Free Rescue Me (Butler Island) by Nikki Rittenberry

staring back at her revealed pain—like a
festering wound that refused to heal. She recognized the weariness, the despair,
the discontent. Looking into his eyes was like looking in the mirror. And if
there was any truth in the eyes being the windows to the soul within, their
depths divulged his vitality had suffered an immeasurable blow. The agony was
camouflaged well behind his poker face, but she still saw it. He couldn’t hide
it from her.
    And although his pain wreaked havoc on her already
fragile heart, the comfort of knowing she didn’t have to heal alone rescued her
from the black hole she’d stumbled into nearly six months ago. “I’m glad you’re
here.”
     
     
    It felt damn good putting her mind at ease. For the first
time in months it felt like Randall was doing something positive and productive
with his time, instead of spending it pickling his liver with eighty-proof
whiskey. He’d been numb for so long feeling seemed foreign to him. But as his
eyes settled on the healing woman before him, he had to admit it felt good.
    It felt good to be here. Good to see her smile again.
Hell, it just felt damn good to feel. “Me too.”

 
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
     
     
    The first weekend in December had been reserved for
Winterfest for as long as Randall could remember. The annual celebration began
on First Street as eager spectators lined the road’s edges for the Christmas
Parade. And after the Winterfest Queen rode by on the back of the mayor’s blue
1966 Ford Thunderbird Convertible, residents migrated to the boardwalk,
sampling some of the best Christmas cookies available this side of the equator.
But the biggest attraction, by far, had to be the carnival.
    Fried funnel cakes dusted with powdered sugar, Polish
sausages smothered with grilled peppers and onions, cotton candy sold in pairs
of red and green tempted the masses in droves. And when bellies were sated,
thrill seekers binged on rides that spun, twisted, dropped and lifted. Large
stuffed animals hung from tent ceilings near the exits, beckoning folks to
spend the remainder of their hard-earned cash for a chance to win a coveted
Christmas prize.
    But Randall wasn’t interested in parades, Christmas
cookies, or the thrill of a carnival ride. It was Saturday night—which meant
two dollar domestic drafts at The Saloon.
    Yeah, that was something worth celebrating.
    Pushing his way through the heavy wood door, the familiar
scent of stale cigarettes and Pine Sol accosted him immediately, filling his
nose with a strange sense of comfort. He waved at the bartender, Dan, as he
wound his way to the back of the room. Grant had managed to snag their favorite
pool table in the back corner, and was already arranging the billiard balls
inside the triangular rack for their first round.
    “About time you got here”, Grant teased as he carefully
lifted the triangle from the table. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going
to show.”
    Randall slapped his hand against Grant’s, pulling him in
for a manly shoulder-bump. “What’re we wagering tonight?” he inquired as he
turned his attention to the wall, meticulously analyzing the display for a cue
stick before selecting the one on the end. Pointing the tip toward the ground,
he studied the wooden rod, checking for any signs of warpage.
    “Loser buys the next round.”
    “Olivia have you on an allowance or something?” Randall
asked as he stepped away from the wall.
    “Only when I’m playing pool with you.”
    Randall chuckled under his breath. He didn’t like to
brag, but he was damn good at the game. He’d taken Grant’s money on more than
one occasion over the years—a fact Olivia was obviously well aware of. “Where
is she, by the way? Figured she’d already be parked on a stool for moral
support.” The waitress arrived with their first round, placing two frosty mugs
on a nearby table. “Thanks, Rachael.”
    “You bet”, she answered with a wink, then scurried toward
the neighboring table