Without You

– Scotch –

Drink With Tink

The perks of being the exclusive band at Club 188, and basically being related to the people who own it, is they trust me to have keys to the place.

Suckers.

I let myself in the security door at the back and walk down the pitch-black hallway, banging my fist on the concrete wall as I move and humming an angry tune under my breath. This was something I wrote during my super angry phase after she left. Something about bitches, and the power in the pain words can inflict on another person. This is not a song I ever pitched to the guys, because they’d never go for it, and they’d possibly have me hospitalized, but my brain doesn’t forget this shit, so I remember every single key, every single word.

I’m here to make myself forget.

I walk past storage rooms and bathrooms, then moving into the main club area, I look around at all the tables with stools piled on top, the sparkling clean but worn floors, stained carpet from the alcohol being spilled on a nightly basis.

I look toward the stage, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out as I read our name on the front of Luc’s bass drum. ‘Who Cares?’ Jesus, we actually settled on the non-name. Years and years of arguing, and we chose the name that isn’t a name at all.

I shake my head and turn away, then walk to the bar and pull a stool down. I lean across the wooden top, glad that it’s morning and not night, so my shirt doesn’t lift away soaked with spilled booze, and I blindly grab at the first bottle my fingers touch.

I pull it out and sit hard on the stool behind me, then I look at the mystery bottle and sigh. Figures. I’m going to hate myself tomorrow. But that’s okay. I kinda hate myself today too. I’ve spent so much fucking time hating everything, that I don’t know how to stop.

I unscrew the cap from the bottle of scotch, and tip it up to my lips. Fuck shot glasses, I’m here to forget. Pouring shots takes too long. Measuring them out will be like playing sudoku. I’d be actively encouraging thinking and brain use. I don’t want that. What I’d like is some bleach, and maybe a cork screw.

She’s back. She’s beautiful. And she wants to use me.

Fuck that shit. Why should I spend even a minute with her, falling in love with her beautiful eyes and touching her sexy hair, just so she can leave again in two months?

I lift the bottle again, actually experiencing flashes of something akin to PTSD as the spicy liquid rolls over my tongue and burns its way down the back of my throat. I spin my stool to the left, then the right, nervously swaying in an attempt to not remember. I tap my fingers on the bar in an anxious tune. Words for a brand-new song coming to me like a movie in my brain. I take out my phone and start texting myself, humming under my breath as my fingers fly over the screen.

Images of a sweet baby Lily flash through my mind, with tiny wisps of fluffy hair, soft olive skin and rosy red cheeks. They should have named her Rosie, not Lily.

I hit the crescendo in my mind, closing my eyes to watch it play out, and blindly reach out for the bottle in front of me.

One song crosses over into another, but I push the intrusion away. This one isn’t for Sammy. Maybe for the first time in my life, I’m not writing a song for Sammy. Instead, I mentally write about the spring time, brand new flowers in bloom, sweet baby faces and the cries that are enough to tear a grown man down. I swallow another thirsty gulp of scotch as the face of Sammy’s baby mixes and collides with that of the baby she took from me all those years ago.

Yeah, there it is! That reminder. The anger. Samantha Ricardo stole from me! She aborted my baby without my permission. I know it’s a woman’s choice, but fuck! Give a guy two seconds to try to talk it out.

I continue to drink and push away the imagined baby, and instead, I slow down my own texting, because Lily’s song was getting too sharp, too mean, and no matter what Sammy did to me, Lily is an innocent.

My foot taps the stool leg and my eyes continue to drift shut as I watch a movie in my head. I text by muscle memory, knowing the words will be full of typo’s, but not minding because I’ll be able to decipher it later. A tiny baby that I didn’t know an hour ago dances in my mind; a tiny warrior princess out to slay dragons and sing in rock bands.

“It’s not even close to noon yet.”

My eyes snap open in surprise, but with a mellow grin and lazy movements, I place my phone down and spin at the pretty girl’s pretty voice.

Five foot nothing, sass for days, and short spikey hair, I smile. “What’cha doing, Tink?”

