Chapter Twenty
Iregret having so much to drink last night.
Well, today, really. But I slept, so it feels like last night. Now I’m awake again and the thought of lying in the dark with my own thoughts was enough to immediately propel me to my feet, cotton mouth, aching bones, roiling nausea, and all.
I better not hurl. I’m not going to hurl. I just need something in my stomach, and a little space to breathe.
When I stopped at the gas station for fuel after leaving the house, I picked up a bag of Funyuns to settle my stomach, a Gatorade and a Monster to chase them with, plus a cherry-flavored sucker to help keep the dry mouth at bay.
I wish I had a goddamn IV, but the snacks and caffeine and electrolytes will have to be close enough.
It all gets consumed in the parking lot, each item methodically inhaled like it’s the solution to all my problems until it’s just me and the sucker against the world, and I can finally get back on the road.
I’m going to a bar, because where the fuck else is open that isn’t home right now? But that doesn’t mean I have to drink.
As long as I can sit in peace without Silas’s worried gaze and my sisters’ disappointment trailing me, I’ll be fine. I need to escape the weight of my own inadequacies for a hot minute, and I’m not letting anyone stop me.
The drive to the Feral Possum all happens on auto-pilot, and by the time I’m testing my suspension over the pot hole-ridden parking lot, I wonder if this is a mistake.
Sure, this is probably the place where I have the most friends at any given time in this town.
Real friends, that is. Not the kind of friends I had at school who all stayed permanently at arms’ length, because I had way too many secrets to let any of them in.
Except for Wish, obviously. The first person to karate-kick down my defensive walls, whether I liked it or not.
At least she won’t be here. Thank fuck for the tattoo expo that’s kept her not just out of state, but too damn busy to needle me about things the way she normally does. But that doesn’t mean the others won’t be watching me, waiting for me to go nuclear or whatever they’re all doing lately.
Fuck it. Maybe I do need a drink, after all.
I get out of the car, shivering briefly against the chill.
There’s no snow on the ground, but the gravel underfoot has that particular kind of crunch that tells me snow isn’t far off, and the trees surrounding the lot seem to shrink in on themselves, closing ranks in a dark blur that makes this place seem even more isolated than it is.
Even the animals are quiet tonight, only a distant sound of frogs piercing the noise humming from the bar.
For a brief, singular moment, I miss living in the trailer with an aching kind of fierceness.
I miss the darkness, and the way it felt so full of life, the amount of wildlife on our doorstep constantly buzzing and thrumming with their existence at all hours of the night.
The sounds of coyotes yipping on top of cicadas on top of the hum of Mom’s TV set permanently to home shopping, on top of Sky and Maddi shuffling around to go to the bathroom or get a snack.
I love Silas as much as I’ve ever loved anyone, but I didn’t expect living with him to leave me feeling so alone.
These are not the kind of thoughts I should be entertaining at 9 p.m. in a parking lot.
Not when there are a couple of smokers 20 yards away starting to give me weird looks, I’m assuming for the loitering.
I shove my hands into the pocket of my hoody to ward off the chill, set my eyes on the ground, and follow one foot with the other until I’m inside where it’s warm.
The warmth hits me like a wall, complete with the smell of too many people in a too-small space, and the sickly sweet rotting lime smell from the bar runners that I know you can’t get rid of, no matter how much Gunnar cleans.
He’s nowhere to be seen right now, and neither is Tobias, which makes me breathe a sigh of release.
It’s just Sav and Kasia behind the bar, and they’re both judgey motherfuckers but at least they’ll keep shit to themselves.
I walk up to the bar on instinct, taking up an empty barstool and studying the taps, despite the fact that I told myself I was going to just chill by myself in a corner.
Fuck it.
“What’ll it be, pretty boy?”
The words sound like they should be a compliment, but something about Kasia’s wry tone and permanently disdainful expression makes it clear the nickname is an insult. I’ll take it anyway.
