Bourbon & Bonfires Read online

  Bourbon & Bonfires

  (A Country Road Novel—Book 4)

  Copyright © 2018 by Andrea Johnston

  Cover design by Uplifting Designs

  Editing by Karen L. of The Proof Is in the Reading, LLC

  Interior design by Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design

  Cover Photo by Kyla Ellison of Kyla Leighanne Photography

  First Edition

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, characters, businesses, artists, and the like which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or, it was not purchased for you then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for supporting this author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  From the author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Andrea Johnston

  For my Aunt Barbara—I hope I’ve made you proud

  Three more rings. If I don’t answer the call in three rings, it’ll go to voicemail. Voicemail means I buy myself time. Time to sit here and finish this rubbery chicken I just microwaved. Sure, it’s sitting on a bed of processed rice and dehydrated vegetables with a “delicious and savory gravy” but in the end, it’s just a diet frozen meal I microwaved for three and a half minutes. This is the only time of the day I am able to sit here, alone and with my earbuds in while I read a chapter of my book.

  I’m not that mom.

  I’m not that person.

  I don’t ignore the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Sinclair?” The woman on the line asks, knowing full well it’s me. Who else would answer my cell phone? Who else would she be calling for the third time this month?

  “Yes, this is Ms. Sinclair,” I grit out. I dropped the “Mrs.” years ago, I wish they’d read the information sheet they require I complete each year. The form specifically asks who resides in the home and it clearly doesn’t say “Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Yes, well Ms. Sinclair, we have a little problem.”

  “What did he do?” Standing, I toss my uneaten lunch in the trashcan and power down my e-reader. My moment of peace is gone, and in its place sits an overwhelming feeling of dread and dismay.

  Oh, yeah. I’m totally Debbie Downer these days.

  “He was involved in a bit of an altercation and,” she pauses, “Mr. Torres would like you to come down and meet with him. Are you able to do that today?”

  Sighing, I rub the front of my head hoping to ward off a headache. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” My tone is clipped, and I feel bad for taking my frustrations out on the wrong person. “Sorry, it’s not your fault my son has decided to turn into a little shit. Yes, I can make it work. It won’t be for at least an hour; I’ll have to speak with my boss. Is Mason suspended?”

  The downside to being a single mom is when shit like this happens, I’m on my own. I don’t have a support system or a partner like I did four years ago. When Dan moved out and filed for divorce, I got the house and he got the friends. My parents passed long ago, and my brother is hundreds of miles away, so here I sit, in the tiny breakroom at the doctor’s office where I work, trying to calculate how much of my paid time off I’ll have to use so my check isn’t too short. Another perk of being single—you count every penny more than ever before.

  “I’m not sure if Mason is suspended. That’s up to Mr. Torres. Umm, Mrs., excuse me, Ms. Sinclair?”

  “Yes?” I reply distractedly as I wait to end this call and go speak with my office manager about leaving early.

  “Would you like me to contact Mr. Sinclair? Perhaps both of you could be at the meeting?”

  “That’s funny. Mr. Sinclair has moved to California. I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”

  Ending the call, I take a deep breath, rubbing my temples and asking for a higher power to give me strength and patience. Being the mother to a teenage boy is not for the faint of heart. I wasn’t expecting a cakewalk, but this sudden change in my sweet boy over the last few months has been awful. I’d love to blame my ex-husband, but that wouldn’t be fair. No, it actually would be fair, but it’s not going to help matters.

  Once I’ve confirmed with my office manager that there’s enough coverage for the afternoon and no problem in leaving early, I gather my things and head to my car. Settling behind the wheel of my new-to-me SUV, a gift to myself when my old minivan needed a new engine, I pull out my phone and tap my brother’s contact information.

  “Country Road, this is Taylor.” My brother’s voice fills the interior of my car as I pull out of my parking space. Instantly, the familiar sound settles my anxiety and current pissed-off state.

  “Hey baby brother.”

  “Addy? What’s wrong?”

  “Why does something have to be wrong, Tay? Can’t a sister call her brother to say hi?”

  “Yes, absolutely. Except it’s the middle of the work day, and you sound upset.”

  I laugh as I respond. “How can you tell that? I basically said hello.”

  “Call it years of military training, or just because you’re my sister, and I know when something’s wrong. Is it dickhead Dan or my shit for brains nephew?”

  “Shit for brains. I don’t even know what he did this time. The counselor’s secretary called and said it was an altercation and I needed to come down and have a meeting with the counselor. I’m at my wits’ end. What do I do, Tay?”

