I WAKE UP FROM A deep sleep, after tossing and turning for hours. From the way the sun is barely creeping in my window, I know it’s afternoon and I overslept. Since I’m only working for myself and my dad these days, it’s not a huge deal, but I don’t like feeling like I’ve wasted the day away.
This used to be the norm for me. When I was playing gigs all the time, living life on the road, our days didn’t even start until afternoon.
Rolling over in bed, I rub vigorously at my face, trying to get rid of the grogginess and also the dream I was having before I woke up. It felt so real—creamy tits and dark hair, belonging to none other than Piper Grey, my wife. Or at least in my dream she was. She was wearing the big-ass rock on the third finger of her left hand. She was also smiling as I kissed it and then her.
A lot different than the non-dream experience from the hotel room.
Piper and I have been like oil and water since we met. We rubbed each other the wrong way for so long, until one night, after a party at the Landry’s, we couldn’t ignore the desire lingering under all that hate and pent up aggression. Since then, we’ve hooked up any time we’re given the opportunity and occasionally, we create the opportunity—bathrooms, hotel rooms, behind a barn. We’ve been a lot of things to each other over the past six months—enemies, fuck buddies, pseudo-lovers—but the idea of her being my wife makes me pause.
I chuckle. A weird sensation filling my chest.
I’ve never thought much about marriage. It’s not that I’m scared of it or have bad examples. I’m not a child of divorce and I haven’t seen a bunch of bad shit. My parents had a great marriage before my mama died. And now my dad is happily remarried to Kay. Then, there’s Sam and Annie, who’ve been married since the dinosaurs roamed. Deacon has made Cami happier than I’ve ever seen her, and Micah and Dani are now getting ready to tie the knot, sooner rather than later. So, I’m surrounded by amazing examples.
Out of all those people, Dani is the one who deserves the biggest props. She’s tamed the beast, something no woman has ever been able to even come close to accomplishing. It’s like she’s the fucking Playboy Whisperer or some shit.
I’ve always thought something like that might happen to me one of these days. I’d meet a girl and she’d rock my world, change everything about me, and make me want to settle down.
But that hasn’t happened yet.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t slowed down long enough.
Up until a few months ago, I’d spent the last ten years living out of a suitcase, with my longest committed relationship being my band. I’ve practically been married to those fuckers since high school.
But this past year was rough. I felt myself spiraling for a while, unable to stop it and not sure I wanted to. When I woke up from a week-long bender, next to some unknown chick, not knowing where I found her . . . or where I was—it was Biloxi, by the way—I knew I needed a change of scenery. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and wanted to peel away the thick layer of mask that’d taken over my reflection.
I looked like shit and felt like shit. The only thing I could think of to make it better was to come home.
I needed some peace and quiet—time to think.
When I stayed sober long enough, I realized I hadn’t written any new music in months and that always messed with my head.
Where there weren’t words, there wasn’t life. There wasn’t me. Without some sort of creative outlet, I was going crazy, and it wasn’t the good kind.
As a younger kid, my guitar became a source of therapy. After my mom died, I found solace in the strings, teaching myself simple songs and then gradually moving into writing them. Cami had her canvases and I had my lyrics. When dark, depressing thoughts tried to have their way with me, writing songs was a way for me to express myself. I’d take the sadness and anger and put them into lyrics, until I felt like they weren’t going to suck me under.
They’re the reason I played my first gig. I realized from the get-go, if I didn’t sing my songs, no one was going to hear them. And I thought if the right person did hear them, they’d buy them and I’d be rich. I mean, that’s what happened to people on television and in movies. Why couldn’t it happen to me?
Oh, to be young and naive again.
As crazy as it sounds, I’ve been chasing that dream for the last ten years. I got a little off-track. I fell in love with the rush of the stage and started playing every bar and small venue this side of the Mississippi.
Until a few months ago, I was still chasing the dream, but something happened that morning in Biloxi. Something clicked or broke, I don’t know which.
A week or so later, I woke up one morning and walked away from it all, told my band to go home.
Since then, my life has been in reboot mode. I’ve moved into my old room at my dad’s and started helping him in the sugarcane fields, doing odd jobs. Every day, I try to exert myself so much that all I can think about is a hot shower, a plate of food, and a nice cool bed.
There have been a few hookups with Piper, but for the most part, I’ve secluded myself in hopes that I’ll get out of this hole and find myself again.
