Wingmen (Modern Love Story #2, 4, & bonus)

by Daisy Prescott

  I had to get out of the stifling room before the walls closed in on me. I wove my way through family members until I reached the fresher air of the hall. Cara drove and I couldn’t leave until someone gave me a ride. Exhausted, I flopped into an empty chair in the waiting room, and put my head in my hands.

  I lifted my head to find a frazzled Hailey standing a few feet away at the end of the row, her eyes already watering and her nose pink from earlier tears. She covered her mouth with her hand and stepped closer. Without thinking, I stood and awaited the comfort of her arms around me.

  “Hailey!” Lori sobbed behind me.

  Hailey’s fingertips brushed my hand as she passed me to hug Lori, who burst into tears, muffling her sobs in Hailey’s shoulder. I stood awkwardly in place for a minute, then swept my hand over the back of my head. I rubbed both hands over my beard, exhaling before collapsing in the same chair. The two friends cooed and soothed each other as women do in these situations. My knee bounced and I fidgeted, listening to the sounds of comfort.

  “I need to get out of here,” I said out of the blue. “Lori, can I borrow your car?”

  “It has Noah’s car seat.”

  “He’s not even here.”

  “I guess we could switch it into Mom’s car.” She frowned and I knew she really didn’t want to bother.

  “You can borrow my car,” Hailey offered, digging her keys out of her pocket. “I’ll catch a ride with Lori and I can pick up my car at your house.” She held my stare for a few beats longer than normal, letting me know she’d stay if I needed her.

  I caught the keys when she tossed them to me. “Thanks. I just . . . I need to be alone. I hate hospitals,” I muttered, backing away from them until I ran into a row of chairs. Grief saturated their faces. I couldn’t handle it. I stumbled and spun toward the exit. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Standing in the middle of the parking lot, I had no idea where to find the car. I closed my eyes, inhaled and slowly exhaled, staving off a growing sense of panic swirling around me. The need to get out, to go, to run and never stop built into a riptide, pulling me under. I inhaled an unsteady breath and opened my eyes as I exhaled. Clicking the key fob, I studied the rows for the flash of lights. I spied my salvation in the shape of a silver SUV a few cars down from Cara’s minivan.

  At home I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and walked through the rain to my shop. I flicked on the overhead light and opened the doors to the cold, damp air. Sawdust clung to my wet boots as I paced the familiar space, touching old tools inherited from Pops, some he’d gotten from his father. Decades of use darkened the wood handle of a chisel. Knicks marred the top of a ball hammer. I spun the handle of the bench vice and chugged from the bottle. Every object held a story and wore its history proudly. I rubbed the scar on my left wrist, where I’d jabbed the blade into my skin while whittling with Pops on his porch. I’d needed ten stitches.

  Bracing my hands on the bench, I hopped up and knocked over several newer tools that pinged and clunked on the cement floor. My boots beat against the uprights and rattled the bigger saws and tools underneath.

  I was a coward. I didn’t say good-bye to my parents at the hospital. I ran away like a kid. The whiskey burned my throat and the warmth reminded me of the coming numbness.

  Tires crunched on the driveway. With the doors wide open, I had a clear view of Lori’s car bumping through the ruts and puddles. I hopped off the bench and walked to the other side of the space, flopping into an old, beat-up recliner. I sipped from the bottle and then tucked it in the chair beside me. I didn’t feel like talking to my sister or seeing the sympathy in Hailey’s eyes.

  Lori’s car whined as she reversed down the drive instead of turning around. I waited for the sound of Hailey’s engine starting.

  “Tom?” Her fists pounded on the front door to the house. “You in there?”

  I thumped my head against the worn upholstery of the chair. My head swam with the effects of too much whiskey, drank too fast.

  “Tom?” she whispered from the opening to the shop. “You don’t have to talk. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Her boots paused before clumping closer until she stood next to the chair.

  “Hi,” I said, glancing up, but not quite making eye contact with her. Instead I focused on her plump bottom lip.