She wanders toward me suspiciously. “Not much. What are you doing… in my club… helping yourself to my liquor… while you talk to yourself?”

I smile lazily as scotch sloshes pleasantly in my stomach. “Had to get outta the apartment. Wanna come sit with me?” I hold the bottle in the air between us. “Have a drink with a buddy? Let’s get smashed, T. We’re only young once.”

“Ah, no.” She plucks the bottle from my fingers before I get a chance to hug it against my chest… like a baby. Fuck!

“What are you doin’ to yourself, Lemon Drop? This isn’t you.”

I watch as she pulls up a stool beside mine. I try to be a creepy fucker. I try to stare at her tits as she moves, but I don’t even have it in me. “Nothing. My home life sucks at the moment.”

She looks at me with a lifted brow. “You live alone, dummy.”

“I live with ghosts.”

Her lifted brow turns to a concerned frown, then her soft hand rests on the top of mine. “Wanna talk about it?”

I look at our hands and study them. Hers is tiny, milky white skin with neatly manicured nails and a dark purple polish. Mine… are much bigger and covered in ink that stretches all over my arms. She squeezes mine like she’s the bigger person. The protector.

“Better get your hand off me before your husband comes in. I don’t fancy getting knocked the fuck out today…” But then again, that has merits too.

“He won’t touch you. You have my protection.”

I snort. She’s quite literally half the size of her fighter husband, but she’s not wrong. What she wants, she gets. Today, I have immunity from the Rollers. “Today might be the best time for me to try to kiss you. See if it feels good. Maybe…”

She laughs. “You try and kiss me, and you’ll need protection from me. But we can talk. I’ll buy you a beer and you can tell me about your ghosts.”

I shake my head and look away from our hands. “Don’t wanna talk. Hurts.”

“I get that, but I learned a long time ago, locking that shit up doesn’t help. It just poisons you from the inside. Let it out, take away its power. Take control of those ghosts. And while you’re at it, tell me your real name.”

I bark out a laugh. “You’re not above taking advantage of a vulnerable moment to get my secrets?”

“Not even a little bit.”

I chuckle and pluck the bottle back again to swallow another bitter mouthful of scotch. “I told you all along, it’s just a regular name. Nothing to get excited about.”

“So why the big secret?”

“I didn’t make it a secret! You lot did. I just had a nickname, same as people call you Tink. I didn’t make it a big deal.”

She smiles. “Okay, tell me your real name. I promise not to get my hopes up for something amazing. Is it Frank?”

“No.”

“Steven?

“No.”

“Orlando? Daniel?”

“No. No.”

“Well that’s all I’ve got,” she laughs. “Your turn.”

“It’s Sam.”

She stares at me for a long minute. “Sam?”

I nod. “Just Sam. Samuel.”

“That’s… weird,” she cackles. “Okay. Samuel. So why the nickname?”

“I already told you ages ago how I spewed in my mama’s roses. I basically chugged scotch all night when I was a kid.” Jesus. Just saying that much has my back warming as though Sammy is wrapped around me again, breathing on my neck, kissing spilled liquid off my chin. I can even see the snitch, force feeding me the disgusting liquid. “I was with a girl, the girl.” I look back into Tink’s eyes. “Her name was Sammy. We were dating and she found it weird that we were both called Sam, so she gave me a new name.”

“That’s kinda cute.” She smiles. “Sam and Sammy. So what happened to her?”

“I married her.”

Tink chokes so hard, I pat her back before she turns blue. “What the fuck, Scotch? You married her? Did she die?”

“Die? No. We had an epically non-epic break up and she ditched.”

“So where is she now? Your wife? Where’s Sammy?”

“Do you mean that literally? Or is this a philosophical thing?”

Tink glares at me. “What the hell is the matter with you, Samuel? I don’t wanna talk philosophy.”

I laugh again and continue to sip. I’m thirsty as fuck, and I might cry if I stop. “She’s my ghost, T. She’s haunting me, and it hurts so fucking much, I’m not sure I can take it much longer.”