  “Well, I’d say you whoop his little ass, but he’s bigger than you now, and all that PC shit would probably get in the way. I’m telling you, if Dad were still alive he’d handle that boy with no problem.”

  He’s right. Our dad would have had no problem stepping in, regardless of how I felt about the intrusion, to
deal with Mason and his disrespect toward me and ongoing issues with fighting and skipping school. The only reason Mason isn’t failing any of his classes is because, unbeknownst to me, he dropped his honors classes and the courses he’s taking aren’t a challenge for him.

  “I know. But, Mom and Dad aren’t here, and you’re a million miles away.” As much as I don’t want to make excuses, I know most of Mason’s recent behavior is because Dan left, and that pisses me off more. Giving his son less than four days’ notice that he was moving thousands of miles and multiple time zones away, started this spiral of behavior. He has no remorse for leaving me to clean up his mess. But none of that matters. What matters is my son has become an asshole.

  “Taylor, I’m raising an asshole. How do I fix that?” I sniffle as the first tear falls from my eyes.

  “Don’t cry. Dammit, this pisses me off. I have half a mind to fly out to California and whoop that dickhead’s ass. I don’t know what happened to him, but seriously, this takes selfish to a new level.”

  “Yeah well, Dan’s always been selfish, so I wasn’t surprised. I’m here. I need to go deal with this. Thanks for letting me vent.”

  “Addy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Move here. I know you think you can’t because it’s too much change for Mason, but think about it. You like visiting and had a good time when you were here a few weeks ago. Hell, Mason likes visiting too. Finding a job was an issue when we talked a few months ago, but I have it on good authority one of the doctor’s offices is looking to add a nurse. You guys can stay with me if you want, or we’ll find you a rental. Just think about it.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say, laying my head back as I try to run through all the reasons I’ve given why moving and starting over is a bad idea.

  Taylor’s right; I love Lexington. The town is small enough to offer all the benefits of small-town living, but it’s large enough and close to other towns and cities that you have all the benefits of larger-city living. Plus, my brother is there, and that would be a huge benefit. But Mason just started high school and pulling him away from the only home he’s known and his friends seems cruel. He’s suffered enough change in the last few years, I don’t want to add to that.

  “Just don’t rule it out completely. Go deal with this and call me later if you need to. Also, if you want me to come there and talk with Mason, I will. Just say the word. I love you, sis.”

  “Love you too. Bye.”

  Ending the call, I allow the silence in the car to embrace me. Going to the principal’s office never gets easier, even when you’re an almost forty-year-old woman and it’s your son’s principal.

  “Hey, come back here!” I shout as my son storms down the hall toward his room. Seconds later, the door slams.

  I wait for a count of three. Then five. And then ten. Nothing. No calm or zen takes over my body. Instead, the hurt from the words my son slung my way continue to sting. Throwing my purse on the dining room table, I walk straight to the refrigerator and pull the bottle of wine I have in the door and pour it in a coffee cup. We keep it classy around here. Besides, this is an emergency. Normally, my drink of choice is a nice smooth bourbon, but as much as I’d like to sit and enjoy a finger or two, wine will have to do. One more screwup this year and Mason is out. They’re going to send him to the alternative high school.

  When the guidance counselor, Mr. Torres, explained the latest problem Mason had, I was speechless. Not only had my son placed his hands on another child, but he had said some of the most hateful things I’ve ever heard from his mouth to me in the car. “You’re the reason my dad left. If you could keep a man he wouldn’t be in California. I hate you.” My already fragile heart shattered into a thousand pieces. He didn’t say anything I hadn’t already thought to myself over the last four years. Hell, the last seven if I’m honest. As much as I wish the divorce was a surprise, it wasn’t. We weren’t happy.

  But today? This fight and the underlying rage and anger that is simmering in Mason? It kills me. I understand that, in his eyes, he was only defending himself, but both his father and I have preached over and over that fighting is never the answer to resolving a problem. But this new version of Mason doesn’t care what he’s been taught or the values we’ve instilled in him.

  Knowing he blames me for his father moving—not only moving but moving out of our house four years ago, divorcing me, and being a half-assed father—guts me. My phone chirps from my purse, and I know it’s Dan. When I realized the severity of today’s meeting, I excused myself from Mr. Torres’s office and called Dan. And he sent me to voicemail. That was almost two hours ago, and now he’s texting me back.

  Dan: What’s up?

  Me: I called you from the school. Another meeting.

  Dan: Oh no! What happened?

  Me: Fighting. We need to talk. This is getting out of control.

