Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
ROSCOE
That fucking asshole kid of mine.
I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s always been like this.
I know, it’s terrible of me, being his dad and all—but it’s not surprising in the least that he would treat his sweet, soft-eyed girlfriend like this.
I’ve always thought she’s much too nice, too good for him, though I’d never say it out loud.
I was surprised the first time I met her and Jason said, This is my girlfriend, Em.
Someone this kind and gentle had taken on Jason? At the time, I thought it’d be good for him, that it might push him out of his self-indulgent, arrogant persona and into his adult self. At the time, I never thought what a toll that would take on her.
He doesn’t know how good he had it.
I put on my best impression of a smiling face as everyone finishes their drinks at the bar and pays up.
I like how Emelia’s friends rallied by her side to give her a fun night out on the town.
Maybe I’m a bit of a douchebag for inviting myself along when this really should be a young person’s game, but at the same time, I feel like I should make up to her for how horrible Jason was tonight.
As the representative of the Daniels family.
Maybe I can help Emelia forget about my dickhead kid for one night, and then I’ll never see her again.
It feels like a fitting farewell for all the lovely Christmases and Fourth of Julys we’ve had as a family.
I’ve always enjoyed her company—she’s honest and genuine, but never mean or harsh.
It’s not a common trait in people nowadays, to be so authentic and kind without trying.
But Emelia has one face, her real face, and she always wears it.
I can admire that in a person.
The night air is perfectly warm, the ideal summer evening, with just a faint breeze.
I wore my nice leather jacket tonight, which I’m sure I’ll regret when we get to the club and there are bodies pressed in all around me.
But I don’t trust a coat check. My jacket’s been with me ever since I became what I am.
The kids chitchat while we walk. Though I don’t add to the conversation, I do stay close by Emelia. It isn’t cold, but her arms are wrapped tight around herself, and I can’t tell if she’s cold or sad.
Probably both. I should offer her my coat, but it’s only a few blocks to the club, since we can hear it two streets over. There’s a short line out front, and we get in it with Emelia at the front.
“You been cryin’, babe?” asks the bouncer, a big ogre with a single horn on his forehead, frowning down at her from his stool as he looks over her ID.
“A little,” she admits.
“I hope your night gets better.” He glances at me as I approach. “Oh, I don’t need your ID. But you’re not the one who made this girl cry, right?”
I shake my head. “It was my son.”
The bouncer stares at me, then snorts and waves for us to go inside.
We beeline for the bar, and now it’s my turn to buy her a drink.
“Ready?” I ask, as her friends get IDed out by the door.
“For what?”
I wave a hand, and a bartender immediately comes over. “For a great night. Can you grab this woman an amber ale, please? One for me, too.”
He nods and takes off.
“How did you know?” Emelia asks. “About the amber ale?”
“You always order it at dinner. And you keep some at Jason’s house.”
Yeah, so maybe I pay too close of attention to Emelia’s habits.
I also know that she loves fried chicken more than anything—not like microwave chicken tenders, but real, honest-to-god triple-dipped fried chicken—and she’s really not a cocktail person unless someone puts it in front of her.
Then she smiles and nods like she did tonight.
It’s too bad I won’t see her again after this. I discovered a really great chicken and waffles place on the other end of town that I’m sure she doesn’t know about. Maybe I’ll tell her before we wrap up.
“Huh.” She gives an approving nod as the beer arrives. “Thanks, Roscoe.”
“No problem.”
We take our plastic cups as the rest of the cavalry arrives.
Once everyone’s got a drink, we head toward the open area near the DJ where people are dancing and lights are flashing.
It’s not really my thing to get up on the dance floor and shake it, so I head off to one side to grab a table and sit down, planning to people watch for a few hours.
I’m surprised when Emelia joins me, as do her two friends, Harry and Arin. I made a point of introducing myself to each of them and repeating their names a few times until I had them memorized.
“You should be dancing,” I tell Emelia. “Getting messy. That’s what you call it now, right?”
“I hate dancing with a drink. I’d rather drink the drink, then go get messy on the dance floor.”
Hm. I have to admit it makes sense.
We watch the other three, who introduced themselves as Becks, Kim, and Kimmy, head out into the throng, waving at us as they go by. Look at me, remembering all those names. Emelia waves back, sipping her beer.
“Thanks for the drink,” she says, as if we’ve run out of things to say to each other that aren’t about Jason.
“No problem. I’ve been working a lot of overtime, so it’s not a big deal.”
“Are you still with that surveying company?” she asks. Ah, so she remembers. I think I’ve only mentioned what I do once or twice, because Jason is usually dominating the conversation. That boy loves to talk about himself.
“Sure am. We’ve been busy lately. Lots of new construction.”
She nods. “The city’s growing fast. It’s kind of sad to see—all these fun old spots going away and becoming apartment buildings.”