One thing that’s helped me clear my head has been working with all of this old wood in my dad’s barn. He said I could have it and do whatever I want with it. So, I made a shelf and then another. Cami had mentioned wanting an old-fashioned cradle for the new baby, so I started working on that. I like it. It’s rewarding to see a finished product, something I made from scratch. I don’t really draw up plans or anything. I just jot down measurements and notes. Most of what I make is trial and error, but it feels good to create.
I can’t say that it’ll suppress the demons like writing a song, but it’s working for now. If I do continue to write songs, I want someone else to sing them, but I don’t even know if that’s what I want anymore. For now, I’m happy putting in some manual labor on my dad’s farm, working with my hands, and feeling completely exhausted at the end of the day.
It’s a slow pace. It’s three-square meals a day, thanks to Annie and Kay. It’s waking up in the same bed every morning. It’s boring and routine and exactly what I needed.
Just as I’m thinking about getting out of bed, my phone dings with a message. For a split second, my traitorous dick nearly leaps out of my pants in hopes that it’s a sexy brunette texting for a booty call, but it should’ve known better.
Dave. Good ol’ Davie Boy. The same punk who sent me the video a few days ago and ruined my chances of morning sex with Piper.
She hasn’t called or texted since she stormed out of the hotel room, not that she does on a daily basis, but she will usually at least answer when I do, but no. Nothing. Nada. Dead air. Radio Silence.
I get it. She’s pissed about the drunken proposal and the video . . . and the ring. But, like I told her, it takes two, and if I had to guess, I’d guess she’s just as pissed at herself for letting it all happen. Piper isn’t used to being out of control of situations. Shit, I’ve probably only seen her tipsy a few times since I’ve known her and never as drunk as she was the other night.
Dave: Dude, have you seen how many times your video has been re-Tweeted? That shit really did go viral!
What the fuck?
Me: I told you to take that fucking video down!!! Are your trying to get me castrated?
Dave: Do you even know what that means?
Me: Yes, dipshit! I may talk slow, but I’m not stupid. And I value my dick more than your life. If I go to Twitter and see that video is still up, I’m hunting you down and killing you with my bare hands. I’ll give Rambo a run for his money. It’ll be Texas Chainsaw Massacre up in your joint. Comprende?
Dave needs visuals. He’s a see and learn kind of guy. Point in case, he taught himself to play the drums by watching videos of Dave Grohl. He also stakes claim to being named after him, but that’s a load of shit. I know for a fact his parents weren’t fans of Nirvana or the Foo Fighters, and I sure as hell know they’ve never heard of Scream.
Dave: Why so sensitive? Did you grow a pussy since you abandoned us?
Me: Dave.
It’s all I have to type before the little text bubbles pop back up on the screen. The cool thing about Dave and me is that he can hear my tone through text because we’ve done it so much over the years.
Dave: You do know what it means when something goes viral, right?
Sure. It’s viral, meaning . . .
Dave: It’s out of my hands. That video has now been posted on Buzzfeed’s Best Drunk Proposals AND the Cat’s Meow’s Facebook page. It’s taking off like a wildfire. There ain’t no stopping it.
Fuck.
Me: Fuck.
Dave: Sorry, man, but you’re famous. And so is that hot as sin chick you proposed to. What was her name? Poppy.
Me: Don’t worry about her name. And don’t mention it. Ever.
Falling over my twisted sheets while I’m trying to get out of bed, I lay in the middle of my floor, forcing my brain to figure out a fast plan to make this all go away. I believe Piper. I believe everything she says, because she might be a grade-A bitch and spawn of Satan, but she’s never lied to me.
Dave: What are you gonna do?
Me: Fuck if I know, dude. Any ideas?
Dave: No, but if she beats your ass, can you be sure to get it on video? It’d make a great follow-up.
Me: Dave.
Dave: Fine. Gotta go, anyway. Later.
Groaning, I roll over and pick myself up off the floor. A sick feeling is in the pit of my stomach and I can’t tell if it’s from lack of food or impending doom, but I decide some of Kay’s leftover fried chicken from last night will help me decide. So, I trudge downstairs to see what I can find.
After eating and getting cleaned up, I jump in my car and head to Baton Rouge. I figure dad is probably half done with his work for the day by now, so I’ll just have to make up for being a loser tomorrow.
Right now, I need to get to Grinders. I need to talk this out with someone, and Micah and Deacon are my go-tos. The problem is, since they know nothing about me and Piper, I have to be discreet and I’m never fucking discreet. I could talk to Cami, but she’d see right through my bullshit quicker than a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest.
No, the boys are the way to go. I just have to play it off like I’m talking about someone else and see how they react.
That’s my plan, anyway.
