A Taste of Chardonnay (Vine Valley #4)

Chapter One

21 Years Ago

At seventeen, I shouldn’t have to shave every damn day of my life, but here I was, another morning in front of the mirror, shaving the stubble that grew overnight. I finished up, patted my face dry, and went to start my shitty day.

Dad was passed out on the couch, empty beer cans from the night before scattered across the coffee table. There were stains on his once white tank top, and he needed a shave a week ago. His overgrown buzzcut was greasy and unkempt.

It had been a week since he lost another job—a week since he started drinking from when he woke up until he passed out at night. He was a mean ass drunk, but the alternative was sometimes worse. A Vietnam war vet, he was fucked in the head. Without alcohol, he’d randomly find himself in the forests hiding from the Vietcong.

I tried to get him help, but he was a stubborn prick who didn’t think there was anything wrong with him. It was perfectly normal to flashback to a warzone and beat the living shit out of your only son.

“Hey.” I kicked his foot with my boot.

“Fuck off.” He swatted his hand in the air.

“Get up. You told me you’d go look for a job today.”

“Why don’t you go get a fucking job?”

“Because I have school. And I do have a job. Thank God, or we would have been on the streets months ago.”

He rolled over and grabbed his pack of Marlboro reds. He didn’t have enough money to pay the water bill, but he could afford two packs a day and a twelve pack of beer. “Aren’t you just the fucking savior?”

I ground my teeth together, afraid if I didn’t, I’d say something that would set him off. I had a test first period, and I didn’t need to be nursing a black eye.

I tossed the newspaper beside him. “I circled some jobs for you.”

He lit his cigarette and blew a line of smoke toward me. He was looking for a reaction, but I was too damn tired to give him one. I busted my ass after school at Vine Valley Vineyards, helping with construction on the new tasting room.

I didn’t have the most convenient schedule, but Mr. Grasso, the owner of the Vineyard—and a man who was more like a father to me than my old man ever would be—spoke with the construction crew and worked his magic. After my shift, I headed to Don’s Café to work the dinner shift in the kitchen, making salads and washing dishes.

I looked at my old man and wished I could sit on my ass with no expectations for the day, but I had a test.

A honk came from outside, and I grabbed my backpack, slinging it over one arm. “Take a shower and go get a job,” I said as I made my way to the door.

An empty beer can hit me in the back of the head, but I ignored it and slammed the door behind me. Franc nodded to me from the driver’s seat of his brand-new F-150. He was a Grasso; his family were some of the richest people in Vine Valley, and he was my best friend.

I climbed into the passenger seat and tossed my backpack onto the floor, immediately noticing his sister, Chardonnay, wasn’t with him today.

“Rough morning?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?”

He reached over and pulled the visor down, flipping the mirror at me. I glanced at my reflection. “Oh shit.” I swiped my finger along the bead of blood on my chin.

“I have napkins in the glove box.”

I retrieved a napkin, pressing it against the nick. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He put the truck into drive and pulled away from the dilapidated structure that was my house.

“No Char today?”

“She had yearbook club this morning. Mom dropped her off.”

It didn’t matter how shitty my morning was, seeing Char always made life a little brighter. She was the third oldest of seven, the oldest girl, a year younger than Franc and me, and she didn’t take shit from anyone.

People called her a bitch, and she wore that insult as a badge of pride. She was strong and outspoken—a dangerous combination to people who were weak and insecure.

“Did your old man find a job yet?” Franc asked.

“No. Too bad he can’t find a job that required drinking a twelve pack and passing out. He’d be the perfect candidate.”

“You can always stay with us. Laurent’s room is free while he’s at college. He wouldn’t care if you moved in for a bit.”

I shook my head. I loved Franc and Laurent like brothers, but I didn’t want their charity. I never wanted them to think I was taking advantage of their friendship or that I was only friends with them for their money. It didn’t matter that we’d known each other since elementary school. Their friendship meant too much to me to jeopardize it.

“He’ll get a job,” I said matter-of-factly. There were no if, ands, or buts. He would get a job even if I had to send off his resume and prop his ass up at an interview.

“Okay.” Silence spread between us, but that was normal. Franc and I never felt the need to fill silence, and that’s probably why we got along so well.

We pulled into the high school parking lot, and Franc parked in the first open spot. We hopped from the truck and made our way inside.

“You have that test in economics today, right?” Franc asked, hitching his backpack onto his shoulder.

“I do.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you third period.” I patted his back, and we went our separate ways like we did every morning. Usually, I’d walk with Char. Her homeroom was next to mine, but today I walked solo, lost in my own thoughts, which was a fucking scary place.

