“Not so fast,” I state, because I’m not done with her. She must also pay for what she did to Mary. “The same rule applies to you, Keira.”
“What rule?” she screams, fisting her hair, which hangs from a lopsided bun.
“I’m giving you one chance to leave and never be found. One.” I hold up my finger in case she missed the memo.
“I don’t have to do anything you say. Unlike this asshole, you’ve got nothing on me.”
I wish she’d stop making it so easy for me “Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”
Both their interests are piqued when I tap away on my keyboard and flip around my screen. The image on there is one I have zero need to see ever again, but it proves my point. It also highlights the fact I’m not full of shit.
As Keira is getting rutted into by Gail, I spread my hands out in front of me. “The chairman of the board is a good friend of mine. He has zero tolerance against this sort of horseplay. He also won’t appreciate the fact you broke into my office, Keira, and took something that didn’t belong to you.”
There, she now knows I know everything. I was playing her, just how she played me.
“So, if you aren’t on the first plane back to bumblefuck, then I will be forced to send him a copy if you decide to stay.”
“Fuck you, O’Shea!” Gail rounds my desk, towering over me in an attempt to intimidate me. He’s lucky he’s not copping a swift kick to the balls. “Go on, then, show him. I will explain that we’re in love and that we made a mistake. I’ll take the blame. You’ve got nothing on her. Nothing!”
“My, my.” I press my hand over my heart. “What big teeth you have,” I mock because this jackass makes stupid look like fucking Einstein.
His attempts to backpedal come too little, too late, because if he really cared about Keira, he wouldn’t have dangled her like a carrot off a stick. He walks over to her, rubbing her arm like the big hero that he is. Too bad he’s about to go from hero to zero in seconds.
Not bothering to turn the screen around, I press a few buttons and pull up the footage from earlier—the footage of Keira undressing at my command. Gail pales, while Keira flushes. “He told me to do it!” she pleads, turning to him, begging he see reason.
But the only thing he sees is Keira confessing her need to be fucked six ways to Sunday by yours truly—public enemy number one.
“You were supposed to flirt with him, not fuck him!” he screams, jabbing his pointer toward the screen.
“Oh, shit, really? Well, that just sucks for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snarls, his eyes darting between me and the screen.
So done with this conversation, I stand and brush an invisible piece of fluff from my white shirt. “It means…” I level the playing field, using Keira’s words against her. “I fucked her good.” It’s what she told Mary in the bathroom, so I’m just repeating what she claims to be true.
“How could you?” Gail looks like he’s about to tear up. I pass him a Kleenex.
“He’s lying!” Keira begs as she latches onto his arm. We’re all caught in a web of lies.
“I have no idea what kind of arrangement you have, but whoring out the one you love for your gain is fucking messed up. You should both be ashamed of yourselves,” I say, plotting them against one another. I don’t have to try hard, however.
Keira bursts into tears, while the world comes crashing down for Gail. “Game over, cuntwaffle. You lose. Now get the fuck out my office before I call security. You’re trespassing.”
Gail stands his ground, all huffy and puffy. His arms are out to the side, his chest rising and falling as he decides whether to flee or fight. If he knows what’s good for him, he will pack up his office, change his name, and move far, far away.
“You’ve ruined me,” he states, nostrils flared.
But that’s where he’s wrong. “That shit’s not on me. We all make decisions, good and bad. Let this be a lesson learned.” I can relate to this comment. We all can.
Keira is the first to take the plea deal, knowing this is the best it’s going to get for her. She can now move away to some exotic country and find herself a sugar daddy who won’t know the sins of her past. As she makes a run for the door, I decide to deliver some words of wisdom.
“Keira…” She stops, but doesn’t turn to face me. “Don’t settle. I don’t claim to know or understand what toxic relationships you’ve been in, but if I were you…I’d get a dog.” She yanks open the door and slams it shut, not at all touched by my speech.
Slipping into my suit jacket, I have no idea why Gail is still staring at me. This conversation was done like two minutes ago. “This isn’t over.” If that’s his parting words, then boo hoo for him.
