Whiskey Lullaby

by Stevie J. Cole

  On my way through the caravan of vehicles, I spotted Jerod in the back of one of the trucks with Britney Swinson’s youngest sister Darlene wrapped around him like a vine. He tipped back a bottle of something—most likely his grandad’s moonshine— his eyes locking on me.

  “Where’s Bo, Jerod?” I shouted over the music blaring from the cab of the truck.

  “Puking somewhere,” he laughed. God, that kid tried my nerves. Darlene rolled her eyes before swinging her leg over Jerod’s lap and straddling him.

  “When it starts to burn when you pee, Jerod, come see me in the ER.”

  Darlene scowled over her shoulder at me, and I smiled before making my way between the trucks to look for Bo. Most every truck’s windows were fogged over, some of the vehicles rocking back and forth. The music faded out and the low notes of another song started which left it quiet enough that I could hear the awful retching coming from the bushes a few feet away. That’s got to be him. “Bo?” I shouted.

  I followed the sound and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw none other than Noah Greyson knelt beside my little brother, shoving a bottle of water at him. “You need to drink something,” he said before glancing up at me. “He’s shitfaced.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Bo held a finger in the air. “I’m…” he gagged. “I’m fine, Nanner.”

  One corner of Noah’s lips curled into a devious smirk. “Nanner?”

  “Don’t…” I glared at Noah when I knelt beside Bo and swiped my hand over his forehead. “How much did you drink?”

  He drunkenly pointed at an empty bottle of Jack tossed amongst the leaves.

  “Oh my God… are you serious? The whole bottle?” I hung my head. “The whole thing, Bo?”

  He vomited again.

  “Hey, he’s just a kid,” Noah said.

  “I know.” For some reason, the fact that he was there aggravated me. Him telling me that my brother was just a kid annoyed me. I didn’t need him telling me to go easy on my brother. Noah Greyson didn’t know me, he didn’t know my family. For all I knew he was down there, feeding them alcohol. I was tired and stressed, and an unwarranted wave of repulsion rose inside me. “Why are you even here? What, were you giving them liquor?”

  He frowned before pushing to his feet.

  “Why are you down here with a bunch of drunk teenagers, Noah?” I asked again.

  “God, you really are no different, are you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Poor white boy, has to be trouble, huh?” He laughed sarcastically, widening his stance and crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I didn’t say that, I just…” I struggled for the words, embarrassed.

  “They’re loud as shit. I could hear them from my Grandma’s front porch.”

  “I just—” I swallowed.

  “I came down here to take keys away. You know, so they couldn’t drive drunk.”

  Glancing down at the leaves, I rubbed my lips together. “I’m sorry.”

  “I could have just called the cops, but I’m not really that big of a shit, you know?”

  Bo dragged in a hard breath. When he glanced up at me, his face crumpled. “I shouldn’t have gotten drunk, I just, I just don’t want Momma to… I just want to be anywhere else.”

  I knew how he felt and it broke my heart. “It’s fine, Bo, it’s fine…” I sighed and grabbed his arm, throwing it over my shoulder and attempting to hoist him up. “Can you get up?”

  “Yeah.” He staggered to his feet, and I fought to keep us both upright. Noah’s hand landed on my waist, steadying me.

  “Whoa, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” His hand subtly glided over my hip as he moved behind me, wedging his way between Bo and I. “Come on, kid.” He looped Bo’s arm over his shoulders. “One foot in front of the other.”

  “I’m sorry I slung shit on you,” Bo slurred, his eyes crossing when he glanced up at Noah.

  “It’s fine.”

  They stumbled through the leaves past the crackling timbers of the bonfire with me a few steps behind. When they passed one of the trucks, a group of girls whistled, catching my attention. “Hey Noah!” they sang out. He ignored them, but I watched them watch him. The thing about Noah was, he commanded attention by simply existing. He walked like a bad boy, but he had just enough soul that he could get any good girl close enough to ruin her. Guys like him—they may have the best intentions, but they live to destroy themselves, and by proxy, they destroy you in the process.