“Woah.” Her hand moves to my slumped back, rubbing soothing circles where Sammy once perched. “Jesus. It still hurts this much?”

I nod in defeat. “I think it might actually be worse now. I can’t be sure exactly. But it feels worse, not better.”

Heavy boots scrape along the floor in the long hall, and we both turn and watch Angelo slowly walk toward us. His face is relieved at first, but my drunken smile has him frowning again. “Hey Ang. Have a drink with me, bud.”

He looks from me to Tink, then back again. He looks at his phone, then tucking it back in his pocket, he frowns at me. “You’re drunk?”

I shrug dramatically, accidentally knocking Tink’s hand off my back, and I pout because it felt nice. “Just a lil’ bit. It feels warm in my belly.”

“You let him get drunk?”

Tink’s hands come up. “It wasn’t me. He’d already started when I found him.”

“What are you doing here, Aleesi? Wanna drink with me? You’re my best friend, didya know that?”

“Fuck, you made it all the way to the I love you’s drunk. You’re gonna be spewing before lunchtime, dumbass.”

“I don’t spew anymore. I’m a man now.”

His brow lifts high. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I went by the apartment to see if you two had killed each other yet. Sammy said you bolted, so I hedged my bets and came here.”

“Sammy’s at the apartment?” Tink asks loudly. Her gaze jumps from mine to Ang’s like a bobble head toy. “She’s here? Right now?” She jumps down from her stool so fast it tips over with a heavy crash. She bolts away from me and toward the exit, but Angelo scoops her up so she’s running on air.

“Nope. Definitely not.”

“I need to meet her! Quick, give me the 4-1-1. Kicking her ass or welcoming her into the fold? Cookies or knives!? I don’t need details. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Neither, short stuff, so cool it.” Angelo sets her on her feet, but his hand remains wrapped around her bicep. “You need to leave this one alone. This situation is like a grenade with no pin, and I don’t need you going in there stomping around.”

“But Ang--”

He shakes his head with finality. “Nope. Not today.”

“You suck.” She turns to me. “Why’s she back?”

“None of your business,” he answers her. “But I need you to keep the lid on it for now.”

“I don’t have lids. I don’t believe in them.”

“Time to start practicing. Zip it up.”

Angelo shakes his head as I stumble off my stool. My foot catches between the legs and I catch myself on another table.

“Jesus. You got him good and wasted.”

She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t do a thing, but I’m billing you guys for that booze.”

“Bill him. He’ll fix it up when he’s sober. We’ll be back on Thursday for our set.”

Ang walks toward me slowly as I lean on the tall table.

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I just wanted to check in. Good thing, huh, since you’re three seconds from sleeping in your own spew.”

I stand up tall and shake my shoulders. “I’m okay.”

“Let’s go.” He takes my arm and drags me forward until Tink whistles loudly. We both turn, then Ang catches my phone after she throws it at him. I snatch it from his hands, remembering the song I whipped together earlier. Tripping on my feet and walking through the dark corridor, I read my notes as he drags me forward.

He leads us into sunlight, and though the sun is out and doing its best, the cold in the air still slaps me in the face. “I threw her out into the snow last night, Ang.”

He sighs and leads me across the street. “She’s okay, bud. She’s a fighter, always was. That’s why we let her hang with us back in the day.”

I snort. “She hung out with us because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“That too,” he chuckles.

“She’s still so pretty.”

He nods softly. “She’s always been beautiful. Even when she was fourteen and had too many sharp bones.”

“You said she wasn’t your type.”

“When?”

“In ninth grade.”

He laughs. “I did say that. And it’s still true. I prefer them blonder.”

“Like Ms. Caine?”

“Ha! She was a babe. I wonder what she’s doing these days?”

I shrug my shoulders and hum Lily’s song as we walk in the sun, and I shiver because I didn’t stop to grab a hat or gloves before I escaped my apartment.

“That’s a good song.”

I look over at him. “Huh?”

“You working on something new? It sounds good.”