“Draft and a shot, please,” I say, trying to not look ashamed as I say it.
I don’t think I succeed, because she arches an eyebrow at me before quickly deciding she doesn’t care about whatever shifty shit my expression is doing.
That’s probably a key part of surviving as a bartender, at least in a small town like this.
Distancing yourself from the shit you know everybody gets up to.
“You care what it is?” she asks.
“Whatever. Well.”
I really, really don’t care. I just want to arrest the momentum in my spinning brain for a hot minute.
Of course, Kasia makes me regret this choice immediately, because she pours me an IPA—why do they even have this? Who the fuck drinks this by choice, it tastes like beer soup—and a shot of sambuca.
It’s fine. I probably deserve this.
Even if there’s no way they keep well sambuca on hand and this is just her fucking with me for fun. I take half the shot, try not to grimace too much and fail, based on her bemused expression, and chase it with the beer soup.
“Another?” she asks.
“I’m good for now. Thank you for your hospitality.”
There’s a split-second where I think the Funyuns weren’t enough and my stomach lurches, but a couple deep breaths suppress the issue and I go back to my beer.
Fuck it. I just pour the rest of the sambuca in the IPA. It can’t make it any worse.
“Make sure your appreciation is reflected in your tip,” she says, before walking away to serve someone else.
I already over-tip her, because I’m a little afraid of what she’d do if I didn’t. Just like everyone else in here, I assume.
The drink I’ve made is disgusting, but it’s strong, at least, so it goes down smoother than I’d feared.
By the time I’m finishing the glass, my head is pleasantly swimmy and I’m feeling the tug of sleepiness again.
Maybe this was enough. A little space was all I needed.
Maybe I should go home and go back to bed.
Or maybe if I wait until it’s late enough, Silas will be asleep and I can just sneak in, putting off any potential conversation until the morning.
Yeah, I’ll shower, crawl into bed and then snuggle the shit out of him in his sleep. I think we both need that right now. Less talking, more human blanket.
There’s a dark, discomfiting feeling shrouding me all of a sudden, and my sleep-deprived brain takes longer than it should to realize Sav is standing in front of me now. Not saying anything, just standing in Kasia’s section, looking down at me like some kind of stone guardian in a fantasy movie.
When I look up, he stares me down, and it’s just as uncomfortable as I imagined. I honestly don’t get how he and Micah work, and I feel like their sex life is probably terrifying. I don’t know why I think that, just vibes.
“No buddies, today?” he asks in a neutral tone.
Is he getting at something? Or is this because the last time I was in here I started a huge fight and got the cops called?
“Uh, no. Why?”
Sav shakes his head and crosses his arms, and I get the feeling this is done specifically to intimidate me. Well, his biceps are huge and he’s covered in tattoos that are definitely gang shit, so yeah.
Consider me suitably intimidated.
I came out here to get away from feeling judged, and instead I’m being stared down by the pit bull of Possum Hollow. It’s causing a creeping unease in my gut that feels too close to what guilt feels like, and I don’t fucking care for it.
In fact, that feeling combines with the liquor enough to make me surly.
“Do you have something to say, Sav? Or can a man not have a fucking drink in peace?”
I think I sound tough when I say it. He arches an eyebrow at me in an echo of the way Kasia did a minute ago, not saying anything, and it pisses me the fuck off. Why does everybody keep looking at me like they’re seeing something I don’t know?
Sav finally speaks after an awkward silence, his voice a quiet rumble across the bar.
“Make sure it stays peaceful. This is Gunnar’s place, and he doesn’t deserve you tearing it up. He’s put up with enough from this town.”
I don’t know what he’s specifically talking about.
Well, I can guess. I’ve been called here on the job to some less than savory situations, more than one of which involved Tobias and all the shit he never deserved.
But still, it’s nice to know I make one goddamn mistake and everybody writes me off as a problem.
