Chapter Eight
JEREMY
January 2017
I turn in my seat as a hand rests softly on my shoulder. The blonde with a sweet smile is someone I would normally be happy about approaching me.
But not tonight.
“Wanna buy me a drink?” she asks, taking a seat on the stool next to mine.
Part of me wants to say yes, to get myself out of this funk I’ve been in. It’s been months of the same thing. I spend the normal part of my life doing what I should be doing: working out, going to practice, spending time with my sister – although that quality time has dropped off a bit since she officially started dating her guy. Then when the day is over, I get a drink.
I used go to a shithole near my place. At first, it was fairly anonymous, but when you spend enough time in a place, people feel like they know you. They ask questions and want to chitchat.
I don’t drink anymore to make small talk. I don’t actually know why I do it anymore, but it’s definitely not for that reason.
So, for the past few weeks I’ve been going to a bar near my sister’s place. O’Reilly’s. It’s not anywhere near my house, but it’s walking distance from hers. She doesn’t need to know that I’ve been sleeping it off in my truck parked down the street from her apartment complex. It’s a thirty-minute drive from the area I live in, but I like it.
You’d think with not wanting to chat, I would go to some beat down place. But I’ve found that it’s better to go somewhere busy. Sure, every so often someone comes along and wants to start something up – like the blonde next to me that’s currently waving down the bartender – but for the most part, at college bars like this one, everyone is here to meet up with people they already know. And that means I get to sit at the bar and drink without being bothered, apart from the bartender asking if I want another.
The blonde asks for a chardonnay, then turns and smiles at me again.
She’s cute, and some other night, I’d be lucky to have her sit down next to me and strike up a conversation. Maybe take her home. But tonight isn’t that night. I haven’t had a night where that felt right for months.
“Look,” I say, just as she opens her mouth to speak. “I’m not really in the mood for talking.”
I expect the look on her face to fall slightly or for her to tell me to fuck off and pretend like all she wanted was a free drink.
Which is why my mind is blown when her smile widens into something a little less sweet and a little more wicked.
“Me neither,” she says, leaning closer. “So why don’t we skip the foreplay and just jump right to the good stuff.”
My mouth nearly drops open, but I’m just wasted enough to laugh. Which I’m guessing is not the response she was hoping for, judging by the way her head jerks back and her smile falls away to reveal a slightly affronted look.
“I appreciate the offer,” I respond, grabbing my glass off the bar and swallowing the rest in one go. I huff out a breath in reaction to how it hits me. When did I switch to whiskey? “But that’s not what I meant,” I say.
I pull out my wallet and shuffle through the bills, not seeing super clearly. I grab a wad and chuck it down on the bar with a nod to the bartender. “I’m saying I’m not interested. Not tonight.”
Her face wipes completely blank when she realizes I’m not biting.
“Night, ma’am,” I say as I turn and half-walk, half-stumble away from her.
The last thing I hear as I head towards the door is, “Did he just call me ma’am?”
When I take a step outside, I breathe in deeply, letting the cool January air into my lungs. January in Southern California is a weird time. The temperature around Christmas is usually in the 70s, and then almost as soon as the new year hits, the evening temps plummet, sometimes getting as cool as the mid 30s. It’s a novelty to a lot of people when their lawns get a bit of frost on them overnight, but I think it’s a nuisance. I’ve never liked cold weather, and January is my least favorite month. It means when I wake up to go to the gym in the morning, I’ll be freezing my nuts off.
Tonight is a night like that, and I don’t look forward to what’s ahead. I flip my phone out and check the temperature, shocked when I see it’s dipped to 28 degrees. Well, tonight is officially going to be a nasty night to try to sleep this shit off in my car.
I start the few block walk to where my SUV is parked near Rachel’s apartment. It’s a pretty decent neighborhood, and at only just past midnight on a weekend, there are still quite a few people out and about.
It doesn’t take long for me to make it to my car. I unlock it and climb in, turning the ignition and immediately cranking the heat and turning on the seat warmers. The perks of signing a pro contract and getting a few marketing deals. I never would have been able to afford this SUV on my own. No job I ever could have gotten would have paid me enough for a car like this.
I lean the seat back and try to get comfortable, which is a tough thing to do when you’re drunk and trying to fall asleep in a car, no matter how warm the seats are.
I rub my face with my hands.
I need to cut this shit out. Getting wasted at the bar. Alone.
Who does that remind you of?
I cringe.
It’s no secret that my dad is a fucking mess. Especially not after he literally ran my sister over with his car last year. He’s an abusive asshole who used to get an ego boost from smacking my sister around and treating her like general shit. I can’t stand that I never knew about what was happening to her.
My mind rushes back to that day last year, when Rachel finally told me that my dad had been abusing her regularly during her final years of high school, after I left for college. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that before. The bastard smacked her around and I never knew. If I had, I would have gotten her out of that fucking house, that toxic place where she started to believe she was worthless.
I huff out a breath, squeezing my hands into fists with how angry I am. Then I force myself to release my hands.
I might be angry now, but a few drinks here and there doesn’t mean I’m like him.
It doesn’t.
I would never hit anyone, or try to step on others to make me feel better about my pathetic life. That’s the Frank Jameson way of operation. Not the Jeremy Jameson way.