  “You want company?” She gestured to the bottle tucked next to me. “Or do you want to be alone with Jack?”

  I shrugged and held up the bottle. “You want some?”

  She took a small sip and squinted her eyes, coughing.

  “Whiskey not your thing?” I swallowed more.

  “No, I prefer tequila.” She met my eyes, her meaning hanging between us.

  Tequila and Hailey were happier memories.

  “Just so you know, I plan to wallow thoroughly. You can stay if you want, but if you’re disgusted by the sight of a grown man crying or put off by flying objects smashing pointlessly into walls and floors, you might want to leave now. I don’t want the judgment and I can’t stand the pity face.”

  Without another word, she crawled into my lap on the disgusting sawdust-covered chair. “What should we break first?”

  Despite myself, I laughed and pulled her closer. I didn’t know if it was from the booze or crying, but it didn’t matter, I felt relieved she was here. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks flushed, and the tip of her nose was pink. I leaned down and kissed it. She tilted her head and caught my lips with her own. My fingers found their way into her hair and tugged it, exposing more of her mouth to mine. The kiss fell into a desperate place, where we scrambled to find a hold to keep ourselves from sliding into the dark. I breathed like a drowning man, not sure if it was oxygen or her I needed more. My face dampened with tears, but I didn’t know if they were mine. She straddled me and I grabbed her breasts, needing to lose myself in her, to crawl outside of my sadness.

  We didn’t speak, we only existed as bodies. My broken heart cried out, only to be muffled by her tongue in my mouth and her hand reaching inside my jeans.

  With her hand enclosing me, she whispered against my ear, “Use me.”

  I clamped my eyes shut against the world, narrowing my existence to my hand in her pants and hers in mine. Nothing existed outside us. I focused on her touch, the warmth of her breath when she kissed my neck, the softness of her skin, and her dark hair cocooning us. I wanted to tell her I loved the way she felt and say thank you for no reason. Instead I kissed her harder, my tongue slipping deeper into her mouth as my hands gripped her tightly.

  We didn’t seek pleasure. We confirmed we lived.

  When the shadow of death once again crept between us, a sob wracked through me. I tried to swallow it, and she stopped. I gave into my grief. Never had I felt so raw and vulnerable. Her fingers wove into my beard as she cupped my face in her hands. With a kiss to my forehead, her breath skimmed my skin, reminding me, showing me, we were still here.

  She held me while I cried, and didn’t judge. After I calmed down, I felt sheepish and tried to apologize, but she kissed away my embarrassment. With a soft good-bye, she carefully stepped around the broken glass of the bottle on the cement floor when she left.

  STANDING AT THE pulpit felt wrong and weird. Any minute a bolt of lightning would strike me down, incinerating me into a messy pile of ash on the red carpet of the quaint Methodist church where my family had been baptized, married, and eulogized for generations. I took a deep breath, trailed my hands through my hair, and stroked my beard. The words on the page blurred together in fuzzy, blank ink caterpillars. A few coughs and the rustling of clothing against the pews were the only sounds as I stood still and tried to not lose my shit.

  When I lifted my head and blinked at the crowd, familiar faces stood out. My mother and grandmother smiled encouragingly. I returned their smiles. John, wearing a suit, sat with Diane behind the rows of family. He nodded and Diane gave me a thumbs-up. I scanned the crowd for familiar green eyes rimmed in brown.

  Ashley sat a few rows
from the back and gave me a little wave. Across the aisle from her was Caroline, my high school girlfriend, and her parents. Two rows ahead sat Debra and her friend. Both made exaggerated sad expressions and tears ran down their faces. A few other women I’d slept with over the years sat with their families or husbands. The reception after this thing was going to be awkward.

  Quickly focusing elsewhere, I found Hailey sitting near the Kelso brothers. A familiar older couple flanked her. Must be her parents. She nodded and tilted her head, waiting for me to begin. My gaze flicked to the standing people at the rear of the filled to capacity church. Kurt stood with a group of other men in suits. I would have missed him completely had he not been short enough to stand in front of his taller companions. My brow furrowed. What was he doing here? Did he know my grandfather?

