by BT Urruela
“You got that right! Cheers to being old, drunk and stupid.” He lifts his beer and I do too, though I don’t cheers him right away.
“I’m with you on the drunk and stupid part, but remember you’ve got about seven years on me, you old fuck.”
He laughs, his broad shoulders shaking as he does. He orders two more beers and two burgers he claims are the best he’s ever had. It’s not even close to the first time I’ve heard him say that. Food is his best friend… and his worst enemy.
“Back to my question you so quickly bypassed,” Irish interjects. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, after you guys deployed, I didn’t really feel like hanging in Columbus anymore. I was making my way west and stopped in this little town called Truman Valley for the night. Ended up meeting a family that owns a winery. They needed a hand for a few months, and I needed the money. So here I am.”
“Which town? Worth checking out?” he asks.
“It’s this tiny-ass town about an hour west of here. Not much going on there, but it’d be good to have you visit either way.” My thoughts stray to Paige and the potential of her meeting Irish. As much as I would love him to meet her, and vice versa, I just don’t know if it’s good for me. Our lives have already become entangled enough.
“Any hot tail? I’ve been having a hard fucking time getting back into the game after everything, and my dick is not happy about it.”
“There’s a few sexy girls.” Brandi momentarily crosses my mind. “One that you’d definitely be down with, and I get the feeling she may be open to the idea.”
“Sign me the fuck up! Weekdays I’m pretty much stuck here, but one of these weekends coming up you’re showing my ass a good time.
“Just say the word, man. We’ll work something out.”
“How about next weekend?” Irish is definitely hard-up. He takes a large bite of his burger, eyes still on me.
“Fuck it, sounds good to me,” I finally say.
“Alright, that’s what I like to hear. I can’t stand these MP fucks here, and I need to get my party on. Somewhere I don’t have to worry about who will run into my drunk ass. Sometimes I really hate being an officer.” He stops for a moment, as if in thought, before continuing. “I should’ve been in the NFL, man.”
“Yeah, or fucking prison.” We both laugh, his teenage run-ins with the law are common knowledge among friends.
“Like you weren’t a little fuck back then too. Let’s not forget the flashlight incident, man.” He notices my immediate discomfort and rolls his eyes. “Don’t get all chickish on me. It was a long time ago. Nothing to still be bothered by.”
“No, I know. It’s not like that. I just don’t like thinking about it. That was a different me.”
“Not a different you, just an immature you. If I remember it correctly, the guy deserved a good beating. Hitting a girl and shit. Fuck that.”
“I honestly don’t even remember if he hit her on purpose. It all happened so fast. I definitely don’t think he deserved the beating he got.”
A half dozen or so people from a town over are gathered around the bonfire. Only one of them—Jared—knows me, though still only on a first-name basis. We go to the same weed dealer and have partied a few times together. The guy knows how to get down, and at this point in my life, I like hanging with people who know where the party’s at. As it turns out, he’s an acquaintance of the only two girls here. The men, all four of them, are complete strangers to both of us. Almost as soon as we pulled up and got out of Jared’s van, the dirty looks started.
The fact that we don’t know most of the people here is something he failed to inform me. And though this dumbass is too ate up to recognize the problem with a scenario like this, I’m not. I have an analytical personality—overanalytical, to be perfectly honest. I may be eighteen, but they’ve been a hard eighteen years and I’ve become pretty adept at smelling out shitty situations. This situation right here is nothing but bad.
As Jared approaches the two girls, I quickly realize the looks have intensified and whispers are being passed between the others. I pull Jared back by his sleeve while the girls continue their conversation as if he had never even been there. One whispers to the other, and they both look at me and giggle. I smile and nod, then lean into Jared.
“Dude, what the fuck were you thinking?”
“What?” he asks, entirely too loud. A few of the guys are cracking open new beers, while others engage in obnoxious conversations.
“You don’t know any of these guys. Do you not see the problem with that?” Jared’s eyes are bloodshot, and he looks at me through squinted eyelids. His breath reeks of whiskey, his motor skills wrangled by THC.
