“What did I tell you in the back of the church right before you married Alexa?”
In the condition I was in, most of my life was blurry, but that morning was always crystal clear. I’d thought about Roman offering me his keys to split on more than one occasion since. “Car is in the back if you want to bail,” he’d said. When I’d reminded him Alexa was carrying my baby, and I was doing the right thing, he’d said, “Fuck the right thing.”
The bartender brought my drink, and since I was still able to remember a portion of my life I had no desire to recollect, I promptly sucked back half the glass.
Then I turned to look at Roman—well, two Romans. “You never did say I told you so.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Won’t say it if you don’t take my advice and figure shit out with Emerie either. Not much on rubbing bad choices in people’s faces.”
“Sometimes the choice is made for you by circumstance.”
Roman chuckled. “That’s crap, and you know it.” He paused. “Remember Nancy Irvine?”
It took me a minute to reach back into the depths of my alcohol-marinated brain. “Chicken pox girl?”
He tilted his beer in my direction. “That’s the one.”
“What about her?”
“Remember the pact we made never to go for the same girl?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, after you move to Atlanta and leave Emerie heartbroken because you’re too stupid to try to figure out how to make it work, I’ll be there to comfort her—among other things. Payback’s a bitch.”
“Fuck you.”
“What do you care? She’s just pussy to keep you busy. Not worth your trouble.”
As if on cue, my phone lit up with Emerie’s name, indicating a text had arrived. I grabbed it and my drink from the bar and stood.
Wobbling on my feet, I leaned in to my friend. “Fuck you.”
Then I stormed off to find the hotel elevator.
Drew
If I could have just cracked open my skull and let a few of the little trapped drummers out, I might have had a chance of getting up off my couch.
It was a fucking miracle I’d gotten onto the plane at all. Would never have happened had it not been for Roman, who dragged my hung-over ass from that hotel room this morning at six a.m.
Now it was noon. I’d been home for more than an hour, and I finally grew a set of balls and responded to Emerie.
I texted back.
Yeah. Balls. Sure.
And I lied.
It wasn’t the first time. Certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Drew: Sorry about last night. Was sick as a dog. Food poisoning. Bad sushi, I think.
The little dots started jumping around immediately.
Emerie: Just glad you’re okay. I was worried. What happened in court?
Admitting the truth would mean dealing with it, and I wasn’t ready yet.