Fate Interrupted
Chapter Thirteen

Evy stared into the oval mirror above the sink, barely recognizing the person looking back. Shadows rimmed her sunken eyes. Colorless lips melted into her pasty complexion. The flickering light overhead didn't help. They may need the milk man's help after all.
She pulled her hair from its ponytail and shook it loose. The matted locks fell over her shoulders and smelled like dough. A defeated sigh escaped her and she wondered how much time she had to perform a miracle before Dean would arrive. Not enough she decided, using both hands to resuscitate her limp hair.
She fumbled through her purse on the counter, cursing herself for not having hairspray on hand. Makeup, eyeliner and lip-gloss would have to do. She brushed and stroked on automatic pilot, her heart racing nearly as fast as her mind. They had already wasted too much time and she couldn't decide if she should hug Dean first or plant a big wet kiss on his lips. Maybe both in the name of efficiency. She smacked her lips together and studied her work. Her shoulders slumped as another deflated breath left her lungs. She shook her head in frustration, trying to recall the saying about putting lipstick on a pig.
Brooke burst into the bathroom and Evy jumped. "There you are!" Brooke's eyes widened as she examined her sister in the mirror. "Well, look at you!"
Evy blushed, sending some much needed color to her cheeks as she scooped everything back into her purse.
Brooke folded her arms across her apron. "You called him didn't you?"
Evy glanced at Brooke in the mirror, a bashful smile playing on her lips.
"Isn't your little sister always right?"
A short laugh fluttered Evy's shiny lips. "I don't know about that."
"Are you meeting him right now?"
"He's on his way."
Brooke took her hand and squeezed. "You really love him, don't you?"
Evy responded with a tight-lipped nod and changed the subject. "He said he talked to someone on the city council for us."
Brooke inhaled sharply, covering her gaping mouth a fist.
"Now, there are no guarantees but it's something."
Brooke threw her arms around Evy and drove her into a white hand dryer, wrenching the air from her lungs. "I knew this would work out. I just knew it!"
Evy hugged her back, trying not to smudge her makeup. They pulled apart and stared into each others' watery eyes.
"We're going to get this liquor license back and you and Dean are going to live happily ever after. Trust me, I just have a feeling."
A reserved smile took Evy's lips by surprise. "I hope so."
"It will happen; you just have to stay positive."
They stared at each other for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between them.
"Okay, well I have to use the restroom."
Evy frowned.
"A little privacy?"
Evy laughed and slung her purse over her shoulder and slipped out the door. She stopped in the middle of the empty tables dotting the front of Sugars and inhaled the cinnamon and chocolate floating from the kitchen. She couldn't remember the place ever smelling so good. An hour ago the sight of the trendy room had filled her with nothing but angst, the thought of losing it all weighing heavily upon her. Now, it had a glow of hope rather than doom.
"You okay?"
Evy turned to Ben, who was standing behind the counter with a tray of blueberry scones in his hands and a towel draped over his shoulder. His look of concern warmed her heart. Her parents hadn't been big fans of Ben's tattoos and earrings but it hadn't taken him long to win them over. He was perfect for Brooke. They fit together like two sprockets in a well oiled clock, specially designed for one another. A thoughtful sigh left her lips. Deep down, she knew Brooke was right. Richie had just been practice to make her stronger and Dean her reward for keeping the faith. They were meant to be together, like two sprockets in a well oiled clock.
"Evy?"
She blinked back to reality and smiled at Ben, sashaying behind the counter and kissing him on the cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. He watched the half door swing shut behind her with his mouth gaping. "Women," he muttered, sliding the yellow tray into the bowed glass case.
"I heard that!" Evy bellowed from the kitchen.
***
Dean stared at his smartphone and pulled his shirt up over his nose, the smell of Clay's cologne hanging in the air, eating away at his insides like tear gas. His thumb hovered above Evy's name and he shut his eyes as a grimace rolled through him. She had moved here to start a new life and he had nearly destroyed it. He searched for the right words to ease her descent, knowing it was futile. He was used to fighting tooth and nail for what he wanted but would only end up hurting her more. There was no telling how far Clay would go to get what he wanted. The man obviously had deep pockets and shady connections that surprised even Dean, but he owed Evy some kind of an explanation. Maybe blowing her off would be explanation enough. Maybe the best way to push her away was to make her hate him.
He shuddered at the thought and poked at the cell's screen, lifting it to his ear like it weighed a hundred pounds. Each ring watered his sorrow. He sat on the floor and leaned against the couch, wondering if this was how a junkie felt on step five or six. The sound of Megan's excited voice made him recoil. Her happy tone wasn't fair. He had reserved that tone for Evy but, somehow, the reservations had gotten mixed up.