A few more seconds pass with him eyeballing me before he finally leaves my life for good. The moment he’s gone, I take a deep breath, proud of all I’ve managed to achieve. I meant it when I said we’re the master of our own choices, and I could have gone to the board with everything I have and ruined both Keira and Gail for good, but I didn’t. I gave them a choice, and I can only hope they learn and move on.
Everyone deserves a second chance…and that’s called tomorrow. I’m hoping when tomorrow comes, things may look brighter. And that right there, kids, is what adulting is all about. So why do I still feel like dying? Looking at the shelf where the book which is really a camera sits, I thank Mary for once again saving my ass. Wherever she is, I hope she’s happy, and that when tomorrow comes…she’ll put me out of my misery and fucking call.
“Holy shit. Is that really our best friend, Hunter O’Shea?”
In response, I flip Dix and Finch off. “Eat me.”
I’ve missed these jackasses, but they understood I needed time to get over whatever the fuck this is. How long does it take? I feel like I’m mourning, like someone has fucking died. I have no idea what the timeframe is for this sort of thing, so to dull the pain, I raise my hand, indicating I need scotch and I need it now.
“Have you been working out?” Dix teases as I pull up the barstool beside him. I know I look like shit.
“Have you changed hair product? Wow, there’s so much volume.” I attempt to run my fingers through it, but he dodges my advances. The guy has style, but I still like to give him shit for looking like an Italian playboy.
Before either start with the inevitable “talk,” I reach into my back pocket, producing a bright pink sash. “What’s a bachelor party without shaming the groom?” He doesn’t have time to protest as I slip the novelty over his chest.
Biting my knuckle and sniffing away fake tears, I blubber, “My little boy is all grown up.”
Dix peers down at his sash and bursts into laughter when he sees a picture of a bride and groom. “Game over. Nice,” he says, reading what is written in white letters.
So far, things have gone exceptionally well. Typical of Finch to start the waterworks early. “I’m just going to say it…do you need a hug?” He outstretches his arms, while I throw a coaster at his head.
“Stop with the hugging and the pity party. I’m fine. A-fucking-okay.” Both my friends can go to hell when they sip their drinks, not at all convinced by my below par acting. “Let’s par-tay! Scotch. And two beers, thanks.” The bartender looks at my haggard appearance and nods. We’ve all been there.
I can sense what’s coming even before Dixon opens his mouth. “How you been?”
“Fabulous. Now stop talking and let’s get drunk already.”
I know he wants me to talk about it because all he’s managed to get out of me have been a few apathetic grunts and many fuck offs. But what do I say? I don’t even know how to describe what I’m feeling, because everything hurts and I want to die. A tad overdramatic? Maybe, but life has lost its flavor since Mary left me.
“Cut the bullshit. If this were me, you’d slap me up the side of the head and tell me to snap the fuck out of it.” On cue, he slaps the back of my head.
“Motherfucker! Well, l
ucky for me, I’m not you then,” I reply, rubbing my scalp.
Once my drinks are set down in front of me, I dive for them like the desperate man that I am. I feel a touch better, but I know once the buzz wears off, I’ll feel like roadkill again.
“Dix is right.”
“Dix is never right,” I counter, while Dixon flips me off.
Finch ignores our banter. “It’s hard to believe that so many nights ago, we sat here, at this exact bar, attempting to get Dixon’s head out of his ass. You can’t blame us for wanting to do the same for you.” When Finch realizes what he just said, he quickly leans forward and apologizes. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Dixon waves him off.
“The difference is I’m fine. I no longer have some she-devil trying to ruin my life, and I shipped Gail off to who gives a fuck. All in all, a good day.”
“Have you spoken to Mary?” And just like that, my speech swan dives into epic fail territory.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Just making conversation,” Dixon replies with a smirk. “Besides, this is payback for being a major pain in my ass. But in saying that, if it wasn’t for you, and you, big fella”—he nudges Finch in the ribs—“I wouldn’t be marrying the love of my life in two weeks. You can choose to clam up, that’s fine, but take it from experience, it won’t get you anywhere. You’ll end up even more miserable than you already are.”