After everything that happened last year, Rachel and I confronted him. Go to rehab, or go to hell. Well, maybe it wasn’t that nasty, but that was the basic gist of it. I was so proud of Rachel, standing up for herself. She told him she remembered when things were good when we were kids, and even though he didn’t deserve her forgiveness, she realized that he was upset about our mom walking out and was taking it out on us. She forgave him.
To his face.
And then he basically spit on her and told her to fuck off. He didn’t need rehab, he needed us to get out of his life.
So we did.
I’ve never seen Rachel cry that hard. She’d waited until we got into the car, leaving behind the house we grew up in for the last time. And then she broke down.
I didn’t want her to cry. The guy was a bastard. We were both better off without him. So I told her that.
“I know,” she said, tears streaming down her face. Even in her despair she tried to give me a small smile. “But there’s this little part of me that always hoped he would change. You have to grieve when your hope dies, Jeremy. You have to mourn when you finally accept that something you’ve always wanted just isn’t going to happen. Otherwise, you’ll never move on from it.”
So I’d let her cry her eyes out on the two-hour drive home. And when we got back to her apartment and Charlie came rushing out to her, holding her close as they walked inside together, I realized exactly what she meant. But for me, it wasn’t about the man who let us down and pushed my sister around. It was the regret I felt, about the love I could have had, if I had just been strong enough.
That night in December was the first night I went out and got absolutely wasted. I figured the alcohol would help me mourn. Plenty of people drink their problems away, then wake up and start fresh. I’d never had a problem with drinking before.
Only, I did it the next night too. And the next. My thoughts about how screwed up my life was and the poor decisions I’d made, letting my sister down and ruining things with Charlie. They all stewed in my brain until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
And then it was Christmas, and I had to sit across from Charlie at Rachel’s family dinner. She always gives me this slightly pained smile, like she’s happy I’m there because it makes Rachel happy, but if it was up to her she’d be nowhere near me. So I’d stepped out early because all I wanted was to go to the bar and not see her.
Now it’s the day after New Years, and I’m drunk, nearly passed out in a car on the side of the road. Alone. And still thinking about Charlie.
I’ve had thoughts about her off and on over the years. That sweet laugh of hers kills me every time I hear it, although it doesn’t happen as often when I’m around. She’s gotten even more beautiful over the past three years, if that’s even possible. But the thing that has been killing me the most is knowing that I had her, and made the choice to let her go.
I love my life – or, at least, I did love it – but I can’t help but feel like I missed out on something beautiful. Something special. Something worth the care and time that a real relationship requires.
But there’s nothing I can do about it now. She hates me, I’m sure. What else should she feel? From her vantage point, I pretended I was interested in something more than one date, took her virginity, and then showed her the door.
Too bad I can’t let that little spark of hope die off, that maybe one day…
I shake myself, not wanting to get caught up in stupid hope.
I shift forward in the seat with a groan and turn off the engine now that my seat has warmed up enough to let me fall somewhat comfortably asleep. It’ll be a bitch when I wake up cold in the morning, but I’m fine for now.
* * * * *
My eyes shoot open at the sound of a knock. It takes me at least 10 seconds of staring wide-eyed at Charlie through my car window before I remember where I am. And in those 10 seconds, the reality of my current hangover smacks me in the face as my stomach rolls over.
Charlie looks at me with confused eyes, clearly wondering what I’m doing asleep and parked down the street from her and Rachel’s apartment.
I rub my face with both hands, although the cold in the air is enough to wake me up. Turning on the car, I roll down the window.
Before I can even say a word, Charlie starts in.
“What the hell are you doing, Jeremy? How long have you been sleeping here? What is going on?”
Unbidden, my stomach rolls over again and I scramble out of the car. Bent over and bracing myself at the rear wheel, I heave up the acid that’s been lurking in my stomach overnight. After a few seconds, I stand and lean against the SUV, resting my forehead on the cool window.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Charlie asks, ever-the-nurse. She steps forward, completely disregarding the nasty shit all over the ground near my feet, and presses her hand to my cheek. “Are you sick?”
I turn to look at her and rest my cheek against the car, soaking in the cool feeling, my breath fogging the window as I take panting breaths.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” I finally manage. Which are not at all the words I actually wanted to say.
Charlie’s face scrunches up like she’s smelled something foul. “Are you…? Jeremy, are you drunk?”
I shake my head, then instantly regret it as another wave of nausea rolls through me.
“No, just… really hungover.”
“Well you smell like the floor of a bar, and I’ve been in enough of them to promise you that’s not a positive thing.”
I give her a tight smile.
“What are you doing up so early?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Just running. I had some time to kill before my next shift starts, and I figured it was important to stick to my resolution of not being such a sloth when I’m not at work.”
I let my eyes flick down her body, just now taking in her workout outfit. I don’t know how I missed it. She’s wearing red, black and gold Wonder Woman leggings, teal blue shoes, and a long-sleeved, neon yellow athletic shirt. The entire outfit is snug against her form, fitting to her every curve.
I look away before she catches me ogling her.
“I didn’t know you ran,” I say, pushing up from leaning on the car and tucking my hands in my pockets.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she says.
I just nod, accepting the barb.
“Thanks for waking me up, Char. I gotta get going.”
She takes a step away and watches me climb back into my car. When I pull away from the curb, she’s still standing there, watching me. Her entire body is frowning at me, from her eyes to her mouth to the way she’s standing with her arms crossed.
I hate that she saw that. But this is my reality.
And unfortunately, my reality gets even worse thirty minutes later. Three miles from my house, I notice the blue and reds flashing behind me.
Fuck.