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I tidy up my hair, swipe on some mascara, and dab my lips with a neutral gloss.
The act of fixing my makeup is almost meditative, each small action bringing me closer to some semblance of control.
Finally, I take a deep breath and smooth down my dress.
I can do this. I have to. I have to get out there and face everyone.
I step out of my trailer and make my way toward the clubhouse.
The sounds of laughter and music hit me like a wall as I push open the door, but hardly anyone is in here.
The 4th of July party is in full swing, so I make my way out back.
Fireworks light up the sky, casting colorful shadows over the revelers.
For a moment, I feel like an intruder in my own life, a stranger among friends who have no idea my world just imploded.
My eyes scan the crowd until they land on Spark behind the bar, his dark brown hair catching the flicker of the fireworks.
He’s mixing drinks with a practiced ease, his Elvis tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt.
I make a beeline for him, needing the distraction, needing something strong to dull the edges of my pain.
“Hey, Spark,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
He looks up, concern flashing in his eyes as he takes in my appearance. “Zoe, you good? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Something like that,” I reply, leaning against the bar. “I’m in dire need of a drink. Think you can help a lady out?”
“Say no more,” he says without missing a beat, reaching for a bottle. His movements are fluid, almost hypnotic, and for a brief moment, I’m grateful for the normalcy of it all.
The clink of ice against glass, the pour of liquor—it’s a symphony that drowns out the chaos swirling around in my mind.
“Here you go,” Spark says, sliding the drink towards me.
Our fingers brush briefly, and I look up to meet his eyes.
There’s something there—something warm and reassuring that makes me feel just a little less alone.
“Thanks,” I say, lifting the glass to my lips.
The first sip is a burning trail down my throat, but it’s exactly what I need.
Spark leans his forearms on the bar, giving me his full attention. “Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about how fucked up my day’s been?” I scoff, swirling the drink in my glass before taking another gulp. “How Jacob was a boy pretending to be a man? How he was screwing Sassy right under my nose?”
Spark’s eyes flash with anger for a moment before settling into something softer, more understanding. “What? You deserve better than that piece of shit.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Two years of my life wasted on someone who couldn’t even keep it in his pants.”
“He’s not worth your tears,” Spark says, placing a comforting hand over mine. His touch sends a jolt through me—unexpected but not unwelcome.
“More like he’s not worth anything,” I laugh bitterly. “And you know what? He was bad in bed too.”
Spark raises an eyebrow, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Oh really?”
“Really,” I confirm, feeling a strange sense of liberation wash over me. “I mean, it’s almost laughable how terrible he was.”