“That’s not possible,” I mumble into my glass. So far, this bachelor party blows ass.
“Hunt, dude, talk to us. No judgment. You can even cry a little if it makes you feel better.”
“Fuck you.” I smirk, hating how well Dixon knows me. I had a weak moment, and now, they’re not going to let it slide.
Tossing back my drink, I reach for my beer, because I need alcohol to deal with these demons. “I fucked up. She fucked up. Bottom line is, we both need to find ourselves or something.” I take a swig, making a pained face. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“See, that wasn’t so bad, right?” Finch attempts to fist bump me, but I shoot him down.
“It’s horrible,” I state, the word vomit slowly rising. I try and cram it down, but it’s useless. “The other day, I cried…at a fucking infomercial.” Dixon almost gives himself whiplash as he turns to look at me, entertained. “Some chick said no one liked her ’cause she had yellow teeth. Her teeth were perfect, but she claimed after she used some charcoal teeth whitener, all the boys asked her out. So it had me thinking, maybe I need this shit. She looks content enough with her glowing smile, surrounded by doting men, maybe I needed some magical potion to make Mary like me again. But now I’m stuck with twelve boxes of this crap which tastes like Satan’s asshole, my teeth aren’t any whiter, and Mary still wants nothing to do with me!”
Finch nods considerately, while Dixon is about to fall off his seat in hysterics. Screw him.
“Oh my god,” he pants, breathing steadily through his mouth as he grips the edge of the bar. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”
“Don’t listen to him, Hunter. The whitener obviously is a metaphor for the void in your heart.”
“And wallet,” Dix counters, still laughing like the asshole that he is.
“Forget it.” I go to stand, feeling like a complete chump.
“Oh, sit your ass down.” Dixon yanks down on my arm, planting me back in my seat. Once he’s semi-composed, he exhales. “Welcome to the real world, my friend. This is what self-sacrifice feels like. True love is selfless and what you did was pretty damn noble. From the small snippets of information you’ve given us, it seems Mary needs to find herself before she can find herself with you.”
“Yes, that’s exactly right!” I almost launch off my chair in excitement. “How long does that normally take?”
“There’s no handbook, Hunt. It may take weeks, months, years, maybe never.”
“Never? But she said she needs time to think, and I’ve given her that. I just…” I pause, pensively rubbing over my chest. “When does it stop hurting?”
Dixon sighs, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “In the end, some of your greatest pain become your greatest strengths. You’ve already proven that.”
“But I miss her. A lot.” I peel the label from my bottle, knowing I’m two sips away from breaking down and sobbing on Dix’s shoulder.
“I know, man, but you can’t rush these things. I know you want to call her, croon to Sinatra under her bedroom window, I get it. I’ve been there. We both have.” Finch nods. “But you can’t force this. Give whatever this is—love, friendship, co-existence, time to grow. That’s the only thing you can do to be sure that she’s the one for you.”
“I already know she’s the one for me. But what if I’m not the one for her?” The question tastes like acid, but I needed to ask it.
“Then you move on, buddy. You take this experience and you turn it into something amazing with someone else.”
“I don’t want anybody else. I just want her. The thought of touching another woman has me wanting to cut off my own dick. And you know how attached I am to it.” The flirty bartender places another Budweiser in front of me with a wink. Do I give off a desperate, dateless vibe?
“On the house,” she whispers. It appears so. I barely look at her because the red label reminds me of Mary’s hair.
Dixon chuckles, ignoring the overhelpful barmaid. “This isn’t your average scenario. Most couples break up because the guy does something stupid, but in this case, Mary is just as scared as you are of being happy. Guys are the ones who usually run away, but in your story, it’s Mary.”
“If this is supposed to cheer me up…it’s not working.”