“No, I don’t know them. The girls invited me. They’re high schoolers, bro. Hot as fuck!”
“Okay dude, that’s really great news, but do you not get that we are kind of encroaching on their territory here?” I pass a nod toward the group of guys, who are now working their best game on the two girls.
“What do you mean?” he stammers, his eyes wandering to the girls. “The girls invited me.”
I can just shake my head. I don’t know which of us is dumber, him for being so fucking blind or me for letting him drive me here. It’s not like I have a car anyway, but it sure would be nice to have the option of leaving.
Jared staggers back to the bonfire. He pulls a flask from his back pocket and takes a big gulp, drunkenly stumbling over his feet a bit. He introduces himself to the guys who take his hand without much enthusiasm. Some fail to shake his hand at all, leaving it floating awkwardly in the air.
I turn back to fetch the Jack Daniels I left on the floorboard of Jared’s van. After downing about a third of the bottle, I stow it in my back pocket. If shit’s going down tonight, I’m going to be in an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ mental state.
I can fight with the best of them sober. I’ll take someone’s ass out with a quickness, but being sober comes with limitations. It comes with a moral code. When I’m drunk, that code vanishes. Limitations cease to exist. I become ruthless and I give zero fucks. If I’m gonna get my ass beat, I’m at least taking a few of these cocksuckers with me.
I grab a lighter from my front pocket, and as I tread slowly back to the bonfire, I pull a Marlboro Light from behind my ear. I slip it between my lips and light it, taking a long drag. It’s when the smoke dances back out my lungs in waves that I see Jared thrown to the ground by the biggest guy of the lot.
A flurry of fists rain down on Jared from the guy who pushed him down as two others kick him. The last one watches me. One of the girls bends down to try and pull the big man off Jared, and as he pulls back to throw another punch, his elbow connects with her face. She stumbles back, her hands holding her nose. He doesn’t seem to notice as he continues pummeling Jared.
I see red. Before I know it, I’ve grabbed a Maglite from the van, and within seconds, I’ve whacked three of them hard in succession. They back off, hands guarding their faces. The big guy sees me with the Maglite and then looks at his buddies bleeding from fresh cuts on their heads. He lets go of Jared, whose face is swelling already and bleeding badly, and he jumps to his feet. He takes off toward his car, but I’m right behind him. The others are in shock, not moving a muscle. The big guy doesn’t make it far before he trips and stumbles to the ground.
He turns onto his back but doesn’t have time to get up. The Maglite comes down on his face in quick succession—one, two, three, four. I can’t stop. I lose count. I’m blind with rage, and the only thing running through my head is just how much I like watching him bleed. He begins yelping like a dog on the other end of a rolled up newspaper, sad little cries that make this big man now look utterly pathetic. Flesh splits wide open and pours blood. His nose now juts sharply to the left.
I keep hitting him. I can hear the two girls screaming. One of them is crying. I don’t care, nor do I pay it any mind. I bring the Maglite down a few more times before I hear his friends’ foot
steps growing closer.
Jared pulls the van next to me. The door’s open and he’s yelling at me to get in. I don’t want to stop. I bring it down on the dude’s face two more times. He no longer cries, but struggles to breathe through the blood collecting in his mouth. I stand, admiring my handiwork for a few moments before I rear back and throw the Maglite full speed at his face. It connects with a loud thump and then falls to the ground. He lets out a sickening gurgle and groan. I hop into the van and we take off, leaving him bleeding in the rearview.
“Jesus fucker, say something. I know you’re eating, but shit. Talk between bites or something. You’re making shit awkward now.” Irish’s voice pulls me from my haze as I pop the last of the burger into my mouth and wash it down with a swig of beer. I hadn’t realized it, but I finished my entire burger without a word between us. My mind was too busy lost in the collection of memories. That was a different place in my life—a different me.
“Something on your mind?” he asks.
“Nah, man. More or less just trying to figure out where I go from here.”