  Dan: Relax Addison. He’s a kid, it’ll blow over.

  Me: No, Dan, it won’t. You’re not here. I need you to call me and we need to discuss this like adults. This isn’t a texting conversation.

  Dan: I’m not in town. Actually, not in the country. I’m in Mexico for the week. I’ll call you when I get back. Tell Mason to behave.

  Motherfucker. Is he kidding me? Of course, he isn’t. I look at the wine glass, also known as a coffee cup, and contemplate another glass. Nope, I’m going to deal with this now and with a clear head. With a little pep talk to myself, I walk down the hall to Mason’s room and knock twice on the door.

  No answer.

  I knock again with a little more force, and I hear the lock disengage and the door opens.

  “Look, there are a lot of things I want to say to you but I’m going to be honest, I’m pissed off. But leave no doubt, you are grounded. Give me your electronics,” I demand.

  “Whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes before stomping around his room gathering what I asked for. Damn, this kid has a lot of crap. No wonder he acts like a self-entitled brat.

  “Phone,” I remind him with my hand out.

  “Mom, I need that.”

  “No, Mason. You need to get it together and stop being so hateful. I am not doing this with you. Please give me your phone. I’ll order a pizza, and we’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’ve taken the morning off, so we can have a conversation.”

  “I don’t need a conversation, Mother. Mr. Torres was wrong. I was the victim in this.”

  “It doesn’t matter what caused the argument, Mason. The school has a zero-tolerance policy. You and Charlie were both suspended. Look, I’m tired and don’t want to argue anymore. You’ve said some things you can’t take back, and I need to sit on that for tonight. I’ll order the pizza and let you know when it’s here.”

  Turning to walk away, I’m stopped in my tracks when I hear my baby speak. “Mama?” I spin on my heel to look at him. Standing before me is a different child than two minutes ago. Gone is the bravado and attitude and their place stands my sweet boy full of life and love, the one I raised and the one who used to curl up in my lap to watch movies. But I know this version of Mason is short-lived. “I’m sorry I said those things. I know you aren’t the reason Dad left. I love you, Mama; please don’t hate me.”

  I bend over and place Mason’s electronics on the floor and step toward my son. The boy who, just a year ago, was eye level with me is now looking down at me as I approach him. It’s not that he’s tall, per se, I’m just really short.

  “Son, I love you more than anything else in this world. But let this be a life lesson for you. Sometimes the words you say hurt and once they’re said, they cannot be taken back. I will love you until the day I die, but right now I’m hurting, and I need some time. I think you need the time too. I’ll let you know when the pizza is here.” I step up to my tippy toes and place a kiss on his cheek and walk away, leaving my baby standing at his door, and hope this little bit of tough love I grew up receiving will help him. It’s killing me, b
ut I hope it helps him.

  When we were kids, our parents rarely had to punish us. I was a total bookworm and spent my free time reading or hanging out with my friends. The minute I was old enough to work, I took the first job offered. Sure, I came home smelling like french fries and ketchup, but I loved working and having my own money. My parents never said it, but I think not having to worry about me running the streets or having to supplement a social life was a relief.

  My brother was a jock through and through and by his sophomore year of high school had settled into the role of star football player. If he wasn’t playing, he was conditioning or working. Part of me is frustrated with the younger versions of Taylor and me, because if one of us had been a problem, I could rely on how my parents handled us to deal with Mason and his issues.

  One of my co-workers suggested I look into counseling for him, but when I mentioned it in passing one night, you would have thought I told Mason I was selling him to Martians. No, what he needs is his father. Unfortunately, both Mason and I are still waiting for our return calls from Dan, following my meeting with the school. That was three weeks ago.

  Since the fight at school, and the less than stellar words Mason slung at me, life has been pretty quiet around our house. Although I jump each time my phone rings, fearing it’s the school again, I’m hoping we may make it to the Thanksgiving break without another incident.

  “Addy?”

  “Yeah, Janet?” I reply with my head in the supply cabinet.

  “You have a call.”

  “Is it Mrs. Cutlin again? I swear, that woman is going to drive me to an early grave. I told her last week it was not possible for her to conceive a child. Never mind she’s seventy-four, but she had a tubal ligation thirty years ago.”

  “I know, she called earlier but I had someone else talk to her. No, this is . . . umm . . .”

  The trepidation I hear in Janet’s voice is concerning and I peer around the door to look at her. “Who is it? Is everything okay?” I begin quickly thinking of every scenario that would warrant someone to call me on the office line and not my cell phone.