42. Chapter 42
Chapter 42
Five years ago
A few hours after David signed his divorce papers, he found himself outside a bar called Three Amigos. He probably should be somewhere eating dinner, but finding a restaurant was too much trouble at that moment in time. He’d gotten calls from his mom, along with Miles, Alex, and Nate, but didn’t want to talk to any of them—especially not his mom, who loved Paige deeply.
Don’t think about Paige. Don’t think about Paige.
Pushing open the front door, David went inside, surprised to find a clean, nice establishment that didn’t smell like spilled beer or dirty socks. For a moment, he thought about taking one of the booths along the walls where he could hide but he changed his mind and headed for the bar, instead. He wound his way through high-top tables with leather padded chairs, only a few of which were occupied at the relatively early hour, and dodged a waitress who smiled at him.
At the long, wooden bar, he slid onto a stool at the far end and within a minute the lone bartender was standing in front of him. He was tall, with wavy, reddish-brown hair and dark brown eyes, wearing a red T-shirt with ‘Three Amigos’ silk-screened across the front in black letters.
“Didn’t this place used to be called Malone’s, or something like that?” David asked.
“It did,” the bartender said. “It used to be my old man’s, but when he died last year, my brother, sister, and I changed the name when we became the new owners. Re-branding is the big thing nowadays. And I just totally sounded like my old man by using the word ‘nowadays’.”
For a moment, the bartender looked utterly appalled, but then he shook it off. “What about you? When do you sound like your old man?”
The question took David by surprise, and he answered honestly, before he could engage his filter. “I don’t know if I ever do. He left before I was born.”
“Really? What an implacable asshole,” the bartender said with a frown, crossing his arms over his chest. “Although, at the risk of sounding like an implacable asshole myself, let me say that a man who bails on his kid like that isn’t necessarily a man you want around, anyway. All in all, he probably did you a favor, know what I mean?”
“That’s one way to spin it,” David mused and then tilted his head. “Implacable?”
“It’s from my Word-of-the-Day app. It was actually yesterday’s word, but I wasn’t able to use it then. And today’s word doesn’t look good for today, either.”
“What’s today’s word?”
“Oligarch.”
David laughed for the first time in what seemed like forever and felt his chest loosen a tiny bit.
The bartender laughed with him before extending a hand. “I’m Evan Malone.”
David shook it. “David Lowe.”
“So what can I get for you, David?” Evan asked.
“A double bourbon,” David said, then added, “Knob Creek.”
“Neat, or on the rocks?”
“Neat.”
“You got it.”
Evan pulled a short glass from somewhere under the bar, then went to grab the bottle of Knob Creek off one of the glass shelves attached to the mirrored wall behind him. As he turned, David saw a silk-screened caricature on the back of Evan’s shirt, of what appeared to be Evan, his sister, and his brother in various stages of abusing one another. The small boy was kicking the big boy’s shin, who in turn was pulling the girl’s hair, who in turn had the small boy in a headlock and was giving him a noogie.
“Three Amigos,” David said to Evan’s back. “There’s three of you … I get it. Are you the one getting the noogie?”
“That’s me. I’m the youngest and most shit on. Case in point: I didn’t get any say in these stupid shirts.”
“I think it’s funny, actually.”
“I thought Three Stooges was a more appropriate name for the bar, but I got voted down. The three of us aren’t always amigos, so I thought the name Three Amigos was kind of misleading,” Evan said, turning around. “In all honesty, we should’ve called the place ‘Two Brothers And A Sister Who Thinks She’s In Charge All The Fucking Time’, but that probably would’ve been hard to get on the T-shirts.”
“It also would’ve been hard to say when answering the phone,” David said.
Evan grabbed a square napkin and set it in front of David, along with his drink. “That, too. I hadn’t thought of that. Still, it would’ve been great for Evelyn to have to say it all the time.”
David wrapped both hands around the glass and stared at the amber liquid that made him think of Paige’s eyes for several moments, before taking a long drink; it went down smoothly, with a welcome burn. “Fuck, I needed that.”
Evan leaned on the bar. “So, what’s your story?” he asked conversationally.
“My story?”
“Yeah. Everyone has one.”
“Well … I got divorced today. That’s my story.”
“Shit. And here I was thinking you’d just come from a funeral.”
David laughed without humor, glancing down at what he was wearing—a gray button-down shirt and black slacks with uncomfortable dress shoes he’d worn maybe twice since he bought them several years ago. “I kind of did.”
“So, how long were you married?”
“Seven years, two months, and four days.”
David drank the rest of his bourbon, then stared at his empty glass and debated whether he needed another. The debate was very short, taking him less than five seconds to decide he did need another one, because he could still see Paige falling apart in the Goodman this was a different can of beans he was opening.
At the hotel, he paid for a room while ignoring the desk clerk’s somewhat judgmental expression at their lack of luggage and obvious lack of a real relationship, then bought condoms in a gift shop conveniently located off the lobby. After that, they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and walked in silence down what seemed like a never-ending hallway, the brightly colored carpet with its geometric pattern making him think of The Shining.
Which reminded him of Paige.
Once inside the room, there was no romance. There was no touching, or kissing, or whispered endearments as they shed their clothes with detached efficiency. When they were both down to their skin and he was looking at a naked woman who wasn’t his wife, he heard a voice in his head telling him to pause for a fucking second because he was on the verge of putting his cock in another woman—and if he did this, there would be no taking it back.
