Keep going, this town doesn’t define you,” I remind myself. Yup, I’ve reached that point of the trip, full on talking myself through it. At least I waited five hours in to start, I guess?
The sign leaving town comes into view and relief washes over me. Then a horn blares loudly enough I jump. I glance over to see my Aunt Becky waving for me to pull over but I play dumb, waving back with a fake smile and driving straight out of town. I’ll likely get hell about that tomorrow… but I don’t care.
One day. That’s all I have to make it through. One day of listening to how I made bad life choices. One day of hearing how my sister is doing everything ‘right’. One day of seeing them.
I can totally do this.
The more distance I put between myself and Brighton, the better I feel. I never planned on going back. When I left I figured that was that. I’d make the life I wanted somewhere far away. And that’s what I did. Three years of shitty jobs before I managed to establish a rented space. Another year of sleepless nights and working every day to get the art center running. Now it’s thriving and I make more money than I ever dreamed possible.
By the time I make it to Grove City and my hotel, I’m exhausted and so tense my body hurts. The room is nice enough, a king sized bed, a kitchenette, and a jacuzzi tub I fully plan to enjoy taking advantage of.
Then my phone rings. My eyes shutter closed and I fight back a scream. Because I know by now my aunt has called mom and riled her up. I originally mentioned to my mother that I couldn’t make it until the day of the wedding, so I couldn’t be in it because of all the distance between us. And now she knows the truth. I just don’t want to see them.
“Hello, mother,” I say in a fake pleasant voice. She scoffs on the other end of the line.
“Don’t hello mother me after you told me a lie, Dakota Barnes!”
“I did not lie to you. My work ended up wrapping early so I made sure to load up the car and drive down. I just snagged a hotel so I wouldn’t get in the way and after five hours of driving, I need some good sleep,” I argue defensively. Already she has me feeling like a chastised child again.
“Nonsense. Check out and come home,” she says like that wouldn’t be a waste of money. She doesn’t even have a bed for me now, ever since they turned my bedroom into an office. Georgia, being the sweet sister she is, sent me a taunting photo right away.
“No, mother. I’ll see you at the park tomorrow,” I say with finality.
Her voice drops to a serious, icy tone. “Your sister has worked so hard for this day. We’ve all done our duty to make sure it’s perfect. Except you. Do not screw this up for her or you’ll regret it.”
“This, this right here is why we have barely talked,” I tell her, matching her hateful energy. “You wanted me here. I’m here. On my terms. I have no intention of doing anything to ruin this. If you want to act like this, though? I’ll just go right back home.”
“You are home,” she says bitterly. The sad part is that I think she believes that bullshit. She always talks about how ‘good’ we had it growing up or how she tried so hard to get through to me. Because apparently not choosing a home-grown alpha and settling down to be a stay at home wife was all I was good for. If I wanted those things too, sure, I would have gone after it. But I don’t. “Or have you forgotten?”
“Forgotten what, exactly?” I ask as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Your roots, Dakota,” she sighs like this is making her weary. “Don’t disappoint me again.”
The call disconnects and I curse at the audacity that woman has. How dare she call just to lecture me then hang up like I’m being too stubborn as usual. You’d think I was the kind of kid who constantly got into trouble, but I just simply wanted to draw.
“Fuck this. I need a drink.” That’s all it takes for me to go to my closet and pick out an outfit that doesn’t make me look like I’ve been stuck in a car for weeks and throw on some simple makeup. This hotel has a bar and I intend to warm up one of the barstools for at least an hour or two. A few shots of whiskey and my mother’s words will be forgotten.
Grabbing my clutch and tucking it under my arm, I lock up my room and head down the hall to the elevator. The hotel is dead tonight but come tomorrow it’ll be a drunken mess. Georgia always goes over the top and this is the closest hotel to the venue. Just saying her name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. You’d think with a mom like ours we’d have become allies. Instead she always pitted herself against me.
The lobby is too quiet when I step out of the elevator and a big white sign indicates the bar is closed for the night. I let out an audible groan and let my shoulders drop.
“There’s a club just a block away if you need a drink,” a man calls out. I glance behind me at the guy sitting at the check-in desk. “Here, I can show you.” He pulls out a city map and marks the hotel and the club for me. “Just head left out of the doors then go to the corner and take another left. You won’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely as I take the map and head outside. It’s well past night now but there’s still a sticky heat to the air. I ignore it as I walk. There’s a drink calling my name and I’m not missing it this time.
The beat of the music hits me before I even round the corner and that’s enough to speed up my steps. A bouncer is standing at the door checking IDs and I pull mine out to be ready. It takes less than five minutes to get through since it’s still early as far as club standards go and I make a beeline for the bar, snagging a stool the moment someone gets up.
“What can I get you?” a bartender shouts at me over the music.