  “Where’s your car?” Noah asked.

  “Up there.” I pointed up the hillside.

  “Come on, Bo. Help me out, man.”

  When we reached the top, Noah glanced over his shoulder. Bo swayed, and Noah steadied him while nodding toward Daddy’s truck. “And don’t tell me… you’re stuck?” Stifling a laugh, he dropped his chin and shook his head. I felt like the stupid, helpless girl, and I didn’t like that.

  “I was gonna get it out.”

  “Uh-huh.” Noah dragged a half-conscious Bo over to me. “Got him?” I grabbed onto Bo and he slumped against me, groaning. Noah glanced at him. “Just keep him upright and give me five minutes.” He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

  “Okay.”

  And then he took off down the hill, the leaves crunching underneath his boots.

  “I’m never drinking this much again,” Bo grumbled, resting his head against my shoulder.

  “Yeah, okay, buddy.” I patted his back trying not to inhale the stout smell of bourbon seeping from him.

  A few minutes later, headlights from an approaching truck bobbled through the trees. The engine stuttered as it came to a stop. Noah hopped out, rounded the front of the truck, and grabbed Bo. “Come on,” he said, helping him to the door. Once he got him inside, he walked to the driver side and looked back at me. “You coming or what?”

  I thumbed toward Daddy’s truck. “I uh…”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll get you out, but I thought getting him in a bed would be good first.”

  “Please…” Bo groaned from the passenger seat.

  “Come on,” Noah grinned, “just gonna have to sit close to me.” Winking, he held open the driver’s side door and I climbed in with no choice but to straddle the gear shift. Great.

  Bo’s head slammed against the window when Noah reversed the truck. “Ow.” Bo slowly looked over at me with crossed eyes. “There’s two of you, Nanner.”

  Bless him. I patted his thigh. “Yep…”

  “Alcohol’s the devil.”

  Noah chuckled. “A lot of things in life are the devil.”

  The truck bumped along the trail before coming to a clearing. At the far side of the field, I could just make out a tiny house with one light on.

  “How’s your grandma doing?” I asked.

  “Ah, she came in yesterday and had a shot of whiskey.” He shot a mischievous grin at me. “She’s fine now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Why are y’all shouting?” Bo groaned.

  Noah nudged me with his elbow and laughed. “God, I remember being his age,” he whispered, the heat of his breath fanning over my neck. “I hated being a teenager.”

  “For some reason, I don’t believe that.”

  “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you liked being a teenager?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “No responsibility was nice.”

  “Huh, I wouldn’t know. Let me guess,” he turned the wheel and the tires bumped onto the drive. “You were the popular girl, probably had boys climbing up the tree in front of your house knocking on your window?”

  “No,” I rolled my eyes. “I was the girl that studied instead of partying.”

  “What, no boys climbing the trees? I find that hard to believe.”

  “No boys in trees for me.”

  A curious smirk danced over his lips before he parked the truck behind a powder blue Chrysler that looked older than me. The headlights shined over the hood, showing a thick, yellow layer of
pollen.

  “You really should wash your grandma’s car,” I said with a smile.

  “Well, one”—he cut the engine—“it was my grandpa’s. Two it doesn’t run, and three”—he opened the car door—“I washed it three days ago, even though it doesn’t run.” He smiled again, those dimples popping before he hopped out and rounded the hood.

  He helped Bo out of the truck, and I followed them to the front porch. The door opened without a sound and we stepped in. The only noise was the soft tick, tick, tick of a clock somewhere in the room.

  “Imma lay you down in my old room, alright?” Noah turned on a table lamp. The living room was small with a recliner and a floral couch against the far wall with those little crocheted arm covers on each end. Behind the couch was a faded copy of “The Last Supper”.

