Rough and Rugged: A Meet Me In Milwaukee Charity Anthology

Chapter One

Dax

HAYDEN: Where the fuck are you? I’m in Boston for the week. Surprise!

TONY: Where is he? Mak and I are almost at the restaurant.

ROBBIE: He’s your actual brother and you don’t know. Claire and I are out. Hug our birthday boy.

TONY: Unacceptable. If we can get together. We get together.

ROBBIE: Yeah, well, Lawrence is off-season. I’m not.

TONY: Baseball is a respectable sport, and the hockey season is way too long and cold.

COLT: Why am I the only one here for DAX’s surprise party?

TONY: And now you’ve ruined it.

COLT: Did I though? Hayden used the wrong thread first. Idiots.

HAYDEN: Yeah, that’s on me. I just flew in from fucking France. What’s your excuse?

LAW: Dudes. Where the fuck is this place?

HAYDEN: Hey, baby bro, just out of bed.

LAW: Fuck off. Which fucking Public House is this? I wasn’t sleeping.

TONY: But I’m sure he did get up. Or off.

LAW: You know I did. {emoji wink}

TONY: Bostonia.

ROBBIE: Happy Birthday Dax. Baseball season’s way longer than hockey. Your dumbass sport makes a fucking spectacle out of spring training games.

LAW: I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you over your annoying coach voice and my ring.

ROBBIE: Get to the fucking restaurant and celebrate Dax.

COLT: Why hasn’t Dax texted?

DAX: Cool surprise, dudes. Next time check if I’m in town. Have a good dinner.

TONY: You suck. Happy Birthday, big bro.

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DAX: Dude - rented a cabin in the woods to get my head on straight and finish my book.

COLT: The Monica book?

DAX: Going through all my handwritten notes and try to get her off my mind. Nothing else has worked so I’m Thoreauing it up.

COLT: Be safe. Happy Birthday.

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HAYDEN: Tell me you’re not with Sophie.

COLT: He’s not with Sophie.

ROBBIE: How does Colt know where he is? And why are you at a surprise party you knew he wouldn’t be attending?

COLT: He told me privately. I give him less shit.

LAW: Bullshit, Colt. You’re just more respectable at it. I got 500 on Dax is off getting laid.

HAYDEN: 500 for laid. But not Sophie.

COLT: He hasn’t hit that in almost 2 years. 500 against. What’s he going to fuck an opossum?

ROBBIE: Where the hell is he? What is this bet? I hope he gets a birthday blowie.

DAX: Wrong text chain again, assholes. 500 NOT GETTING laid.

DAX: And Robbie. I’m in the woods.

ROBBIE: $250 he gets a blowie from an opossum.

There’s not a moment of my life that doesn’t involve my Boston Brothers, but this one needs to be just mine.

I can’t turn thirty-four, be unemployed, unpublished, and still thinking about one magical weekend over a year ago. Monica didn’t trust I was done with my ex, Sophie, and bailed. I can’t be around their not-so surprise party pretending I’m happy. My actual brother, Tony, loves surprises. I’m the one who usually hangs back from his jackass schemes and makes sure everyone has a ride home along with a b12 shot.

Tired of solving everyone’s issues, except mine. It’s time to make sense of my life’s scribbles. The guy at the sports store said to bring essentials and this paper draft is essential. I’m going to write, chop wood and build a fire.

Colt’s the only one who knows I slept with and am fucked up over my former assistant and close friend Monica. Being friends functioned as six years of foreplay, and when we finally fucked, we weren’t working together. When we lifted the thin veil of our friendship, we devoured each other for three days. I highly recommend fucking your best friend as long as she sticks around after. Time to write and hopefully dust off my dick and get back in the game. Or pine for someone alone, among the pines.

The village I’m in has the dumbest name, Rugged, Maine. Really? Isn’t that a bit on the nose? I trip on a stick as if the universe wants to remind me I come from money and rarely have rough and rugged adventures. Fuck you, universe, I’m trying to be this guy. A pile of snow drops on my head from a tree.

“I GET IT. I’m not cut out for rustic. But I could be, ok?” Something hoots in response. “Fuck yeah, owl. You get me.”

I did extra Peloton rides to prep but realize as I pant there’s a difference between an indoor and outdoor cat. This hike is no joke. There’s three rental cabins and a caretaker here, who I think functions like a concierge. His cabin has a blue door, mine is yellow.

Grateful for my new boots as the snow crunches beneath them. They’re the boots of someone who knows where to put oil in a car or fix something with a hammer. I don’t own a car, but I’m going to get one after I’m done in the woods so I can live up to my boots.

I adjust my pack filled with jerky, some kind of goop pouch and dried soup. The guy said I needed it. I pause at a clearing because of the dinner plate sized eyes staring at me.

I panic scroll my brain. Bear or Moose. One you hide behind a tree; one you ring a bell at. If I do both, will it piss this thing off? No one tells you a fucking moose is the size of a city bus. His antlers take up most of my field of vision. I’m ill-equipped for this.

Instead of action, I choose inaction. I jerk my gaze toward a snapping sound. Shit, are they like those velociraptors in Jurassic Park? You keep your eye on one while the rest surround you to tear your flesh off your body.

I reach for the bell, but the city bus with horns runs like a fucking panther stopping ten feet from me. We share a look. He knows he could take me out.

“Hi. Easy, fella. Your woods. I’ll go.” He doesn’t blink because he’s a demon. “How’s your day? Call off your buddies. Signal the moosearaptors, I’m not a threat.” What the fuck does a moose eat? I dig through my bag to find the damn bell or soup. Maybe it’s hungry. I make myself as big as possible, fling my bag and the thing finally blinks. Shit. Was that the bear thing?

To my right there’s more rustling, and an air horn blast has me running, flailing my arms, screaming like one of those fainting goats. I scramble behind a tree, looking to climb it. Can a moose climb? I’m sure one of the mooseraptors took my abandoned bag. Hope they enjoy my manuscript.

“Hey! I scared it away,” says a no-nonsense female voice that’s soothing and sexy. She’s a badass who faced down vicious dinosaur moose. I peek around the tree, and she pulls down her neck gaiter. I stand up. Her mouth is pink, sweet and damn those pouty lips are so fucking perfect that I’ve only –

Then she says, “Holy Shit.” She looks to the sky, removes her goggles and pastes on a sly grin, “Happy Birthday, Dax.”