8. Luca
EIGHT
Luca
I’d been on my new antidepressant for three days by the time I had my virtual session with Lacey the Thursday following game night. It was too early to tell if they were helping, but one thing I did notice was that my sleep had felt more restful the last couple of nights. Even Lacey commented that I looked a bit brighter.
Of course, by the end of the appointment I was drained again. I wasn’t used to putting a spotlight on my pain and handing it a microphone. My instinct was still to pull the curtain down.
Lacey must have sensed this because she presented me with a homework assignment.
“I want you to go out and get a journal,” she’d said. “And I want you to spend ten minutes a day writing down how you’re feeling.”
I’d scoffed. “You want me to keep a diary?”
“It doesn’t have to be anything that formal,” she’d insisted. “Think of it more like you’re dumping these thoughts and feelings out of your brain. You’re not worried about making sense here or even forming complete sentences. You can do it for longer than ten minutes, of course, but I find that amount of time either first thing in the morning or right before bed is helpful.”
“And am I supposed to read what I write at our next appointment?”
She shook her head. “Nope. This is just to help you get more comfortable giving voice to your emotions.”
“So, you won’t know if I don’t do it?” It was kind of a joke, but also, the idea of writing in a fucking diary made me nauseous.
Her lips had quirked into a grin. “I didn’t say that.”
Later that evening I lay propped up in bed with a black moleskin notebook opened across my lap, staring at a blank page. My fingers gripped a pen, the tip hovering over that first line, unable to write anything down. But it wasn’t annoyance or rebellion keeping me from doing it. It was fear.
What was holding me back? What was I so afraid of?
“Luca?” Katie whispered from the other side of the closed bedroom door.
I shoved the book under my pillow. “Hey, I’m awake.”
She opened the door with Emilia tucked in one arm. “We were thinking we might order in tonight. Work was nuts, and neither of us feels like cooking. What sounds good to you?”
Getting out of this bed and out of the house, far fucking away from that damn journal.
“Actually, I think I might go out,” I said, planting my feet on the floor. My stomach growled in agreement. All the staring I’d been doing at blank pages had caused me to work up quite the appetite.
“Oh, okay.” Katie yawned. “We can do that.”
“I can go on my own,” I said, making my way over to her. “Seriously, you guys are amazing, but you haven’t had a moment for just the two of you since I’ve been here.”
“Are you sure? We don’t mind. I can rally.”
I scratched the top of Emilia’s head. “I can do this. I think I need to do this. Even if I just drive around for a while, I think it’ll be good for me to get out.”
“You know if you need anything—”
I touched her arm. “I know.”
She nodded, a soft smile on her lips. “All right.” She turned to leave the room, but I called her name before she could make it down the hall.
“Where’s a good place to get a cheeseburger around here?” I asked as she reappeared in the doorway.
“Hmm,” she said, her head tilted to one side. “There’s some place McKenzie’s always raving about. Piccadilly something.” She paused, leaning out into the hall. “Hey, Dal? What’s the name of that burger joint McKenzie told us about?”
“Piccadilly Deli,” he called back over the television.
“Ah, that’s it,” she said. “I remember her saying it’s kind of a dive, but she loves it.”
I would’ve been intrigued even if I didn’t want a cheeseburger just because McKenzie was the one who loved it. She didn’t seem to dole out her affections easily, so this place must’ve been special.
“Maybe I’ll check it out then,” I said, knowing full well that was exactly what I intended to do.
I wandered out of the rain and into The Piccadilly Deli just before 8 p.m., beads of water rolling off my leather jacket. As Katie had said, it was a total dive, but it was the kind of place I felt comfortable in. There weren’t a lot of expectations in a place like that.
My wet boots squeaked against the sticky floor, and the air was stale, smelling faintly of mildew and fried cheese. The walls were black and wallpapered in old, yellowing flyers—everything from concerts to yard sales and lost cats. Only three stools were taken with no bartender in sight. There were a few tables and booths off to the side, but only two were occupied. One was filled with a few guys wearing flannel shirts and ball caps with a construction company logo stitched across the front. But it was the booth in the back that caught my eye.
McKenzie sat near the jukebox, facing the door, the remnants of a burger and a couple fries on a platter in front of her. Two guys who appeared to belong with the construction crew stood next to her table, attempting to engage her in conversation. She seemed thoroughly uninterested in anything but the frosty milkshake-looking concoction she had in front of her.
I moved closer, listening as one of the guys spoke.
“Why don’t you let us get you another round?” he asked.
“I’m good,” she answered, not looking up from her glass.
“Aw, come on,” he pressed. “We don’t bite.”
“You’re too pretty to drink alone,” the other guy added, as though that was the pickup line of the fucking century.
“Good thing she’s not alone,” I said once I reached them, my tone commanding and not at all friendly.
I don’t know who was more surprised by my presence—McKenzie or Tweedle Dickhead and Tweedle Dumbass.
McKenzie blinked up at me, swiping a strand of toffee-colored hair off her face.
One of the Tweedle brothers elbowed the other, and they had a full conversation with their eyes. It was one I’d seen play out before.
I had a weird relationship with my fame, but sometimes, it came in handy.
The men scattered like roaches in the light, leaving me and McKenzie to ourselves.
I gestured toward the side of the booth opposite of her. “Is this seat taken?”
“What?” she asked, her cheeks flushed. “I mean, no. Go ahead.”
I slid in across from her. “So, what are you doing out on this rainy Thursday night?”
She held up her nearly empty glass. “Drinking. What about you?”
I shrugged. “I heard this place has good cheeseburgers.”
“Oh, they do,” she said, slurping down the remnants of her drink. “And Bushwackers.”
I nodded toward her glass. “Is that what that was?”
“Yep. You should try one.”
“I think I’ll stick to the burger.”