  Bo grunted something that sounded like “sure” as Noah guided him into a room at the end of the hallway.

  “Bathrooms right out here.” Noah stepped into a room across the hall and came out with a plastic trashcan. “If you have to puke”—I stopped at the door, watching Noah place it next to the bed—“puke in that. Got it?”

  All Bo did was groan.

  “Alright,” Noah said, turning Bo onto his side and cramming the pillow behind him. “Stay on your side.”

  Bo managed to wave his hand through the air before dropping it like a lead weight to his side and then… he was snoring.

  Noah glanced at me and smiled, jerking his chin toward the back of the house. I followed him down the dark hallway and through an unlocked back door.

  The warm summer air surrounded me the second I set foot on the old, wooden porch.

  “He’s out like a light,” Noah whispered.

  “Yeah.” I turned to look at him, caught off guard by the way the moonlight highlighted a grayish tint in his eyes. Noah Greyson was catch-you-off-guard, make-your-chest-go-tight-stunning. Something I didn’t want to look away from but knew I should. I knew I should… “I need to go home,” I said.

  “Let him sleep it off for an hour or so.”

  At least I felt like I tried to escape. “Yeah. Okay.” I leaned against the siding of the house, nervously rubbing my hand over my arm. It was just the situation. The fact that he made me nervous, the fact that Meg warned me he was a Max in waiting. He worked for my father. Mother…Bo…

  “Come on,” Noah said, stepping off the porch. And like there was an invisible string tied from me to him, I followed him blindly through the tall grass to his truck. He dropped the tailgate and hopped onto the bed. Grinning, he turned around and held out his palm. “Come on, country girl.”

  I took his hand. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt like something more—the strike of a match, maybe, or maybe that’s just what I wanted it to feel like. I wanted him to want me. I’m not even sure why, but I almost feel foolish for it.

  Exhaling, he sat on the bedrail of the truck. “You just gonna stand there?”

  “I mean...” I took a seat on the opposite side, clasping my hands in my lap. The music from the bonfire blended with the hum of the cicadas and a light, warm breeze kicked up. The burning smell of timbers and the fragrant scent of the sweet shrub swirled around me. I closed my eyes. It was a soothing mixture. The southern smells and the warm night was something that made me feel carefree if only for a moment, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a little of the tension wound so tightly in my shoulders ease up.

  “So, tell me about yourself, pretty girl. What’s your story?”

  I shrugged. “Not much to tell.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “There’s not,” I laughed. “What is there to tell when you grew up in a small town, with a small family? Everyone’s story’s the same here.”

  “Now, that’s not true, I assure you. You’ve lived here your entire life?”

  “No, I moved to Fort Lauderdale for college.”

  “Jesus, why in the hell would you leave paradise to come back to this town?”

  My chest tightened, and I hesitated before I blurted, “My mom’s sick.”

  “Oh,” he exhaled. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “It’s fine.” I rubbed a hand over my arm.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Cancer.”

  “God, I—”

  “You obviously don’t like it here,” I cut him off because I wanted to dwell a little longer in the carefree. I wanted a moment where I didn’t have to think about the ugly parts of my life. As selfish as it felt, I needed a break from real life. Just for a moment. And Noah was a beautiful distraction. “If you could live anywhere else, where would it be?”

  “Australia,” he said quickly with a nod. “Yep, Australia.”

  “Basically as far away as you can get from here?” I laughed.

  “Yep. I’ve Googled it, and Perth is literally as far away from here as you can get. Plus, Australia is where they used to send all the criminals and shit, so, you know, I figure I’ll fit in.”

  “Wow… so now you’re a criminal, huh?”

  “Something like that…”

  I wondered what he did to go to jail. Daddy never told me the reason any of the guys had been sent to jail, just that they were troubled souls. I studied him. His cut jawbone, the stubble. The tattoos. The ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors. Drugs maybe? Theft…and then I felt guilty for judging him.