“I know you feel like shit, but I promise, things will get better.” Dixon’s reassurance has me feeling less suicidal.
“You promise? ’Cause if you’re fucking lying, you’ll pay dearly at your real bachelor party. This is just a teaser.” When he opens his mouth, I cut him off. “Just ’cause I’m incredibly moody, possibly going through puberty, and most likely will sob uncontrollably at the drop of a hat, does not mean I’ve forgotten about this rite of passage. It’s going to be epic, and I need epic after…” And cue the tears.
“Okay, dude. I can’t wait.” Fuck, I love this big hunk of man. “But this right here”—he hooks his thumb between Finch and me—“it’s all I want.”
“We’ve come full circle,” Finch says nostalgically. “I can’t believe how far we’ve come. I’m honored to call you guys my best friends.” Finch is trying to kill me. With my emotions running haywire, he can’t say shit like that and expect me not to cry into my beer.
We raise our glasses, toasting to our good fortune of being alive. And the fact Dixon will be a married man in two weeks’ time. “I wish I’d spoken to you sooner about this,” I confess, while Dixon shrugs.
“Don’t sweat it. You live and you learn. I’m only here today because of you two. You both carried me on your shoulders when I didn’t want to get back up. I’ll never forget that. I’ve got your back, brother. Always.”
Finch sniffs, but it’s useless. “Oh, man, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.” Dixon draws him into his side.
I once believed that Dixon was the glue that held this threesome together, but I now know we’ve all been the adhesive at one time or another. What we have is an unbreakable bond.
As Dix flags down the bartender, I nudge him with my shoulder. “FYI, you were right.”
“Can I get that in writing?” He smirks, paying for this scotch.
“Keira was a gigantic bitch in the making. Wonder if she consulted McCunty for pointers?”
Dixon’s mouth parts in horror. “Holy shit. Tell me everything.” He orders another round, hinting this is going to be a late night. Maybe this bachelor party won’t suck after all.
The table is littered with empty glasses, and it’s a sight I’ve sorely missed. I’ve told the boys everything and just like always, they’ve made
me feel like me again.
I’m going to once in my life listen to them and give Mary the time she needs. Dixon suggested I take up a hobby to occupy my time. I informed him that annoying him is a pastime which suits me just fine. The liquor is running freely and we’re all in good spirits, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.
We’ve gone through a lot of shit together, and honestly, I’m surprised we’re not in jail or dead. My mind has been Mary-free and it’s been a nice reprieve.
“I need to take a piss,” I very ungracefully state.
Finch nurses his second beer, while Dixon and I have lost count. As I go to stand, I almost fall onto my ass, no surprise there as I passed coordination about five shots ago. Finch and Dix shoot upright, offering me their shoulders, which I happily accept.
Dixon isn’t any help because he’s drunker than I am, but we sway toward the bathroom, laughing at how ridiculous we look. Finch is the navigator, no surprise there, but when he shrieks and suddenly dances in front of me like he’s Patrick Swayze himself, I wonder if maybe someone slipped a mickey into his drink.
“Whatever you’re on, I want some, and now.” Finch ignores me and continues to rhumba in front of me, arms raised and waving frantically in the air. “What in the ever-living hell are you doing? I’m way too drunk to deal with this shit. And I need to piss.”
I attempt to shove past him, but he dives forward and hugs me. “I love you, man.” I look at Dixon, who shrugs.
Finch is holding on tight, veering me back toward the bar and away from the front window. “C’mon, let’s get another drink. I want to get hammered and see some boobies!”
Tonight has just gone from fun to fucking funny. “Okay, dude, I just need to take a…” But the words die in my throat when a flash of red flickers before my eyes. I may be blind drunk, but I’d recognize those copper curls anywhere.
Finch exhales, letting me go. It takes me a second, but I realize what he was doing. He saw Mary walk by first, but why would he think I wouldn’t want to see her? Yes, I’m hurting, but after talking to the boys, I’m in a good headspace.
The Hunt - Monica James Page 29