“Tucker the Fucker, you here for a late lunch or an early dinner?” Deacon greets me with his usual wide smile from his perch at the bar. Micah turns to face me after replacing a bottle of booze on the shelf and nods his head my way. I admit, the past few months I was worried these two yahoos wouldn’t ever get their panties untwisted. I haven’t seen them so at odds with each other since we were kids, but even then, it wasn’t as bad as the feud that erupted after Micah went into business with Alex Collins. But they finally kissed and made up, and it warms my rotten, black heart to see them working together again.
“Nah, man, I just came in to see how things were goin’. I took the day off, so I’m here to bother you bitches.”
“We haven’t seen you in a while. Been holed up with a gaggle of groupies?”
“Gaggle, huh? Is that what they’re called now? Oh, and by the way, I forgot to give you this.” I show Micah my middle finger and then sit down at the bar. “If you must know, I’ve been helpin’ my dad in the fields, puttin’ in an honest day’s work.”
“Damn,” Deacon grunted. “Is he punishin’ you or somethin’? Makin’ a pretty boy like you do manual labor . . . you must’ve pissed him off big time.”
“No, asshole. He needs the help, and I don’t mind it. I’m actually enjoyin’ it. I’ve even been workin’ on a few new pieces of furniture. It feels good to work hard and get my hands dirty.”
Micah tosses a bar towel over his shoulder and snorts. “There’s our boy. Braggin’ about using his dirty hands to work his wood, that’s the Tucker we’ve missed. But, seriously, I’m glad to see you findin’ your happy place again. That sunshine is definitely doin’ some good, too. You don’t look like that shaggy-haired vampire from Twilight anymore.”
“Very funny, dickweed.” I pick up a napkin and wad it up, throwing it at the back of his head. “The grand opening of Lagniappe is next week, right? You ready?” I ask, changing the subject. I’m not ready to talk about me any more than I have to.
“Hell, yeah, I’m ready. It’s gonna be an amazing night, but there’s just one thing I need to make it perfect.” He smiles at me, a bit too sweetly for my taste, and I know that looks. He wants something.
I glance over at Deacon and, when he sees my questioning expression, he shrugs at me. “Don’t look at me.”
Micah ignores us and continues. “Well, I was gonna ask if you knew of any guitarists I could hire for the night . . . you know, a little acoustic set would be nice but . . .” He drags his words out, letting me read between them.
“Are you askin’ me to play at your restaurant opening?” I croon, pretending to be flattered, which I kind of am, but I don’t want him knowing that.
“Well, I mean, I know you’re busy playin’ in the sunshine and workin’ your wood, but I was thinkin’ about it,” Micah teases. He’s never going to run out of woodworking jokes.
“Of course, I’ll play. I did it for Grinders and Pockets and I’d be pissed if you wouldn’t have asked me for the new one.”
“Consider yourself hired, Tucker Benoit. You can even bring one of your lady friends to be your personal assistant, and all your food and beverages will be on the house.”
My blood runs cold for a second at the words “lady friend”. The only one I’d want with me that night is Piper, but she hates my guts even more than usual right now. I have a feeling she’ll be there anyway and there’s no way I’d bring anyone else and make things worse between us. I don’t mind Piper being a little rough on my balls, but that doesn’t mean I’ll willingly let her rip them off my body, which is exactly what she’d do if I brought another girl to the opening. Ours is a fucked-up relationship, for sure, but we know our boundaries.
“Now that that’s settled, Tucker, I’m gonna need you to fill us in about your recent conquests,” Deacon declares. “With Cami getting farther along in the pregnancy, things are kinda . . . cooling off in the bedroom, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, that means I have to live vicariously through you.”
I stand up so quickly, my bar stool nearly topples over. “That’s my sister you’re fuckin’ talkin’ about, Deke,” I snap. “Don’t make me kick your ass because you know I’ll do it.”
Deacon raises his hands, palms facing me, in supplication. “It’s not a diss toward Cami, I swear. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, especially when she’s pregnant. It’s all me.” He really does look remorseful, but he’s going to have to do some fast talking to get me to understand what the hell he means. I don’t want any explicit details about their bedroom antics, but if he says one disrespectful word against Cami, his ass is mine.
“What the fuck, man?” I’m staring Deacon down, showing him I mean business, when Micah busts out laughing. He’s about to be number two on my shit list today.
Micah is bent over with his hands on his knees, laughing his ass off. Eventually, he stands back up and wipes his eyes, still chuckling. He looks at me but points at his brother. “Deacon thinks he’s gonna poke the baby with his dick if they have sex!”
