Chapter Fifty-Two
Grizz
I take another shot, though I’m certain it’ll do nothing. I’m so fucked in the head that no matter how much I drink, I’m not getting drunk. I’m not forgetting my problems, just getting a sour stomach.
“Why the fuck ain’t this working?” I grumble, slamming the glass on the counter top.
“Chill out with that shit,” Trudy says. “You’re going to break the damn thing.”
I grunt in response, as she walks over to fill it up again.
She’s the bartender at our bar—has been for years. No one disrespects her; we all know better than that. She’s here every day, serving us up, and outside of her pay check, she asks for nothing.
The front door opens and closes loudly, and then someone sits beside me. I know by the size alone that it’s Snapper.
“How is she?” I ask, reaching for the glass of amber liquid but not bringing it to my lips.
“You want the honest truth?”
Trudy sets down a glass of bourbon in front of him. He lifts it to his mouth and smells it before taking a small sip. The glass is placed back onto the counter top, and he stays facing forward, not looking at me but waiting for a response.
Do I want the truth?
Yeah, I fucking do. And I want it to hurt. Because if she’s hurting, I should hurt too. It’s the least of what I deserve after what I did to her. Even though I didn’t cheat like she thinks, I still fucked up. I still lied.
But the real solution to this problem is to make it all go away. To make up. To tell her the truth and let her see that I didn’t do this on purpose, and that even though maybe I’m the reason he came back, he came here on his own first. That’s why I went after him. But she’s not ready to hear that.
“Yes,” I finally say, taking the shot.
“She’s surviving.”
That’s one of the worst answers he could have given me. Had he said she was good, I’d be happy for her. She’s figuring out how to deal with this. Had he said she was a mess, that’s also easy to decipher. She’s upset, as she should be.
But surviving? She’s forcing herself to get by. Pretending to be okay when she’s not. That’s… fucking awful.
“I need to see her.”
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“Then make her want to see me!” I bark, slamming my fist onto the table.
Snapper doesn’t flinch.
“You know even if I could do that, I wouldn’t.”
“That’s fucked coming from you,” I growl, turning to face him. “You did this too. Does she even know that?” My anger is coming to the surface now. I’m tired of this mess, and I’m tired of missing her. I want her back.
“Nope. And she never will. Want to know why?” I’m furious now.
“Because you won’t hurt her more, and we both know giving her that information will destroy her.
I’m all she has right now, and you won’t take that away.
Besides, her finding that out will change nothing.
It’ll only make her angry at all of us, then who knows what will happen. ”
“You’re a conniving little fuck, you know that?”
He shrugs a shoulder, then reaches for his drink again. “I do what I have to do.”
“Fuck you, Snapper.”
“You wish.”
I’m drunk enough that I can’t drive, so I do the next best thing and start walking my ass home.
Right in the middle of the road, where the least amount of snow and ice is.
And right where I’m most likely to get run over.
Would it be the worst thing? No one would miss me.
No one gives a fuck. Which is why I’m walking home rather than having a ride.
No one answers the damn phone around here.
It’s cold as fuck outside, but at least it’s not windy or snowing any more. Though, with my luck, it’ll start up real soon again. I hear the crunch of tires on packed snow before I see the damn thing. It almost hits me. Or maybe I almost hit it.
“Get in, you prick.”
I don’t know who that is, or why they’re calling me a prick. I didn’t do anything to them.
I keep walking, hunching my shoulders because it’s fucking freezing.
“Griswold, get in the fucking truck.”
I lift my head, frowning at the truck. No one calls me that. No one except—
Tommy jumps out of the truck and storms toward me, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the truck. I slip, falling down to my knees. The cold and wet soaks into my jeans.
“Get up,” he growls, pulling me up, but I slip and go down again.
“Just leave me,” I say, my teeth chattering.
He gets both arms under mine and grunts as he hoists me up so I’m on my feet.
“I’m too old for this shit, asshole. Get in… the damn truck.”
He uses all of his strength to get me to the other side of the truck and inside. The heat feels like it’s unfreezing my skin, and it burns more than it feels good.
The truck door slams shut, hitting my elbow, but I hardly feel the pain there.
“How’d you find me?” I mumble when the truck starts moving. “I called you, but you didn’t answer.”
“Your phone is dead, you dumbass.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Trudy called me. Said you were trying to call me on a dead cell.”
“No the fuck I did not.”
“Whatever, Grizz. Just shut up.”
He’s so mad at me, and I don’t understand why. I didn’t do anything to him. I’ve been minding my own business at the bar, drinking. Barely even go home anymore, that way he and Kelsey can have privacy.
“Take me to see her.”
He sighs, his voice softening. “You know I can’t do that.”
“You can, you just don’t want to.”
“Fine. You’re right. I don’t want to. She doesn’t need to see you like this. You’re going to go home, sleep it off, get your shit together, and maybe talk to her then.”
I grumble something that comes out jumbled, then my eyes fall closed and only open again when Tommy shakes me awake.
I fall up the steps, stumble to my bed, drop into it, and fall asleep to the smell of Anastacia on my pillow.