“Fort Lewis, no?” He knows just enough about my past to understand I would make it up there someday.
“Eventually… or maybe not. I don’t know, man. I think I’ve just gotta figure some shit out before I take all that on. I’m twenty-seven. I’ve never had a job for longer than six months. I don’t like putting roots down anywhere. Three years in Columbus with you guys—actually settling and getting close to people—that’s rare, man. I’m learning that the hard way in Truman Valley.”
“How do you mean?”
“Just not making too many friends over there.”
“No?”
“Not even close.”
“You fuck the wrong woman?” he asks, knowing my history full well. Women are trouble for me. I spend just enough time with them to get what I need, and when it comes time to get real—to open myself up to another person fully, to give them all of me—I run. And I run fast. Women are my Kryptonite and love is foreign to me.
“Not quite. There is a girl, and the bullshit involves her, but we haven’t fucked or anything like that. I work for her dad. We’ve made out a few times, but that’s it. Nothing serious. This is just a pit stop for me.”
There’s doubt in his eyes. “You sure about that, man?”
“Positive. She’s just got this crazy ex who’s been a fucking pain. Him and two of his bitches.”
“Anything we need to tend to while I’m in town?”
“No, not at all. Best to try and not let it get to me. I’m too old for all this shit. In the old days, we’d handle this how we’ve handled any other situation. But now, I’m just over it. He’s just trying to get under my skin.”
“Is it working?”
“Is it hard to get under my skin?” I ask with an eyebrow raised.
“Well, we did start as enemies.”
“Because you’re a shit-talking Mick.”
“And you’re a sensitive prick,” he says, laughing as he stands. “There’s a real nice strip joint out off Highway Z. A real classy place.” He takes a quick glance at his wristwatch. “And with it being one in the afternoon, they’re really going to have their prime ladies up dancing.”
“You mean their fuckin’ D squad.” I laugh, but his face is nothing but serious. “You’re not fucking around, are you?”
He just shakes his head and walks toward his car, a souped-up Camaro that is comically small for a dude pushing 6’4.
Irish motions to the passenger side. “Get the fuck in, you cock.” He lumbers into the driver’s seat and I reluctantly climb in the car after him, noticing for the first time the Purple Heart license plate. It reads one word… IRISH.
Brandi and I sit cross-legged on my bed, the sun long since set. With a half finished bottle of wine, we’re getting our Netflix and chill on hard. It’s a nice little reminder that the last time I actually “Netflix and chilled” was more than six months ago.
Rowdy’s big head lies on my lap, pulling my thoughts to his daddy and the fact that maybe I’ve been pushing for too much. It’s only been a few short weeks and I know he’ll be leaving one day soon, but I can’t get him out of my head. I just can’t.
I wish he were here. He left nearly twelve hours ago, and I haven’t heard a thing since earlier in the day. The thought of something bad happening to him is unsettling.
“So what the fuck do you think Cody’s gonna do?” Brandi asks. “That shit last night… Xander calling them idiots in front of everyone. That’s not gonna go over well.” Brandi drunkenly twirls her hair as she reminds me of what I already know.
Cody won’t let this go. And I’m scared shitless what he may do. I’ve seen him hurt a lot of people.
“I don’t know. You’ve known him as long as I have.” I pause, contemplating what could come. “He’s going to get him back. He wanted to last night.”
“I saw him follow you guys out! What stopped him?”
“Deputy Johnson drove by. You know he’s not an idiot when it comes to Cody. I just worry about Xander.”
“How are things with you and hot stuff by the way? I guess we’re kissing in public now, huh?” She laughs, but it’s the nervous kind. She knows as well as I do that no one keeps secrets in small towns.
“Yeah, that was unexpected. Right in the middle of the place too.” I grimace, thinking of all the people I knew in there. At the time I couldn’t care less, but now that I’ve had time to process it, I realize things may get weird around here pretty fast.
“Do you think your parents know already?” she asks, finishing off her glass of wine and refilling both of ours with the rest of the bottle.