I slowly sit back down on my stool and look at Deacon. Not only does he seem apologetic, he’s also completely embarrassed based on how red his cheeks are right now.
“Is this true?” I ask. I have to ask. This is a gold mine of retaliation. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by.
“Well, yeah. I mean, the doctor has already said this baby is gonna be a big one and we all know how much I’m packing.” He grabs his crotch and Micah pretends to gag while I roll my eyes. “It only makes sense that, if I go in, some things that should not be touching, will be touching! It’s biology!”
“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? I can’t believe my sister actually married you,” I scoff.
“Maybe that’s what happened to you, Deke,” Micah goads. “I just assumed Mama dropped you on your head, but maybe it was from her and Dad doin’ the wild thing when she was pregnant with you!”
“That’s enough! Our parents did not ever do the wild thing, so shut your face,” Deacon says with a horrified look on his face. “All I wanted to know was who Tucker hooked up with the night you proposed to Dani and we got completely off topic, fuck.”
Micah just shakes his head, laughing, and goes back to drying the bar glasses.
“Come on, man,” Deacon says, giving me a pointed look. “You never hold out on me.”
It’s true. I don’t. Actually, I make it a point to tell Micah and Deacon about all of my sexual conquests. It’s well-known that my goal in life is to plant my flag, and by flag, I mean my dick, in every country. Now, I don’t necessarily need it to happen in that country. The pussy just needs to have originated there.
I let out a breath and roll my eyes. He’s not going to give this up and I guess I should take pity on him for the mess of a conversation we just had.
“Yeah, I hooked up that night. She was . . . hot,” I tell him, trying to quickly come up with a lie or partial truth to suffice.
“Was it that blonde bartender?” he asks. “Tits McGee,” Deacon says, like I should know exactly who he’s talking about.
“Who?”
“Come on, man! There’s no way you could’ve missed those . . . I mean, her.”
I glare at him, because he better not have been looking at some other chick’s tits. My sister will beat the shit out of him. Also, because how could I have missed that? I never miss a set of good titties. It’s just not my style.
“Right,” I lie. “Tits McGee.” I give him a look like you got me.
“I knew it, you fucker,” he says gleefully, like he just guessed the answer to a million dollar question. “So, was she good?” Deacon asks, waggling his eyebrows.
Such a fucking horn dog. Deacon and Micah like to say I’m bad, but that’s because they use me as their cover.
“Where did you take off to after the bar that night?” This time it’s Micah who’s giving me the Spanish Inquisition. “Did you dump Piper and take Tits to a hotel?”
Fuck, he knows.
He knows Piper and I were together at the bar when he and Dani called it a night.
Think, man. Think.
“Uh yeah, I left with her,” I tell him, giving him a wicked smile. “You know I can’t resist big tits and long legs.”
“You left Piper alone?” he asks, his eyes narrowing in on me accusatorily.
“Ooh, Dani is gonna be pissed,” Deacon adds.
“No, man.” Shit. This is why you don’t lie. One lie turns into two and then you’re lying about your lies. “I didn’t leave her alone. She started talking to some guy, but then she said she was tired. So, I, uh, called her a cab.”
Rule number one: never leave the girls alone.
Micah, Deke, and I might be partiers, and we know how to have a good time, but we always make sure the girls are taken care of. If I made them think I let Piper leave alone or with some stranger, they’d either know I was lying or string me up.
Shit, I don’t know if I’m playing this off well enough. I feel like I’m losing my bullshitting ability.
They both look me up and down, like they’re trying to decide if they believe me. A few seconds pass, feeling more like days, but Micah and Deacon eventually let it go and relax on the interrogation.
Crisis averted. For now.
“Hey, Micah, I, uh, heard there’s this video circulating the web of some drunken couple gettin’ engaged the same night you proposed to Dani. At first, I thought it might be you two, but it’s not. Have you, um, heard anything about that?” I’m suddenly very nervous and starting to sweat. I really don’t like lying to my best friends, but I know Piper would kill me for sure if I told them.
“You know I don’t pay attention to that kind of shit. Plus, Dani would’ve ripped my balls off if I had proposed to her while we were drunk. And then posted a video of it? Fuck that. I feel sorry for that dude.”
I feel sick. Bile is churning in my stomach, trying to make its way up my throat, and I’ve got a full sweat going on. How in the hell am I going to fix this?
“Yeah, totally. Poor bastard,” I grumble. “Uh, it’s been great hangin’ out, but I just remembered something I have to do, so I’ll see y’all later.”
I don’t give them a chance to respond, I just haul ass out of the restaurant and practically jump into my truck.