Interesting. So she’s not in favor of development. I agree with her, but at the same time, it’s my job and has been my whole adult life.
“You missed about a dozen others before you got here,” I tell her. “The city is always changing. You can’t stop it. But new places to enjoy will pop up somewhere else.”
“Yeah, but the history. Like Elroy’s. There’s something special about that bar. I think this town would lose something if it disappeared and became a high-rise.”
I see where she’s coming from, and I appreciate that she’s concerned with such things.
“But there’s a big demand for housing, too,” I say. “Rent is skyrocketing and everyone needs a place to live. We can expand up, or we can expand out. If we expand out, we take more land away from wild areas. I would rather go up.”
Her mouth opens like she’s going to speak, but then she closes it again, tilting her head at me.
“Good point,” she finally says.
I nod. “Cities are actually very smart in that way. If we were really the advanced species we think we are, everyone would live in a massive apartment building that recycles water through a series of fish tanks and plant nurseries.”
Wow, I sound like a goddamned geek. But both Emelia and Arin are listening raptly while Harry plays around on his phone.
Men these days.
“That makes sense,” Arin says after a moment. “I agree with you now, I think.”
“But I just hope they don’t take Elroy’s,” Emelia adds. “Any place but Elroy’s you can turn into a skyscraper, okay, Roscoe?”
I laugh. “Not my decision, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
After a few more minutes of chatter, Emelia finishes her beer. I’ve already polished off mine, as experienced as I am in drinking a lot of beer way too fast, and so I get up to fetch us more.
“Yeah!” Emelia says, hopping to her feet. “I didn’t think you’d want to go out and dance.”
Looking at her radiant smile, her eyes still red from crying, I don’t have the heart to tell her I was just heading over to the bar to refill.
“Sure,” I say. “I’m an old man, but I can dance.”
Her smile fades. “You’re not old. I don’t know why you’d call yourself that.”
She seems almost… affronted.
“I’m approximately twenty-one years older than you are,” I say. “That’s when Julie and I had Jason.”
Emilia gets a look on her face like she just ate a lemon. “I don’t want to think about Jason right now.” She grabs the sleeve of my leather jacket and pulls on it. “Let’s go out there and see how those joints of yours move.”
The dance floor is packed densely enough now that we have trouble finding her friends, so eventually, we give up.
Instead, Emelia and I dance awkwardly side by side, simply grooving with the music while others dance far more wildly around us.
A couple nearby are face to face, making out while they rub their hips together.
I was never much of a dancer in my heyday, either. But I did like that part of it—holding someone while you both rock in time with the music. It reminds me of my wedding to Julie, when we were still happy together.
Before the bite.
“Roscoe?” Emelia calls over the pounding music. “Are you okay?”
“Just thinking.”
“I am, too.” Her eyes are misty again, and that’s not good. She should be distracted, but her friends aren’t here—so that leaves it up to me.
I take her hand in mine, glancing down at her for permission. She nods, so I loop my other arm around her back.
“This is the only dancing I know how to do,” I tell her as I bring her in a bit closer, but not too close. “It’s probably not what you’re looking for.”
She shakes her head, both eyebrows up to her hair. “No, no, this is fine.”
We dance along to the music that way, probably looking like a couple in our sixties trying to groove with the cool kids. But eventually, I feel Emelia’s hand relax in mine, and her own arm snakes around my waist.
“Hey, thanks,” she says.
“For what?”
“For keeping me company. We lost Arin, never found the Kims, and who knows where Becks went.” She sighs. “I still can’t believe it.”
I nod, just listening to her over the frantic beating of the speakers.
“It’s like it meant nothing to him. Nothing at all. He couldn’t have cared less.” She sniffles, leaning her head against my chest. “I knew it, I think. That he had other people. Deep in my gut. But I wasn’t willing to admit it.”
I’m sick to my stomach, thinking that my own kid would behave so callously toward someone as gentle as Emelia.
“I feel like somehow, it’s my fault,” I say with a sigh. “I raised that kid. There must be a reason, something I did.”
“Sometimes nature is stronger than nurture.” Emelia puts a hand on my chest to comfort me. “I’m sure you did your best.”
I just want to hold her tighter as she starts sniffling again, but I don’t want to cross any lines while we dance here politely. But then Emelia turns her face to cry into my jacket, and I pull the sides away so she can reach my shirt, which is much softer.
She sniffles, then takes the invitation and wraps both arms around me as she cries against my chest. I close the jacket around her, rocking her back and forth to the beat of the music.
Eventually, her sobbing slows down, and she backs away from me, rubbing her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Emelia says, a sad smile lifting her lips on one side. “I got your shirt soaking wet.”
“It’s fine.” I close the jacket again now that she’s put some distance between us. “Do you feel better?”
She laughs. “No. Not really. I need to drink more.”
I smirk and pull out my wallet. “I can help with that.”