He ignored the voice as they laid down on the bed together and ignored it when he felt her thighs tangle with his and her hard nipples press against his chest. He ignored it when she wrapped her fingers around his cock and started stroking him and ignored it when he started to stir in response. He ignored it even more when she took up residence between his legs and replaced her fingers with her mouth.
But the moment she grabbed a condom and straddled his hips, shit got real.
The voice in his head was suddenly loud as fuck, making it impossible to ignore any longer. He put a hand out, stopping her from rolling the condom on. “I can’t do this,” he said softly, hearing the tremor in his voice.
It took her a second to catch up and she stared at him in absolute disbelief. “Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?” She stared down at him. “How about you take your sorry and fuck off with it?”
A heavy, ugly silence descended between them as the woman’s expression turned glacial and unforgiving. Climbing off him, she quickly began putting her clothes on, while David stared at the ceiling to avoid looking at her. A few minutes later she left without a word, letting the door say everything as it shut loudly behind her.
Alone in the room, he lay on the bed for several minutes feeling utterly shitty and depressed, unable to move. When David finally gathered the energy to sit up, he was met with a wave of nausea that he figured was God’s way of giving him the middle finger for his poor decision making in the last few hours. With a sigh, he began getting dressed for the second time that day in clothes he swore he would never wear again, and as he was pulling on his briefs, the wave of nausea turned into a tsunami.
He made it into the bathroom with just enough time to fall to his knees and purge his stomach of several glasses of expensive bourbon, making the worst day of his life complete. When he was done, he flushed the toilet with a shaky hand, then got to his feet and staggered to the sink, where he rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face with cold water.
He looked exactly like he felt … like hammered shit.
Back in the main room, his focus became singular: to get the hell gone from this place. He threw on the rest of his clothes, not bothering to tuck his shirt into his pants, and on his way out of the hotel room, he paused only long enough to throw the box of condoms in the garbage.
He only wished he could throw the day away as easily.
A few weeks later, as David was still trying to forget that night, he received an unexpected text from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN: Hi, David. This is Evan Malone, from Three Amigos.
UNKNOWN: Remember me?
David read the texts, surprised to hear from him, but before he could respond, another text came in.
UNKNOWN: I’m the bi-sexual bartender that leans gay, if that helps.
David raised his eyebrows in amusement at the extra description, which wasn’t really necessary.
DAVID: Yes, I remember you.
DAVID: Hi.
UNKNOWN: I’m texting to let you know that your card got picked for a free drink the next time you come in. And you actually won that fair and square, because Evelyn did the picking.
David quickly found a gif of a man chugging a beer and falling back off his barstool and sent it to Evan.
DAVID: Does that mean you won the two days off?
UNKNOWN: It does, indeed.
A few seconds later a meme popped up of a chubby toddler raising his fists into the air with a maniacal look on his face, with the caption, ‘Victory is mine, Muthafackas!’ written across the bottom. It was so ridiculous, that it made David laugh out loud.
UNKNOWN: I don’t know if I won fair and square, though. Just between you and me, I engaged in some necessary subterfuge.
DAVID: Subterfuge? That sounds like a Word-of-the-Day.
UNKNOWN: Actually, no. It’s just a good word.
DAVID: Well, congratulations on your victory, anyway. And I won’t say a word about the subterfuge, in case you need to engage in it again, for more days off.
UNKNOWN: Thanks for having my back.
DAVID: You’re welcome.
UNKNOWN: I know I should feel guilty, but I don’t. People have done far worse for far less than seats at center ice, ten rows back.
DAVID: Are you talking behind the benches or behind the penalty boxes?
UNKNOWN: Behind the benches.
DAVID: Nice. That’s prime real estate. I’m a little jealous.
David watched as the three little dots appeared and disappeared several times, before another text came through.
UNKNOWN: The extra ticket’s yours if you’re interested.
DAVID: Are you serious?
UNKNOWN: Yes.
DAVID: Isn’t there someone else you’d rather go with?
UNKNOWN: Yes, but they’re busy that night.
Having asked the question, David told himself he couldn’t be annoyed with the answer. He was debating on how to reply when Evan texted again.
UNKNOWN: I’m just fucking with you, man. You’re the first person I’ve asked.
DAVID: You’re such a dick. I thought you were serious.
UNKNOWN: LOL. So, what do you say? You in?
DAVID: I’m in. I haven’t been to a hockey game in forever. I should probably ask when it is, though.
UNKNOWN: The puck drops at 8 p.m. on Friday the 16th.
DAVID: Okay.
UNKNOWN: If you want, we can meet at Three Amigos at 6:30 p.m. and grab something to eat before the game?
DAVID: That sounds good. I’ll meet you at 6:30 p.m. at Three Amigos.
UNKNOWN: It’s a date, then.
DAVID: Date?
UNKNOWN: LOL. Totally fucking with you again.
DAVID: You’re such a dick. Seriously.
UNKNOWN: You’re too easy … it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.
DAVID: You’re. A. Dick.
DAVID: You can’t see me right now, but I’m flipping you off. And I’m putting you in my contacts as ‘Dick’.
DICK: That’s fair.