  I stared down at the eulogy my mother had asked me to read. It highlighted Pops’ time in the service, his work with the Lions, Eagles, VFW, Rotary and every other community organization he’d participated in over his long life. Was it really a long life? Not long enough for me.

  I met my dad’s eyes and he gave me his patented ‘let’s get on with it’ look: chin tucked, arms crossed, and an eyebrow arched. He hated funerals and wearing a suit as much as I did.

  I tugged my tie near the knot and cleared my throat. I found Hailey’s eyes again in the crowd and formed a small, closed smile only for her.

  “Clifford Joseph Donnely, my grandfather, was a great man. One of a long line of Donnely men who settled, farmed, and worked hard to make this island what it is today. He did right by the land and people of Whidbey.

  “Clifford was also a ladies’ man, according to my grandmother, the beautiful Ellie Donnely. The ladies lined up at the dances, waiting their turn with Handsome Cliff. But he only ever had eyes for her, the woman who still made him smile and the rest of us blush over his inability to keep their PDA respectable in front of the children.”

  A few people chuckled and Gramma hushed me from her aisle seat a few feet away before giggling and fluttering her hands around her face. Mission accomplished.

  After my ad-libbed lines, I followed Mom’s notes, adding how much he’d be missed by his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, who would only know him through the stories we told. Mom patted my leg when I took Dad’s spot next to her as he said a few words, then invited everyone to the farmhouse for a reception and a chance to share more stories about Clifford after the burial.

  Too many people were congregating under the heat lamps as mourners spilled out of the house on the wraparound porch and deck. All these people were here because of one man. At least fifty of them were related to him by blood or marriage. The Donnelys had been a prolific bunch of breeders in my grandparents’ generation. Some remote cousins introduced themselves for the first time. A whole flock of third cousins—or were they second cousins once removed—stood around telling stories about the family tree, and who was related to whom. I lurked in the shadows on the side porch overlooking the shipping lanes and watched a cargo ship head out to sea as I drank a bottle of beer. I hadn’t bothered to read the label when I pulled it from the icy water of the drinks’ bucket.

  On the other side of the window, my sisters and mother moved through the crowd in their black dresses, picking up plates, handing out napkins, and patting arms, frowning and nodding their heads in sympathy.

  I still wore my suit jacket, but the tie sat on the seat of my truck, rolled up and soon to be tucked away until the next funeral. Hopefully it would be a long time coming.

  I sipped and swallowed the cold liquid, not thinking or focusing on more than getting through this circus long enough until I could hide away in the woods again.

  Ashley’s laughter cackled over the more somber conversation on the far side of the porch. I slunk further against the house, happy this corner was out of the sight-line from the main section. I cringed as footsteps from the opposite direction came closer. I braced myself with my “sad, but thank you for your kind words” face and hoped it wasn’t one of the women from the crowd at the church. I’d managed to avoid Ashley other than a quick hug after the service.

  “I brought you a beer.” John’s deep voice announced his arrival a few steps before he rounded the corner.

  “How’d you find me?” I took the beer, setting my empty bottle on the floor.

  “We used to hide in this spot as kids when your grandparents lived here. Best hiding corner because you can see inside the living room through the window and hear people coming from either direction with enough time to jump the railing into those rhododendron bushes.”

  “I forgot about hiding in those bushes. Or jumping the railing. We’re lucky we didn’t break more bones.”

  “You doing okay?” he asked.

  I exhaled and nodded.

  He took a long draught of beer. “It’s okay if you’re not. Clifford was everyone’s favorite real adult. Damn, I’m going to miss that man.”

  Fighting the creeping tears, I raised my bottle. “To Clifford.”

  Our bottles clinked together and we fell into silence. Two grown men hiding in our childhood spot with no need to say anything more.

  Laughter echoed from the big group under the heaters and he raised an eyebrow. “Is that Ashley?”