If Dad didn’t get a job, we wouldn’t be completely screwed. I had been putting money into savings for the last two years, but that was my savings, and I didn’t want to have to bail him out again. I had my own dreams. I just had to graduate high school, then I could get the fuck out of here.

I rounded the corner and spotted Chardonnay. Her brown hair hung just above her shoulders—she’d got it cut last week—and she was wearing a fitted, white t-shirt tucked into a jean skirt. My eyes immediately moved down her 5’7 frame to her white sneakers, admiring her bare legs for a moment.

Standing at 6’4 at seventeen, I sometimes felt like an ogre, but Chardonnay always made me feel like I was just the right height. She was with her friends, and I didn’t want to interrupt, so I hung back on the other side of the lockers, hoping I’d get a chance to say good morning to her before homeroom started.

I adjusted my backpack on my shoulder and leaned against the wall. Mentally, I went over my economics notes, trying to remember everything I had studied last night.

Char laughed. “Brady?” she asked, and my attention snapped toward her. I didn’t want to eavesdrop on a private conversation, but I was also curious about what she had to say. “Brady Noah?” She laughed again. “He’s trash.”

Her words slammed into me as if a boulder hit me in my chest. A pain I never experienced gutted me, tearing at my thick skin and prodding at every insecurity I had.

I stumbled backward and quickly switched directions, needing to get as far away from her. But it felt like I wasn’t running from her. I was trying to run from the truth of her words. I was trash. Always had been, thanks to my old man and his lack of parental skills.

Anyone could have called me trash, and I probably would have agreed with them. But not Char. Not one of the few people who I trusted with the fact my father was a raging alcoholic with a hitting problem.

I hurried down the hallway, having no idea where I was going, but knowing I had to get out of there. The doors I had just walked through not ten minutes ago seemed like the beacon I needed. My pace picked up, and I raced into the parking lot.

Franc’s truck was always open, but what was I supposed to do? Sit there until the end of the day when Chardonnay would be here waiting for a ride home, too? I didn’t stop, passing Franc’s truck and making my way to the street.

Street after street passed by, but I kept walking. Anger and frustration stirred inside me. If Dad would just get his shit together, if he was a better parent, maybe we wouldn’t be the trash of Vine Valley. We’d be decent, community serving people like the Grassos.

But no. Dad had to go to fucking war and turn to the bottle to find any kind of solace. Except that solace wasn’t solace at all. It just fueled the visions he tried to escape from.

I kept walking, lost to the what-could-have-been thoughts I tried to ignore. It was a rabbit hole, and it was dark and ugly, and by the time I resurfaced, hours had passed. The position of the sun told me school had probably dismissed. I changed direction again and headed home.

My house—if you could even call it that—came into view, and I made my way up the battered driveway and into the weathered front door.

I didn’t even cross the threshold before I was yanked by my hair. “Where the fuck have you been?” Dad’s voice boomed, the smell of cheap vodka wafting across my face.

Anger and hatred for the life I was dealt surged through me, but like I always did, I ground my teeth together and accepted my shitty fate.

“Huh?” He yanked harder before shoving me, but he was a withering drunk, and as a solid man who started lifting weights last year, I didn’t budge. It only seemed to anger him more.

“Out,” I spat.

“School called. Said you weren’t there.”

“Something came up.”

“Like spreading the legs of that Grasso bitch.”

The fine line that my anger clung to snapped. My hand shot forward, grabbing my old man by the neck and slamming him against the wall.

“Don’t you fucking talk about her like that!” I screamed. My arm shook with the frustration and disgust that flooded through me. I’d never get a chance with Char because of him. He was a lowlife piece of shit. He was trash, and so was I. His inability to get his shit together, overcome the effects of a war that was far too long ago, became my burden to bear, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

His eyes widened as my grip tightened. Years of control went out the damn door, and all I saw was red. I wanted to hate him, but he didn’t deserve my hate. He didn’t deserve shit from me. I released my grip and stepped back just as he kicked me in the balls.

A weaker man would have dropped to his knees and wailed, but my anger held me up and kept me strong against the stabbing pain engulfing my groin.

“Get the fuck out and don’t come back.” He shoved at my chest, a final attempt to knock me down, but on the ground or not, I was already as low as any person could go. “If you do, I’ll call the cops,” he said, as if that were a threat. As if the cops didn’t know he was an abusive drunk.

“Fine!” I bellowed. I marched into my room, grabbed a duffel from under my bed, and crammed as much as I could inside.

I left.

And I never went back.