“I think it’s entirely possible in this damn town.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck.” I take a swig of my wine and glance at the clock… 11:00 p.m.
Without warning, the sound of wood violently splintering comes from outside.
Both of us jump at the noise, spilling wine on my bed and ourselves. I put the wine glass down and make my way quickly to the back door. Rowdy and Brandi follow close behind.
When I open the door, I can’t believe my eyes. Xander’s truck is positioned a foot into the guesthouse porch, a few of the two-by-fours splitting around the truck frame.
His truck lights are still on and the door is open wide, but he remains seated. He bobs his head slowly to the music on the radio and he’s completely unaware we’re watching him.
Instantly, my mind goes to my parents. They’re both heavy sleepers and are usually dead asleep by ten—at the latest—but the noise was loud enough that it could have woken them. I’m in a near panic as I think of the implications of this. Xander would certainly be thrown out; there’s not a doubt in my mind. My dad lost his brother to a drunk driver, and he’ll never forget it.
I creep through the house, listening for any movement. Nothing. I peek around the corner and down the hall. No lights are on. I hear Caleb’s television, blaring as usual, but there doesn’t seem to be any other commotion.
I go back to the kitchen just as Brandi comes through the backdoor with her hands to her mouth.
“Yuck, yuck, yuck. He just threw up. Like bad.” She goes straight to my room without bothering to turn back around. I return to the back door and see Xander in the same position, but completely passed out now. Rowdy is up on his hind legs and licking his face.
My mind rapidly sifts through possible excuses as I try to figure out what the hell to tell my parents. I come up empty. Real fucking empty. Each lie seems more ridiculous than the last.
After shutting Rowdy inside the guesthouse, I cut the truck’s lights and turn the engine off, sneering at Xander’s passed-out ass as I do. I wake him up just enough to support some of his weight and walk him to his door.
“Hey, I’m okay,” he mumbles, pushing me away a bit. His eyes are just slits and looking at nothing in particular.
“Okay, my fucking ass. You’re far from okay. And I swear
to God”—I push him to the bed and he sits hard, looking up at me spitefully when he lands—“tomorrow I’m putting a fucking boot in your ass. I cannot believe you’d do something like this. I feel fucking sick.”
He still looks at me, but with little understanding. He lies down and closes his eyes, legs still hanging off the bed.
“I’m tired,” he murmurs, his face planted in the mattress.
“Tomorrow morning your ass is mine.” I turn his lights off, leaving him just as he is and hoping his back and neck pain tomorrow is just as bad as his hangover will be. I leave the guesthouse, anger stirring as I see the mess of vomit I’ll have the pleasure of cleaning up.
It’s five something in the damn morning. Mom will be up around seven and Dad even earlier than that, so now is the time to wake up Xander. There’s a lot to go over. I’ve got a bullshit story even the dumbest person on Earth wouldn’t believe, but I’m rolling with it. I’m praying Dad takes into account that I have never lied to him. Not ever. There has to be some stock in that.
Checking out the damage in daylight relieves me just a little. It isn’t as bad as it appeared around midnight, and with the truck already towed, I see only a few of the two-by-fours are split. Regardless, I’m livid.
I find Xander in just about the same position I left him. He snores and twitches violently in his sleep. I storm up to him, and without regard, I shake him. After a few stiff shakes, his eyes go so wide it seems they may pop out at any moment. He bolts upright, his hands blocking his face.
He drops them slowly and scans the room. His sunken, bloodshot eyes finally meet mine.
“What happened last night?” he asks, almost in a whisper. “I think I know, but can you tell me?”
I stand with both hands on my hips, my foot tapping the floor as if I’m a parent disciplining a child. I don’t care.
“Well, what’s the last fucking thing you remember?” My crassness takes him by surprise. I haven’t cursed around him much, but when I’m angry, all bets are off.
“We went out after lunch. Stayed out awhile. And, uh, I…” He rubs his temples firmly, his eyes closed and head shaking. “I remember heading back here. And…and I guess it’s spotty after that.”
