Chapter 9
brUCE
Chewing up the last bits of the post-practice cinnamon mint I popped on the way over, I look around.
Hank’s is hopping for a Thursday night. It’s mostly a hole in the wall dive bar, but for locals, there’s nothing better than its worn pleather, greasy food, and overpoured drinks.
There’s a whole bunch of people in the back, hovering around the three pool tables, more than a few folks on the wood floor dancing around to the twang of a Luke Bryan tune, and another group crowded around the bar.
“Uh, do you see a table?” Allyson asks. It sounds like she’s hoping there’s not one and we can just call this a bust and cut the night short.
But now that we’re here, I want to be. I have so many questions, so many answers I need, so much I want to know about everything that’s happened since I last saw Allyson.
Something tells me that’s a long story that would answer so much about who she is, and I want every little juicy morsel of it.
Not to revel in whatever has turned her into this shadow self that runs hot and cold, but because once upon a time, she was the person I knew best, and it stings that maybe I don’t know her at all now.
I grab her hand, tiny in my huge paw, ignoring the tingles that shoot up my arm to drag her through the crowd.
In the back corner, there’s a table that no one likes because it’s a little too close to the kitchen.
It’s empty, just as I hoped. I hold an arm out, gesturing for her to sit.
I’m an asshole, but I’m a gentleman too.
She sits and I follow, plopping down across from her.
But the table’s a bit small and my knees bump Allyson’s.
“Ow!” she cries out.
“Shit, sorry,” I mumble, moving my chair a bit, which puts me closer to her side.
Her smile is small. “I forgot how big you are.” Her cheeks flush hot instantly as she hears her own words and filthy, dirty thoughts run through my mind. Dozens of ideas of ways to make that pink tint spread over her entire body as I remind her just how large I am . . . everywhere.
“Ouch, you know how to hurt a guy’s feelings,” I joke instead, keeping it light.
She bites her lip, looking down and fidgeting with the edge of the paper placemat that proclaims Hank’s as The Best Honkytonk In Town. Nobody is willing to remind Hank that he’s the only honkytonk in town.
She doesn’t respond to my teasing and I think maybe I overstepped, but I’m not sure how to handle this clusterfuck.
The waitress stops by, and we order two beers and two specials. When she leaves with a promise of being ‘back in a jiffy with the beers’, silence descends.
It was always easy with Allyson. Words flowed and even quiet times were comfortable.
I remember spending hours in the bed of my truck, staring at the stars in relaxed silence, and listening to her talk non-stop about anything and everything.
Her after-school chatter session was the favorite part of my day.
“Oh, my God, Mrs. Finley is such a bitch! She knows it’s championship weekend, but she still gave us a huge project that’s due on Monday! Monday! Like we’re going to have any time this weekend at all. She’s basically anti-school spirit.”
I watch her mouth, mesmerized by the way her lips form the sounds that are washing over me. This girl could read the damn phonebook and I’d happily listen.
“Bruce! Are you even listening to me?” Fire fills her eyes as she calls me out for what she thinks is my dismissal of her rant.
I run my thumb across her cheekbone and she melts into my hand. “Yeah, Al. I’m listening. Finley’s a bitch . . . blah, blah, blah. Honestly, though, I got a little lost thinking about kissing those sexy lips.”
I did hear every word, but kissing her so she forgets what’s bothering her is what she really wants right now. It’s what I want too.
This weekend is a big deal for both of us. Al is a varsity cheerleader and this is her last championship game to cheer at. I’m the rock of the defense, the leader of the team even though I’m a junior. I need to prove myself. She wants to go out on top.
She licks her lips in preparation, and I lean in, covering her mouth with mine.
She tastes like cherries, a new ChapStick she started wearing a while back.
We lose ourselves in each other, forgetting about the pressures of our teenage life, letting go of the expectations and responsibilities that rest on us, not worrying about the future as we meld together.
I wish there were time for more, but reality sets in.
“Come on, let’s go start on your project now because after the game, you’re mine.” I take her hand, pulling her toward the library.
“I’m always yours.” The promise is quiet, under her breath almost, but I hear it. I feel it.
Now at Hank’s, it’s not the comfortable connection we used to have. No, that’s nothing like right now.