“It’s Rosie’s song.”

“Who’s Rosie?”

“Lily.”

He laughs. “Okay. It’s a good song. She’ll like that.”

“Dunno if she’ll ever hear it,” I admit quietly. “Maybe on the radio if we sell it. She doesn’t have to know it’s about her.”

We step across the street at the end of the block and move onto the grassy area of the park near the center of town. Stopping at the wooden benches, I slump down heavily. I lean forward, rest my elbows on my knees and drop my head between them. Ang is almost always right, and I think I’m probably gonna be sick soon. “I dunno what’s happening with my life right now, Ang.”

“Why’s she here?”

“She wants to adopt that pretty baby.”

“Okay…?”

“We’re still married. She can’t do it without me.”

He drops down onto the bench beside me. “Fuck.”

“Yep. She wants my help. She wants to get me attached to a kid that she’s gonna steal again when she leaves in two months.”

“She’s leaving in two months?”

I shrug with defeat. “Something like that. She needs me to play happy families or some shit. Then after that, she doesn’t need me anymore. She said she’ll ‘minimize disruption to my life,’ then when it’s done, she’ll leave and I can get on with it.”

“Who is this kid to her?”

I shrug again. “Dunno. I haven’t actually had a proper conversation with her yet. I basically just swore and called her names, then I kicked her leg and kicked her out.”

Angelo’s eyes flare wide with rage. His shoulders shoot back and broad and his chest fills. “You kicked her?”

“It was an accident, Ang. I didn’t mean to, but I know I hurt her. I feel like fucking shit.”

“She didn’t tell me she was hurt just before. She wasn’t limping or anything.”

I shrug. “She’s a fighter. That’s why you let her hang out with us.”

He nods. “Yeah, I guess… So what are you gonna do? About the baby.”

I scrub my hands over my face in frustration. “I don’t really have a fucking choice, do I? She already knows that, which is why she came here. She knew I’d give her anything she wants.”

“You can just ask her to leave again. You don’t have to get involved.”

My head continues to hang low, but I turn so our eyes meet. “And live with the fact I might’ve ruined that little girl’s chance at happiness? We knew Sammy; maybe she made shitty choices with our relationship. Maybe she made shitty choices with our baby, but she’s a good person and she loves Lily already. I can see it.”

“So you help her out. You become that baby’s daddy on paper.”

Jesus. I never even stopped to realize she’d be mine on paper. Shame washes through me at the momentary hope that this could be our do-over. I shake my head as my heart thuds painfully. “And risk her killing me in the process? I don’t think I can handle this a second time, Ang. I legitimately don’t think I can handle having her and losing her twice. She’s leaving again soon. They both are.”

“She’s not asking for a relationship, right?”

“Nope. She just needs my help, then she’s out.”

“So, be Lily’s daddy for now. If she stays with Sammy, she’ll be without a daddy anyway, so maybe give her a couple months to know what that feels like. Not everyone has a father, bud. And not everyone who has one, wants the one they got. You can be good for her. And who knows, in the time she’s here, maybe you can get some closure of your own. Obviously thirteen years of absence didn’t fix anything, so try this instead. Duke it out, take it to the yard, get some answers. It could save your life.”

“Or it might break it.”

His hand comes down heavily on my shoulder. “You can’t possibly walk away feeling any worse than you already do. Doing the same shit every single day and expecting different results is just dumb. It’s time to try something new.”

“I just…” I shake my head. “I dunno, Ang. I hate her. I hate her with something powerful and painful in my heart. I don’t know if I can ever get over it.”

He sighs. “Everyone has their own demons. I don’t know what hers were. I don’t know why she did what she did, but she obviously felt it was the right thing to do at the time. Maybe just try and be her friend again. Maybe ask her why she did it.”

“But what do you do when you’re in love with your friend? Because there’s obviously enough room in my pathetic heart to love and hate at the same time. I can’t hate her enough to let her go, and I can’t love her enough to get over what she did. I’m fucked for a lifetime of this shit.”