Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Ringing Any Bells?
Forest
Surprising nobody, Beck and I have trouble seeing each other for a while after our eventful night together.
It’s not all my fault. The Ice Cats take a couple of road trips. I receive chipper texts from Grand Rapids and then from San Jose.
Beck
Did you know Eggo waffles were invented in San Jose? And Chuck E Cheese. Also, the band Smashmouth is from here.
Holy shit! They have a life-size monopoly board!
Then, a couple hours later, I get a photo of Beck and Rigsy standing on Park Place beside a pair of giant dice in the sunshine.
Beck looks so fucking happy. Even though he deserves a reply, I have nothing fun to add to the conversation.
I’m busy plowing the bar’s parking lot with a truck that makes a horrible grinding sound.
We just got a foot of snow, and it’s heavy, wet stuff.
The lights on my truck dashboard flicker every time I engage the plow.
Even worse—the weather is so bad that receipts in the bar are down. People don’t want to slog through the cold and the snow after work, I guess.
Also, Charlie flunked a math test. He needs tutoring, so now Ruby and I are bickering about whose fault it is and what we’re going to do about it.
“He failed, Seth,” Ruby’d hollered on the phone. “He got a forty-seven percent! We don’t fail subjects in this family.”
“It’s middle school,” I’d sputtered at her. “And it’s one test, not a subject.”
She hadn’t been soothed by this clarification. Now she’s on the warpath, and we’re both unsure how to find a tutor.
The subtext, unless I’m projecting, is that math-flunking genes are from my side of Charlie’s genetics, and I should really be more concerned.
When Beck returns from his trips, my schedule doesn’t magically clear. The bartender that I eventually hire lasts three shifts before moving to L.A. with his new boyfriend.
So now I’m interviewing bartenders again, and covering shifts that I thought would be someone else’s problem.
And then everything gets suddenly worse one cloudy afternoon as I’m cruising toward the grocery store.
I press the gas pedal and get nothing but a horrible metal-on-metal shriek while the RPMs spin uselessly.
I manage to coast into a Walmart parking lot before the thing seizes up completely, steam rising from under the hood like a funeral pyre. I sit there for a long moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel, watching other people go about their normal lives while mine officially falls apart.
Two hours later, I’m waiting in the mechanic’s shop, hoping for a miracle.
“Have a cup of coffee,” Craig says when he catches me staring into the garage again. “Give us a minute to take a look.”
I’m too keyed up for coffee, so I take a seat in one of the unoccupied chairs and unlock my phone. I find texts from three people. One is my ex. One is Scully. And the other one is Beck.
I’d like to open them in reverse order, but duty calls.
Ruby
Hey Forest, I’m sorry but I might need a favor. Another doctor is down with the flu so I can’t get away. You need to pick up Charlie after hockey, and I’ll get to your place when I can.
That’s how she does these things—it’s an order, not a request.
I check the time. Practice ends in less than an hour. Shit.
Moving on to Scully’s text, he asks if I can fill in tonight. The easy answer is no. I’ve worked so many nights lately that I am practically making drinks in my sleep. But I could really use the money.
Except… If I have to pick up Charlie, then I won’t be able to open the bar. And if my truck is toast, I don’t know how I’ll pick him up at all.
I stand up and do a lap around the waiting room, peering into the bay again as if somehow it would move things along faster.
Then I read Beck’s message, because I could really use a smile right now.
Beck
Hi, remember me? I pop up in your texts once a day or so. And sometimes I suck your dick? Ringing any bells?
Uh-oh. I have been awfully uncommunicative this week.
Just wanted you to know I’m back in town. And free to see you. In case you missed it when I said that last night. And a couple hours ago.
Even a thumbs up would be an improvement at this point.
Actually it probably wouldn’t. I hate that fucker.
I let out a quiet groan. There’s no part of me that wouldn’t like a night with Beck and his adventurous hands. And, if I’m honest, I want the following morning, too. Coffee in bed. His wacky sense of humor. A few hours with him feels like taking a two week vacation from my life.
But my current reality is this expensive repair shop and maybe an extra shift at work.
Forest
So sorry. Tonight isn’t going to work out. Wish that weren’t the case.
He starts typing a response immediately, like maybe he’s been waiting for my text. So I feel even worse.
Beck
OK. I get it. But Wednesday is your inviolable monthly poker night. And Thursday I’m already gone on my road trip. So I guess I’ll see you next week.
I mean, I hope I will.
Oof. I sink down on a chair. Then I google inviolable. It means never to be broken, infringed, or dishonored.
Yeah, I guess he would see it that way. He doesn’t realize that this poker game is my last link to my former life—the one where I worked a corporate job and was married to a woman. The poker guys are my Dad Friends—the club of divorced dads who all have kids in the youth hockey program.
The thing is? I need those guys for this whole it-takes-a-village thing. In fact, I might be calling one of them in the next few minutes to beg him to pick up Charlie from practice.
I start composing another text. I’m sorry. I had some hiccups this week but hopefully I’ll be more fun by the time you get back from your next road trip.
But then my thumb hovers over the Send button. I can’t bring myself to hit it. I reread the text and realize I’m still keeping Beck on ice, still keeping my distance despite the fact I know it hurts him.
He deserves better.
I pull up his number in my call log.
“Hey, Forest?”
My chin jerks up to find Craig standing in front of me. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got some bad news and some just irritating news.”
Fuck. “Hit me with it.”
“Your transmission is toast. And fixing it is going to cost more than you should pay. Also, your axel is cracked. It’s time, man. We gotta take ’er out back and shoot ’er.”
My stomach drops again. “I see. That better be the bad news. What’s the irritating part?”
“I won’t have a rental vehicle available for…” He looks at his watch. “Another hour and a half. But then I can put you in a Honda CRV, at least for a few days. Give you time to buy a truck or negotiate a lease.”
My bank account lets out a painful whimper. “Right. I see.”
He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. “Save me a seat at the bar for Friday night’s game, and I’ll give you a house discount on the rental.”
I force a smile, because Craig is the best. It’s not his fault my life is a dumpster fire. “Sure thing, boss.”
He leaves me alone again with my troubled thoughts. I’ve got more issues to deal with, including Beck. No time like the present. I tap his number.
He answers after just one ring. “Hey. An actual phone call? Damn.”
The sound of his voice makes me close my eyes. I can picture him with his lanky legs crossed on the coffee table, thinking deep thoughts. “Hi. How are you?”
“Kinda bored,” he says. “I’m not allowed to practice this week. Muscle strain.”
“Oh shit,” I breathe. “Where?”
He chuckles. “My groin, if you must know. It’s not serious. The trainers are just resting me. Honestly, I’m taking all their caution as a win. They want me to start against Texas on Friday.”
“Ah.”
“What, no groin jokes? I expected more from you.”
He’s teasing, but I find it sobering. Just do it, Forrester. He deserves better.
I inhale.