Allyson looks over at the pool tables as a cheer breaks out. “Looks like they’ve got a winner,” she says uselessly, just filling the silence.
I revert back to the Neanderthal ways that have served me so well over the years and grunt. I guess she’s not the only one running hot and cold.
Allyson rolls her eyes, huffing just a little. “What was that? Is that what passes as conversation these days?”
I raise a brow, challenging her little bark of displeasure with my continued silence.
She pulls her napkin from her lap, throwing it on the placemat. “This was a mistake. If you didn’t want to go to dinner with me, you should’ve just said so.”
As she stands, I put a firm hand on her arm, holding her back. “I just . . . I don’t know what to say.”
That takes the wind out of her sails, and she collapses back to her seat as she confesses, “I don’t know what to say to you either.”
It’s quiet again, but thankfully, the waitress saves us by dropping the beers off. I watch Allyson’s lips pucker around the bottle, zero in on her tongue licking the liquid residue off her bottom lip. I force myself to take a sip myself in an attempt to wash that image away.
“I remember the first beer you ever drank. Made a face like it was watered-down piss,” I say, my lips quirking at the memory.
She does make a face at that. “Johnny Jackson’s back field party, right?”
I hold up my bottle in celebration, impressed that she remembers, and we clink. “I’m guessing you’ve had a few more since then. Fuck knows, I have.”
Even I can hear the bitterness.
Her nose crinkles cutely, but she seems sad as she asks the million-dollar question. “What happened to us?”
I damn near choke on the celebratory drink I took, sputtering roughly. “So much.”
It’s harsh, and I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t stop it. I’m so angry at her still, and I’m angry at myself for still being attracted to her. Because I am.
As much as I want to know what she’s been up to, what’s been happening in her heart and mind and life, I want to shove her up against the wall and fuck her raw and hard.
Not the sweet way we used to when we were in love, but there’s something to be said for hate fucking.
Maybe that would get her out of my system?
Because as much as I want her, I don’t want to want her.
“Tell me about your life now,” she commands. “How’re your mom and dad?” She smiles as she says it and I know she has no idea. No concept of how crazy my whole life went after high school. I’d need a damn 4x4 truck with mud tires to show her just how off-path everything went.
“Small talk? That’s what we’re doing?” I say bitterly, tilting my head. Allyson blinks those baby blues that used to own me, waiting patiently, and I press my lips together, trying to decide whether I want to attempt to explain what my family’s gone through in the last few years.
I sigh, planting my laced hands on the table. “Fine. Shortly after I graduated, Mom got sick. It was fast, it was hard. Cancer’s a bitch.”
Allyson’s jaw drops open in horror and she shakes her head. “Bruce! I had no idea.” Her hands reach across the table to cover mine. “I am so sorry. Mrs. Martha was such a great woman. She always welcomed me with open arms, and I have so many happy memories about her.”
My eyes are locked on her hands on mine, the searing heat of her flesh touching me. I can’t stop my thumb from brushing over her finger, feeling the softness of her skin, and she retreats, pulling back sharply.
“Me too. She was a great woman, a great mom,” I say, picking up my bottle for another drink because I’m not sure what to do with my hands now that they’re not touching hers.
“Dad took it real hard, basically disappeared on us, but Brody and Shay took over running the farm. Bobby and I work the fields, and we did okay for a long while.”
It’s weird to put so much into so few words, but honestly, it’s not something I’ve ever talked about with anyone. And it doesn’t seem like the time to get verbose.
“And now?” Allyson asks, mirroring my action and taking a drink. Does she even know that she’s doing that or is it unconscious?
The waitress interrupts, setting our plates down. The pork chop and cinnamon apples smell delicious, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to taste a thing with how badly I want to taste Allyson. Even with the uncomfortable conversation and simmering resentment low in my gut.
I pull my hat off and run my hand through my hair as I sigh.
“Look, you want the short story? Fine . . .” I slam my hat back down and my mouth gets away from me.
“Mom died. Dad died. We lost the farm because Dad gambled it away, had to sell to the Bennetts. And now we’re like the bass-ackward, country redneck version of the Brady Bunch with Louise Bennett as the leader of our twisted motley crew of a family.
The Bennett boys all have women, one of which is my fucking sister.
And us Tannens are just trying to keep our heads down and work because that’s all we’ve got. ”