He could feel words tumbling from his mouth but couldn't hear them, like he was talking under water. A blank expression coated his unshaven face as Megan said something about something.
"What's that?"
"I said, are you all right?"
He told her he was and let the muddled words ooze from his lips, intent on keeping the conversation as short as possible. She squealed with delight at his invitation to dinner, sticking a steel knife in his windpipe, and then went on and on about something that had happened to her earlier in the day. He cut her off and told her he would see her at seven-thirty and hung up before she did.
A pent-up breath hissed from his lips. He set the phone next to him on the carpet, a myriad of painful emotions taking turns jabbing him with sharp sticks. He shut his eyes and rubbed them until he saw stars, determined to find a way out of this living hell. He felt like a coward for letting Clay and some bald geezer intimidate him like this. He should be blowing Megan off, not the woman he loved. He shook his head, going back and forth on it. In reality, what choice did he have? Clay had made his point with Shaun. The only escape route led to the closure of Sugars, quickly followed by the law firm where Dean was now finally partner. And where would it end? Carrie's job? Jon's? Their family and friends? The stakes were too high. He shook his head, wondering if his condo was bugged.
***
Evy checked the large faced watch strapped to her slender wrist and exhaled a weary breath. Brooke and Ben swapped glances.
"Well," Evy sighed, slinging her purse over her shoulder and getting up from the stool in the kitchen. "I guess he's not coming."
"That asshole!" Ben brought his fist down onto the metal table like a hammer.
"Ben," Brooke calmly admonished.
He pressed his lips together until they turned white, forcing his next bout of harsh words back down his esophagus.
"Are you sure you don't want to call him?"
Evy shook her head vehemently. "I can take a hint."
Brooke stared at Evy through eyes brimming with wet pity. "Maybe he was in an accident."
"Maybe I was right all along and he's just another douchebag player."
Ben withdrew a cigarette with trembling fingers. "I see that dude again and I'm going to bust him right in the mouth."
Brooke pursed her lips. "No you're not. Go outside and smoke your cigarette and let the grownups talk."
"Don't talk to me like that!"
Brooke honed her gaze and Ben grudgingly turned for the back door, forcefully pushing it open with both hands.
"You okay if I take off?"
Brooke glanced up front to the handful of customers and sighed. A restaurant without booze in Milwaukee was like New Orleans without shrimp gumbo. "We'll be fine. Go home and get some rest. Watch a good movie and take your mind off of things for awhile. Everything will look better in the morning, I promise."
Evy bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. "I just don't get it," she murmured, staring blankly at a convection oven against the wall. "I thought..."
Brooke placed her hands over Evy's. "I know, sweetie. I did, too."
"I just hope this doesn't mean he's flaking out with the city council."
"I'm sure he would never do that."
"Are you?"
Brooke swallowed hard without answering.
Evy pulled away, ready to put Dean in the rearview mirror no matter how much her gut moaned with want. She refused to let another man knock her down again, regardless of how good looking and charming he may be. She had read him all wrong and couldn't believe it. The passion between them had been so hot, so real. It made no sense. She shook her head, clearing out the cobwebs of bewilderment. "Okay," she sniffled, heading for the front. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Brooke watched her sister tiredly push through the swinging door and fade from view.
***
Dean tightened his necktie in the mirror, hating himself for what he was about to do. It was suicide. He checked his phone again and puckered his brow, knowing how pissed Evy must be at him. She hadn't called one time to see where he was at. Not even a quick text. Her silence spoke volumes. The time stamp on the cell made his stomach queasy. In twenty minutes he would be at Megan's house and the thought of seeing Clay again made him sick. It would take a great deal of restraint to not punch him in the face again.
Dean quit fiddling with the crimson colored tie and leaned on the sink, dropping his head between his shoulders, unable to stomach his reflection any longer. He didn't recognize the man looking back. He had the same sharp nose and cheekbones but it wasn't him. Dean grabbed the beer on the sink and took a long swill, draining the bottle. The glass clanked loudly back to the granite countertop and he shut off the light before he could catch another glimpse of the coward in the mirror.
The black box on his bed laughed at him, chastising him for falling into this foolish trap like some careless teenager. He pulled a folded note from his pocket and read it again. The urge for another round of edits called to him like a lighthouse on a stormy night but he was out of time. It would have to do. He folded it back up and stuffed it and the black box into separate pockets, refusing to let them touch under any circumstance. He grabbed his keys and left without locking the door, trying to talk himself out of the whole thing.