“Not much of a drinker?” she asked, glancing toward the bar, likely in search of the missing bartender.
“Not anymore. I stopped a little over a year ago,” I answered. “I didn’t like the person I became when I drank.”
She shifted her attention back to me. “Who did you become?”
“An asshole.”
“And you think that’s different from who you are now?” The corners of her mouth quirked into a grin.
I lifted my brows in amusement. “You might find this hard to believe, but I was a lot worse back then.”
“You couldn’t have been that bad or else Katie wouldn’t have put up with you.” She twirled her straw in her empty glass.
Being my friend was like catching a grenade with your bare hands. I was self-destructing and exploding all over everyone that got close.
A puff of air escaped my lips. “I don’t know how anyone dealt with me.”
It was the most honest thing I’d said to anyone besides Lacey. I wasn’t sure why I said it, but there was something about the look in McKenzie’s eyes that reflected my own and made me feel safe.
“I had a bad habit of numbing my emotions with booze…sometimes drugs, and it only ever made me feel worse,” I admitted. There were also a lot of women, but I didn’t voice that part out loud. “I realized I had to quit that shit if I didn’t want to end up in a body bag before I hit forty.”
She tugged the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands, studying me. “How’s that working out?”
“Well,” I said, holding out my hands. “I’m here. I guess that’s something.”
An expression I couldn’t read passed over her face like a storm cloud. A subtle shimmer glittered in her eyes, almost like there were tears hovering just above her lashes.
Her voice was soft when she spoke. “That is something.”
“My therapist gave me some homework today,” I said. “Because that’s a thing I do now. Therapy, I mean. She wants me to write my feelings in a journal.”
“Oooh, did you pick out a pretty new diary with a lock on it?”
“They make ones with locks on them?”
“You’ve never been a thirteen-year-old girl before, and it shows,” she teased.
“I guess I don’t really need a lock on it, anyway,” I said, running my hand along the back of my neck. “Because I can’t even bring myself to write anything down.”
“What? Why not?”
“I’m not sure, actually,” I answered. “It feels like a lot of…pressure.”
“Hmm,” she said, lips pursed in thought. “Maybe you just need to change how you’re looking at it.”
“How so?” I asked, leaning closer.
“When I think of a journal or diary, I think of these detailed accounts or letters,” she said, moving her hands as she talked. “And that can be heavy. Especially if you’re working through something. It can be a lot to relive it. But you’re a creative guy. You’ve got that whole mysterious, brooding musician thing going on.”
“Brooding and mysterious, huh?” I couldn’t help the satisfied grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
“Not the point,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The point is, maybe you shouldn’t look at it as some elaborate record of your life. Think about it like writing a song.”
Why hadn’t I considered that? Probably because when Midnight in Dallas broke up, I’d broken too. That band had been my entire fucking world. It was the only thing about me that ever made sense. But it never occurred to me to write anything on my own because I guess I never saw myself separate from the group.
“Songs tell stories differently to different people, right?” she continued. “You could write something that has a very specific meaning to you, but I could read the same words and they represent something else entirely to me. Without context, lyrics are just words. People are what give them meaning. The only thing that matters about your words is that they mean something to you. ”
I nodded, the gears of my mind clicking into place. “That’s a good idea. I’ll try that.”
“Sorry about that. Kitchen got backed up because there’s only two of us working tonight,” a bald guy whom I assumed was the bartender said as he approached the table. “You’ve got a friend joining you. What can I…” He trailed off, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. “Holy shit, dude. You’re Luca Sterling. From fucking Midnight in Dallas. It’s nice to meet you, bro. I’m Freddy.”
I shook his outstretched hand. “Thanks, man. But tonight I’m just any other guy.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Freddy said, lowering his voice. “What can I get you? You seem like a tequila guy.”
“Actually, I’d just like a cheeseburger,” I said. “I’ve heard good things.”
“You are going to have the best cheeseburger of your life.” He tapped his fingers on the table, turning to McKenzie. “You want another Bushwacker?”
“Yes, please,” she answered with a smile.
“How about some more chips?” he asked her, arching one brow.
“If you insist,” she answered, and he nodded, disappearing into the back.
I chuckled, folding my arms over my chest. “You really are doing some drinking tonight.”
“I never half-ass anything,” she said.
“So, you use your whole ass?”
“Always,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find us some tunes to listen to while we wait.”
She pulled her sweatshirt over her head and dropped it in the booth. I watched as she made the few short steps to the jukebox and could confirm she did indeed use her whole ass. She pressed one hand over the machine, the other navigating the keypad. With squinted eyes, she leaned forward to see the titles, causing her black T-shirt to ride up, revealing a sliver of her olive skin. I noticed, and one of the creeps in the flannel shirts did too, as he slinked past her toward the sign for the bathrooms.
I wasn’t sure what exactly had driven McKenzie to drink, but I wouldn’t leave her side until she was home safe. Before she could look up from her song selections, I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket and tapped out a quick text to Katie.
Ran into McKenzie at the burger place. She’s drinking by herself, so I’m gonna hang with her until she’s done and make sure she gets home okay.
Katie’s reply came fast.
OMG! Is she okay? She seemed a little down at work today, but when I asked she said she was fine.
I’m not sure. She doesn’t look like she’ll be going anywhere for a while though, so don’t wait up. I’ve got my key.
The dots appeared almost instantly.
Okay. :) Thanks for looking out for her. What about you? Are you good?
I glanced up at McKenzie whose hips were swaying to whatever song was playing. She had no idea how captivating she was just by being herself. And somehow, she got me. She knew I needed to put my thoughts into something I understood, and that thing was music. It was something so simple, but it took her saying it to make me see it.
I’m glad I came here. This place is great.
But the company I’d found myself in was even better.