6. Player
Chapter six
Player
Late that night, I stop by The Rusty Pelican. When I walk in, it's not crowded. Spring break doesn’t start until next week, so this is most likely the lull before the storm.
I take a seat at the bar and scope the room, but there’s no sign of Taylor. A bartender I don’t know tosses a coaster on the bar top in front of me.
“What can I get you?”
“Give me an orange crush.”
“Yes, sir. Coming right up.”
I watch him make it. Filling my glass with orange juice, then tipping the vodka bottle, adding Triple Sec and a splash of Sprite.
He sets it in front of me.
“Thanks,” I say, and he takes my twenty to make change.
When he returns, I pull the stir stick from my mouth. “Taylor here?”
“I think she left, but here comes her sister.” He steps away, and my head turns to see Kayla. Great. She hasn’t liked me since I broke her sister’s heart. Guess I can’t blame her.
She approaches me, bold as brass.
“He was asking for Taylor,” the bartender says.
“I’m sure he was. Thanks, Hal.”
Yeah, thanks Helpful Hal. I sigh, positive she’s about to tell me to hit the road. Her eyes search mine, and I wait, ready for the vitriol I know is coming.
“She needs you,” Kayla whispers.
I’m so stunned I pull the stir stick from my mouth, but no words come. It’s like my brain just froze. At the same time, a million questions zing through it. But a part of me is wondering if she’s just fucking with me.
“But not if you’re just going to hurt her,” Kayla adds.
“What’s wrong? I mean, she told me your mother was ill. Is that it?”
Kayla picks up a rag and starts wiping the bar top. “That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part?” My mind is reeling now, filling in the blanks with a thousand scenarios.
“She needs a friend, is all,” she says, but I don’t buy for a minute that’s the answer.
“I never meant to hurt her. The last thing I want is to cause that girl pain.” I know Kayla is a hurdle I’ll have to get past if I have any hope of seeing Taylor.
“I hope you mean that, because she can’t take any more of that right now.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I exhale. “We had words earlier. It didn’t go the way I wanted it to go. I didn’t mean to piss her off, but I did.”
“I know. She told me.”
“It was a shock seeing her today at the cemetery.”
The motion of the rag on the bar stills. “She was at the cemetery today?”
“Yeah. Went to pay our respects to Dozer, and she was standing at his grave.”
Kayla’s eyes slide closed. “Shit. Was that today? I’ve been so busy. No wonder she was a basket case.”
I don’t like hearing those words. Taylor has always been so strong in my eyes. “Is there something else?” I ask. “Something you’re not telling me?”
“There’s a lot I’m not telling you. Whether you ever deserve to know depends on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the proof is in the pudding. We’ll see if you stick around long enough to find out.”
“I hate when women talk in riddles,” I mutter.
“One thing you are not, Josh Colton, is stupid. You’ll figure it out.”
With that, she walks away. Mama taught me well when a woman uses your full God-given name you better shape up.
I haven’t been called Josh in years.
She turns and looks over her shoulder. “Maybe this time you won’t give up on her.”
I feel that blow like a fist to my chest. Guilty as charged.
This time I am not giving up on her.
I sip my drink, and the bartender brings me a piece of paper.
“Kayla said to give you this.”
I unfold it and scan the handwritten scribble. It’s Taylor’s work schedule and Kayla’s phone number with the words: in case you need any help. I glance back and see her watching me from the hallway. When I grin, she turns and walks off.
Stuffing it into my pocket, I polish off my drink and stand.
Walking outside, I swing my leg over my bike. I’ve ridden all up and down the roads today, but with that schedule tucked in my pocket and apparently Kayla’s blessing, I feel renewed.
My phone goes off, and I read the text.
BECK: Pony and I are at your house. Bring more beer.
I roll my eyes and add a stop at the gas station to my route, then pull out.
Twenty minutes later, I coast up my drive and climb from my bike, pulling a twelve-pack from my saddlebag and heading inside.
I find them on the back deck, smoking a joint at the table. I pass them each a beer and set the pack in the middle of the glass top.
“I suppose I know what this is about,” I say.
“Has Dad lost his mind?” Pony spits out, passing me the joint.
I take a toke and lean back. “It’s a done deal, boys. Let it go.”
“He wants us to help him pack the house up Saturday,” Beck says, taking the joint from me. “You believe that? That’s gonna suck.”
“Because you’ve gotta work?” I ask with a smirk.
“No, asshole, because we’ll be packing our childhood, and we’ll never see that house again. Mom’s not buried in the ground. She’s in that house.”
“Ma’s gone, Beck,” Pony says.
My eyes hit his. “No, she’s not, little brother. She’s here.” I slap my chest. “She’s in all of us.”
It’s not the answer he wants, but it’s all I’ve got.
Beck changes the subject. “Weird seeing Taylor again today, huh?”
“Yeah. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head all day.”
“You thinkin’ about takin’ up with her again?” Pony asks.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
Beck chuckles.
“What?” I ask.
“I’ve known you my whole life, Player. One thing you ain’t is wishy-washy. You either are or you aren’t. And I’m betting you've already decided.”
“After what happened to Debbie, I’m not so sure. Last thing I want is to pull Taylor into this life and have something happen to her.”
“Bad things happen to people. Car crashes, illnesses, crime… You can’t stop living because you’re afraid.”
“Oh really? When’s the last time you went to a movie theater? That mass shooting at the metroplex got to you, and you haven’t been to one since.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “That’s different.”
“Bullshit.”
“I get your point,” Pony says. “But I always liked Taylor. She was cool.”
My eyes hit his. “You had a little puppy-dog crush on her back then.”
“Well hell, I was only twelve, and she was hot.”
We sit quietly and drink our beer and pass the joint around again. It’s chilly, but there are a million stars out. I lean back and feel the buzz hit me. Then lift my beer in toast. “To Ma.”
“To Ma,” they both repeat.
We sit quietly for a while longer.
“So, what’s the plan?” Beck asks.
“Guess we’re moving furniture Saturday,” I reply.
They both groan.
“I’m goin’ to bed, boys. You’re welcome to the couch and recliner.” With that, I stand and trudge inside. I pass a letter on the counter—the one from my landlord informing me I have until the end of the month to move out or sign a new lease.
Slumping on my bed, I scroll on my phone, looking for listings. My subconscious mind has me zeroing in on Dewey Beach near the Rusty Pelican. There’s a two-bedroom condo with a view of the marina available. I screen shot it and make a plan to ride by it tomorrow.
If things don’t work out, it’s got a great location, and I could always use it for income property.
Way to be positive, my brain argues.
I close my eyes and toss my phone onto the nightstand.
I’ve got a plan; tomorrow I’ll put it in motion.