  A smirk worked across his full lips. “I kicked a guy’s ass, nothing too exciting before you go getting your hopes up.” How did he... He swung his legs around and hopped off the truck.

  “Hey,” I said. “Where are you going?”

  The interior light flickered on, the taillights cast a red glow over the grass, and the radio kicked on before the door slammed shut. Noah grabbed onto the side rail of the truck and heaved himself into the bed. “Their music selection is shit,” he said, nodding toward the bonfire before he stretched out in the bed of the truck, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the sky. “Man, I never get tired of this.”

  I followed his gaze. The stars looked like thousands of sparkling diamonds against a black velvet backdrop. “I forgot how many there are,” I said.

  “What?”

  “The stars. You can’t see them like this in a city.”

  “And you’ve been back for how long?” he laughed.

  “A month. I’ve just been busy.”

  “Ah, now. You can’t get too busy to stop and stare at the stars.” I swooned a little. “You can come down here if you want.” There was a tap, tap, tap over the bed of the truck. “Promise I’ll behave.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  We sat in the dark, watching the sky, listening to the cicadas and music. “Let it Hurt” came on and Noah quietly sang along. I watched the way he sang with his eyes closed. When it got to the chorus, his eyes squeezed shut a little more tightly, then he wet his lips, but instead of singing the lyrics he sighed. “What was it like?” He opened his eyes, staring back up at the sky.

  “What was what like?”

  “Growing up with parents. A brother… on the good side of town?” He laughed, but there was a vulnerability on his face, and I noticed him swallow.

  “It was…” I slid off the rail and sat next to him, wrapping my arms around my legs. “It was all I knew.” I sat silently for a moment, wondering if I should prod, if I should ask him about his family. It’s hard to know what to do in situations like that. Some people say things because they want to open the door, and some people simply say them without thought. “What happened to your parents?”

  The chorus ended, and he started singing again, louder this time. The raspy edge to his voice sent goose bumps down my arms. I thought to myself that I could listen to him sing like that all night.

  Mid-chorus he exhaled. “Ready for it?”

  “Sure.”

  “My mom got knocked up when she was seventeen. Evidently, from what Grandma said, she was one of those ‘good girls’ that met the
bad boy—the bad boy being my dad. He drove a motorcycle and sang in some garage rock band.” He grinned. “Apple doesn’t fall far, huh?”

  “Well, you don’t have a motorcycle.”

  “It’s at my house.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Did you ever meet him?”

  Noah shrugged. “Not that I remember, I mean, there’s a picture of him holding me in one arm and a pack of Coors Light in the other. He looks stoned outta his mind with one epic mullet going on.” He laughed. “But, nah… family life wasn’t his thing, so he hightailed it right on outta good ole’ Sylacauga.”

  “Must have been tough on your mom.”

  “Why would it have been? She followed him.”

  “Oh.” I shifted on the bed of the truck, leaning back and bracing myself with my hands.

  “Yep. Good thing Grandma thought I was worth a shit, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.” What else could I have said?

  “Don’t be. I’m a fucking Tin Man.”

  “A Tin Man?”

  “Yeah, that guy was my hero growing up because he learned to live without a heart.”

  God. That hurt a little. It was as though his words, that empty place I saw in his eyes, dug at something deep inside me. The things most people took for granted—he didn’t even know what they were like. He thought he didn’t have a heart, but I saw the way he looked at his grandma in the hospital. “But the Tin Man always had a heart…” I whispered.

  “God, you’re adorable.” His eyes narrowed, and he reached for my face, his hand lingering on my jaw as he swept a piece of hair behind my ear. My eyes closed. That touch was soft even though his fingertips were callused from the strings of his guitar. Everything about that man was a contradiction, and it made my heart beat a little too fast. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me with a promise of tenderness that could easily break me. Before I could react, he’d pulled his hand away and went back to staring at the stars.