nineteen

Tessa

The hits just keep coming. I honestly don’t know how I’m still standing. As if the news of Trevor’s whore and bastard child wasn’t enough of a punch to the gut, I find out he was also stealing from his own company. Everything I thought I knew is a lie. An intricately woven web of deception.

I came home to Charleston to get away from it all because I needed time and space to regroup. And, in a matter of weeks, Dante has appeared out of nowhere. He and Trevor might not look anything alike, but his presence is a constant reminder of everything I’m trying to forget. He makes me feel things I don’t want to feel. Each passing day, before my heart has had a chance to scab over, I’m ripped wide open all over again.

Grief. Anger. Sadness. Shock. Hate. I’m so tired. So tired of all the fucking feelings. I just want one night where I don’t have to feel anything. Where every breath isn’t excruciating. One night to forget.

I dress, put on some makeup, and straighten my hair into sleek perfection. After I grab my keys and phone, I toss them in my purse and walk out of my room.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, my mom turns her attention from the television to me. “Honey, you look lovely. Where are you off to?”

“Just out for a drive,” I lie through my teeth. I’m a grown woman lying to her mother because, if she knew where I was going, there would be a conversation. She’d push me to talk, and right now, I can’t deal with it.

“You’re all dressed up for just a drive?” She suspiciously eyes me.

The woman is still too smart for her own good. I couldn’t get away with shit when I was little. My mama is a sweetheart, but she’s also a hard ass, and she can see through me from a mile away.

Daddy looks up from his place next to Mama on the couch and gives me a wink. Then, he says to her, “Mags, stop with the inquisition.”

His arm rests over the back of the sofa, and she sits, curled against him. She’s addicted to crime shows, but she’s too scared to watch them alone, so he indulges her.

“I know, I know. Just be careful.”

I can tell by the look on her face, she doesn’t believe the lie.

“I will.” It’s not a promise I’m sure I intend to keep.

I open the door, and just as I’m about to walk out, my dad says, “Baby bear, you still have that pepper spray? And what about your house key?”

Despite the heaviness weighing me down, I stifle a laugh. So much for me being grown. “Yes, Daddy.”

That’s the truth. The pepper spray is attached to my keychain. When you live and work in a city like Chicago, you take precautions.

“Love you,” they both say in unison.

“Love you both. Don’t wait up,” I call out and close the door behind me.

It takes about fifteen minutes to drive to Joe’s Tavern. I park the car and walk inside. Country music blares from the jukebox, and the green billiard cloth covering each of the trio of pool tables looks like it’s seen better days. Wooden stools, backless and round, line the bar, and deep brown paneling covers the bottom half of the walls.

I make my way through the crowd, snagging an empty stool at the end of the bar. I catch the eye of the bartender. He holds up a finger, signaling he’ll be right over.

“What can I get you?” he asks, voice smooth and gravelly. He places a napkin in front of me.

“Jameson, double, on the rocks,” I order without hesitation.

“Coming right up.” His smile shows off his dimples. He’s certainly easy on the eyes.

I watch him make my drink, and when he sets it on the napkin, I reach into my purse and hand over my credit card. “Open a tab for me, and keep them coming.”

“You got it, sweetheart.” He winks and then walks away to attend to another customer.

It isn’t long before I’m five drinks in, and Jameson is my new best friend. I pull my phone out of my purse and slide my finger over the screen. There’s a text from Dante. The man doesn’t understand the meaning of space. It takes me three attempts to type out the text.

Tessa: Leave me alone.

I hit Send, and the little dots start jumping on the screen.

Dante: No.

Ignoring him, I smack my palm on the bar top a few times. “Bartender, I’ll have another.”

He warily eyes me. But I’m on a mission. I still remember, and I’m drinking to forget.

“Here you go, and it’s Cole.” He sets my drink down.

Holding my glass up in a cheers gesture, I say, “Thanks, Cole,” taking significant effort not to slur the words and throw back half of it. Then, I turn my attention back to my phone.

When I look up, Cole is wiping the bar down beside me.

“You forgot my straws.”

“Straws?”

“Yes. You know, the little black ones?” I don’t know why I need to explain this to him.

He passes them to me, not bothering to hide an eye roll.

I stick them in my glass. “Men are assholes. You know that, Cole?”

I decide then and there that other men might be assholes, but Cole is a douche canoe. A woman on a mission to get drunk needs those tiny black straws. I’m not sure why, but they seem to get the job done faster.

My phone chimes with another text.

I start to type out a smart-ass response, but the letters are floating above the screen. My phone rings in my hand, scaring the shit out of me, and I drop it on the bar.

“Oops.” I pick it up, and instead of declining the call, I accidentally accept it.

“Sup, Dante?”

“Tessa, you okay?” Dante sounds weird.

“Couldn’t be better,” I singsong.

“Are you drunk?”

I hold my hand out in front of me, using my thumb and pointer finger to measure. “Maybe a little.”

“Fuck.”

I hear movement through the phone line.

“Where are you?”

“I need some space, so I’m out, getting some.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m here. Where are you?” I snicker.

“Tessa.”

Dante sounds like he doesn’t think I’m funny. He’s wrong. I’m hilarious. I don’t understand what the hell everyone’s problem is tonight.

“Dante,” I say in a mocking tone, “don’t get your testicles in a twist.”

I hear him breathe heavily into the phone.

“Just tell me where you are.”

“Dante, listen.” I hold my phone out, so he can hear Sam Hunt. “It’s my jam. I’m going to dance.”

“Tessa, wait.”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“I’m not. Just tell me where you are.”

“I already told you.” Maybe. “I’m at Joe’s Tavern. Pay attention.”

“All right. I’m on my way. Don’t leave, okay?”

“Don’t leave. Got it.”

On wobbly legs, I slide off the stool and drop my phone into my purse. It takes an extreme amount of focus to zip the damn thing and slip it over my head. The room spins as I make my way to the dance floor. In a sea of people, with Jameson in my blood and Sam Hunt blaring through the speakers…I finally start to forget.