“No drama from me. Can I get a beer?” I was ready to pack up shop before, but now he’s irritated me and I need to calm down again before I go home to Silas. “And not whatever the fuck Kasia gave me. A normal beer. Please.”
“Coming right up.”
He pulls a glass off a stack and brings it to the tap.
The entire time the glass is filling it up, he stares at me.
His face is carefully neutral, and I’m used to being around Silas who has absolutely no internal gauge for what is an appropriate amount of eye contact.
That doesn’t bother me, because it’s just how he is.
This feels pointed and deliberate. It’s also possibly the most Sav and I have ever interacted. I don’t know what he’s trying to accomplish here, but it’s clearly something.
The stink eye continues as he places the full glass in front of me, a little sloshing out to slide down the side.
At this point, I’m determined not to let him know he’s getting to me, so instead of looking away, I stare right back at him and ostentatiously lick the spill off the side before taking several gulps.
His eyes narrow, like he’s not sure what I’m trying to do here—newsflash buddy, me neither—but there’s a slightly uncomfortable shift to his posture and he finally looks away.
I take a few more deep sips, letting it calm me and walk myself back from this weird interaction. I just need to reclaim the peacefulness I was beginning to feel before, and then I’ll be good to call it a night.
“Cade!”
The voice that pierces the general din of the crowd and music is one that I’d recognize anywhere. I keep the glass to my face, intently swallowing the rest of it before a very tiny tornado of affection slams into me.
“I didn’t expect you to be here!” Wish says a hair too loud, like she’s already drunk herself.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
I move to throw some cash on the bar and bounce, but then realize I’m an idiot with empty pockets and I’ll need to take the time to pay by card.
“Can I close out?” I ask Sav quickly, and he eventually nods and goes to get my check.
“I’m not here. I just wanted a quick drink after work, I gotta get home.”
When I finally turn and look Wish in the eye, her head is cocked to the side and she’s looking me up and down.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice sinking as her whole demeanor shifts to something serious.
Putting a smile on my face feels like clawing out a piece of skin from my insides to slap it over my outsides, but I do it. I think it’s even convincing. One megawatt, charming smile to throw the emotional bloodhound off my scent.
I follow it with a big yawn, which is only a little fake.
“Yeah, I’m just tired. I’ve been on nights.”
Wish looks from side to side, taking in my lack of company.
“Where’s Silas?”
“At home. We have the girls right now. My dad’s in town and he’s shacked up at the trailer with my mom and a literal hooker who apparently bankrolled his attempt to flee Alabama.
It’s a whole thing. I would have told you about it, but I didn’t want to distract you from your big expo debut. How was it?”
“Awesome,” she says, enthusiastic for only a second before her brows dip and she ingests everything I said. “Shit, is everything okay? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. You know you could have interrupted me for this. I only got into town this afternoon, I was going to hit you up tomorrow.”
Another wrung-out fake smile flits across my face, and I reach out to squeeze her shoulder in an attempt to sell it.
“Nah, it’s not a big deal. You know what he’s like, it’ll blow over soon. We’re all good.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but Kasia interrupts to put down the check that Sav obviously couldn’t be fucked to walk back over here, and ask Wish if she wants a drink.
“Whiskey soda, please,” she says, eyeing my check.
I cover it quickly with my debit card and slide it to Kasia before she can walk away.
The last thing I need is Wish getting on me about having two fucking drinks—okay, two drinks and a shot, but sambuca doesn’t count—and driving, as if two-thirds of the people in here won’t be driving themselves home tonight.
Just because it’s normalized doesn’t mean it’s normal.
It’s been her favorite phrase for a while, and I hate it. Just because she’s right doesn’t mean it isn’t exhausting. I love my best friend, but the thought of being near her when I’m trying to unravel is too much. Too much goodness. I just need to be alone.
Fuck it. There are other bars in this town. Ones where I won’t run into anyone who cares about me, and I’ll be left alone. I just want one more drink, and then I’ll go home. And I’ll eat something.
Just a little more time to clear my head.