Every Bright and Broken Thing

Chapter Six - Ezra

My day will end like they always do. Me, the bar, and meaningless sex. You'd be surprised how many people at bars are interested in nothing but a one-night fling. That's fine with me, though. I don't need anything special. I'm probably not good enough for any girl worth loving anyway. I'm a mess and I know it. I'm just thankful that Dad and Liam don't know it. As long as I stay away from them, they never have to see the man I let myself become.

I miss them a lot. Especially on nights like tonight. Sometimes, I even miss Summit too – even though that town never had anything but heartbreak to offer.

Climbing from my truck, I pull my leather jacket tight around my shivering frame and make my way down the sidewalk toward my current haunt, The Drunken Sailor. Swinging the door open, I take a step forward and without realizing it collide with some girl as she and I both try to walk through the door at the same time, but in opposite directions. Tumbling to the ground, my head hits the door frame and I let out a grunt.

With a groan, I massage the already-forming goose egg on the back of my skull. I turn to the girl as she moves to retrieve the stack of paper cups that spilled all over the place. "I'm so sorry," I say. "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine. Just... could you help me, please?" She awkwardly tries to pile the cups into her arms, crumpling a few. Shifting onto my knees and scooting out of the doorway, I help her retrieve the cups and stack them together.

The faux-fur hood of her jacket slips from her head and I finally get a good enough look at her to realize that I know her from somewhere. My eyes go wide. "Elaine? Elaine Pearson?"

Her hazel eyes catch mine and she squints at me, head cocked to the side as if I've just uncovered some secret she didn't want anyone to know. "Yes? Do I know you?" She holds the stack of cups closer to her chest.

"It's me. Ezra Greyson. From art school." I smile and move to the side as another patron walks through the doorway and glares at us for blocking traffic. "Remember? We went out, like, twice during sophomore year. If I recall, you were quite the party girl."

She gives a nervous laugh and, with her free hand tucks a loose strand of her dark brown, curly hair behind her ear. The bar lighting on her chocolate-color skin gives her an almost golden glow as the light of recognition passes through her gaze.

"Ezra! That's right! I remember you – the art snob."

"Art snob?" I laugh, shifting on my feet. Around us, the sound of drunken chatter and the noise of the Bears game fills the atmosphere. I step closer to her, further from the doorway traffic.

She giggles. "Well, you were always so wrapped up in whatever project you were working on and painting is all you could talk about."

Wincing inwardly, "I promise you that's not the case these days."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn't hate it." She smiles and I smile back as we stand there awkwardly for a moment, our shared history lingering between us.

"So..." I say, "If I remember correctly, you were working hard on a new book for your semester project. Did you ever get that finished?"

"Well, yes and no. I finished it, but haven't touched it really in, like, three years. I've had a minor case of writer's block."

"I know the feeling."

"How about you? Did you get into that gallery you were always talking about? I think it was called Vox, or something?"