Love on the Lake (Lakeside 2)

Aaron

Everything I feared would happen is. I keep asking myself if things would have been different if I’d realized it sooner. If I’d seen the problem earlier, before it got to this point. At first I second-guessed myself, but the more I pieced together the puzzle, the more sure I became that I was right. That this is a problem.

So I shouldn’t be surprised that Teagan breaks up with me. I should’ve expected it. Especially if she’s on her way down into the spiral and anything in her way is collateral damage, including me.

I stand outside her apartment for a few minutes, debating whether trying to talk some sense into her is going to work. But I can’t force her to see that she has a problem. She has to come to that realization on her own.

So I go home.

My place feels empty without her.

I feel empty without her.

And there are little reminders of her everywhere. Pieces of her scattered around in the form of pens and throw pillows.

After sitting on the couch for an hour, staring at the blank TV screen, I finally decide to go to bed. I haven’t changed my sheets in more than a week. Not since the last time Teagan slept here. And I won’t until the faint scent of her shampoo disappears from the sheets and her pillow.

It takes me forever to fall asleep, and when I finally do, it’s fitful and laced with nightmares. In them I keep trying to get to Teagan, but she’s at the bottom of a dark hole, and every time I think I can reach her, she falls down again.

The next day I head to the jobsite, unrested and feeling like a bag of shit. I need to talk to Van and Dillion, but he’s in Chicago for work today, and Dillion is meeting with a homeowner to talk about a project, so that conversation will have to wait until later.

I’m working on the outdoor electrical at the Winslows’ place, finishing things up so we can move on to the next big project, but halfway through the installation I notice that the plate covers don’t quite match the switches, which means I need to go to Harry’s to pick up a few more.

On my way there, I pass the local pharmacy and notice Teagan’s car is parked in the lot. I pull in and find a spot, debating whether I should go in or not. I don’t want to have a public confrontation with her, but with what I know, her being at a drug store after what happened last night seems like another red flag.

I cut the engine and head inside. It’s not a big store, but one half is dedicated to the pharmacy, and the other half has knickknacks and trinkets and an aisle of cards for every occasion. The card aisle is farthest from the pharmacy counter, so I head over there and busy myself with pretending to look at them.

Teagan is at the pharmacy counter. Her hair is pulled up in a haphazard ponytail, and she’s wearing her Town Pub shirt and a pair of jeans.

The pharmacist passes a bag to her, and she checks the contents, her smile pulling down at the corners. “Oh, I think one must be missing. There should be three.” She rolls up on the balls of her feet once, then quickly plants them back on the floor.

“Let me check the file.” The pharmacist smiles and clicks away on the computer for a moment. Her expression remains placid as she turns back to Teagan. “I’m sorry, it looks like your doctor only called in two prescriptions.”

Teagan rolls up on the balls of her feet again. I can see her profile from where I’m standing, and her bright smile widens until it’s almost manic. “She must have forgotten the third.” She drops her voice and says something I can’t quite catch.

The response from the pharmacist fills in the gap. “It’s not due for a refill for another two weeks.”

“I know. I lost my prescriptions in the lake, and I’m not going to see my doctor until next week. Can’t you give me a few until I see her?” Teagan’s foot taps agitatedly on the floor with her lie.

The pharmacist’s smile drops. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

I glance around the store, glad that there are only a couple of people milling around—one of them is a woman whose house I’ve worked on recently, and the other is a local—plus the cashier.

Teagan’s voice rises with her irritation. “You can clearly see that I have a standing prescription. I lost them in the water. It’s not like it’s a big deal for you to give me a few when I’m going to see my doctor next week.”

The pharmacist’s expression goes stony. “Please don’t raise your voice at me, ma’am. Valium is considered a class-four narcotic and is a controlled substance. I’m not permitted to give them to you without your general physician’s authority. If you’d like to call and have your doctor send a request here, we can fill it for you.”