  I scratched my jaw and nodded. “Damn island feels pretty fucking tiny today. Seems everyone knew Pops.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, you must have felt like a mouse in a room full of cats at church. Saw Caroline and Ashley there along with a few other flames of yours. I was happy they didn’t break out into a cat-fight over who got to console poor Tom.”

  He’d left out Hailey and the others he didn’t know about.

  I rested my bottle on the window ledge and rubbed my hands up and over my face, running them through my hair before reversing the gesture a couple of times. “You ever feel like your life hit a brick wall?”

  “Yeah. I could say I have.”

  Oh shit. “Sorry. Of course you’d know the feeling.”

  “No problem. What’s your point?”

  “I’m not really sure. Remember at the bonfire how Pops talked about his life? He had a wife and a bunch of kids at our age, responsibilities, the farm, a business. I feel like a stupid punk compared to him. What do I have to show for thirty-three years walking around on this rock?”

  “A bunch of kids you don’t know about?”

  I bumped his shoulder with my fist hard enough to knock him off balance a little. “Asshole. Seriously.”

  “You gave me that speech last year about relationships being work and not for you. Now you’re going to settle down? Find yourself a nice girl who doesn’t know about your catting around? Maybe a nice Mennonite or a pretty Canadian?”

  “Like a mail-order bride?”

  His low laughter made me smile. “Do those exist anymore?”

  “How would I know?” I smiled smugly. “Right. No, not about women. I’m observing my life and not coming up with much I can claim as mine. Feel like I need a change.”

  “Change of scenery?”

  “Yeah. Maybe? I don’t know. Something.” I didn’t tell him how unmoored and adrift I felt over the past week. “Maybe I need to take off in the boat and go to the San Juans. Get away.”

  “Your mom would be pissed if you disappeared at Christmas.”

  “Damn, I forgot about Christmas. Shit. That’s going to be depressing.”

  “I don’t envy you. The first holidays and birthdays are the roughest. You can come to my Aunt and Uncle’s. She’ll feed you until you explode or pass out on the couch, unable to move for days.”

  Footsteps sounded on the wood boards of the porch and we both reflexively leaned further into the shadows.

  Diane appeared around the corner. “Are you two hiding?” She stepped next to John and he rested his arm over her shoulders so she could tuck herself against his side. More footsteps followed her, and Hailey stopped a few feet away.

  “Hi, Idaho,” John greeted her.

/>   She gave me a small, knowing smile. “You need a beer?” She handed me a fresh bottle.

  John’s eyes flicked to my face when she joined our group, but he didn’t say anything. The three of them talked about holiday plans while I stood in silence, half listening and half staring at my family through the window. Mom met my eyes from across the living room and waved. She mouthed “need anything” and I held up my beer. She pantomimed eating. I shook my head and gave her my patented sad smile.

  “We should have a party on New Year’s,” Diane said.

  “I hate New Year’s.” John frowned.

  “Me too,” Hailey said.

  “Tom’s always up for a party.” Diane teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

  I shrugged, not sure if I’d be in the party or leave me alone mood in a few weeks.

  “Party?” a new voice joined our conversation.

  Ashley. Of course.

  “Is there an after party? I’m always up for a party,” she said. I nearly choked on my beer. John patted my back with his big bear paw until I stopped choking.

  “It’s a little wrong to be so excited about a party when you’ve attended a funeral a few hours earlier, don’t you think? And since when do funeral receptions have after parties? ” Hailey asked.

  “Who asked you?” Ashley snarked at Hailey. “No one said you had to go the party.”

  “There’s no party. After this or otherwise,” John clarified. He shot me a look over Ashley’s shoulder I read loud and clear. I raised my shoulders and begged him with my eyes. “Hey, do you know where they put out the pigs in a blanket?”

  I scrunched up my face. That was what he came up with?

  “I think all the food’s in the dining room,” Diane said, oblivious to the faces John and I were making at each other. Unfortunately, Hailey and Ashley weren’t.

  “What’s wrong with your face, Tom?” Hailey asked.

  I sighed. “Nothing. I’m not feeling the fancy weenies right now.”