What I Should’ve Said

Saturday, September 18th

Bennett

“You know I don’t want to have to say this, Ben, but I’m going to need your keys.”

“Whatev-er, Clay. Fuck they keys.”

Clay sighs, and I laugh. “Yeah, I need them now, Ben.”

I dig in my pocket for a while, but I don’t feel anything on my fingers until I check the other pocket. It’s sharper. I pull them out and toss them on the bar, except they don’t land where I’m aiming and instead shoot over to the other side, crashing against the bottle of Pappy’s bourbon with a clink.

Damn, it tastes good.

Clay’s face is a mask of too many emotions for me to read as he pockets my projectile keys and pours me another glass of amber liquid. I shake the glass at him happily before turning it upside down and relishing the burn as it fills my throat.

Clay looks at me for a long moment, his face way too sad for how good this liquor tastes, and I shake my head at him. “Stop mopin’, wouldya?”

He sighs again, turning away and heading to the other end of the bar to help someone else.

Thank fuck.

I don’t need some miserable fucker reminding me that my daughter’s dead—trust me, I remember all on my own. That, of course, is what the bourbon is for. So I can fucking forget, just for a little while.

There’s a college football game on TV, between Clemson and LSU, and I start laughing at a bunch of tigers fighting one another. Clay steps back in front of me, a towel in his hand.

“What’s so funny, Ben?”

“Clemson and LSU!” I practically shout. “All those fucking tigers!”

Clay glances up at the TV and then back at me. “That’s not LSU, bud. That’s the University of Washington.”

“Pssh. UW would never play Clemson during the regular season.”

Clay snorts. “Yeah, well, neither would LSU. But there was that whole fan lobby thing last year, remember? Sports Illustrated got involved. So, UW is gonna play some different teams this—”

I wave him off. Who gives a shit about football.

Clay nods and then glances up behind me, his eyes softening in a way that makes me turn around. Norah is standing there looking at me, and the skin on my neck starts to feel hot.

“What the fuck, Clay?” I snap, my intonation more than a little nasty.

They both ignore me. “Thanks for calling, Clay.”

Clay nods and smiles, the fucker. “You bet, Nore. Sorry it’s so late.”

“That’s all right. Josie’s waiting in the car. She’s going to help me get him in the house.”

“I can woolk,” I protest loudly. “I don’t need any fuck-ing hep.”

Clay sinks his teeth into his lip as Norah puts a shoulder in my armpit and starts to walk. I try to keep up, but my damn feet keep tripping on each other. Her wild hair is even wilder than normal, sticking out at the sides around her face a little bit and framing her perfect sparkling eyes. I try to watch the way the gold flecks inside them wink in the light, but I end up tripping us both as we’re getting to the door. Norah has to grab on to the wall to steady us.

God, she’s beautiful, even more beautiful than I remember her being the last time Clay called and tattled on me a couple of days ago.

I try my best to walk without tripping us again, and next thing I know, she’s holding me under the armpits as Josie pulls me into the car from the back seat.

I go willingly since it’s not worth fighting at this point, and I let the booze work its way through my veins in the hopes that I’ll get sleepy.

Norah climbs into the back with me and pulls me over in her lap, and Josie climbs behind the wheel to drive us out of town. I’m amazed at how patient the two of them have been dealing with my drunk ass for the last four days. I would’ve started drinking sooner, but it took that long for Breezy to leave to head back to the city, and she never would have allowed it while she was here.

The car rocks and lulls as Josie turns onto the main road, and I feel my eyes start to close. In between languid blinks, I notice Norah looking down at me, and when they finally shut for good, I swear I feel the faint brush of her hand in my hair.

As I enter dreamland, I allow myself a moment to lean into it, soaking in the feel. God, I love her.

I just wish I deserved to.

Norah’s dream hand pauses on my head and then starts up again, sweeping over my cheek and my chin too. I swear I even feel a gentle touch from something soft to my lips, but the spins are starting up, and I don’t trust myself to know what my own head feels like at this point.

After that, I don’t feel anything.