Whiskey Lullaby

by Keren Hughes

  Hearing a horn beep, I look up to see Damien’s truck. He smiles and waves, so I run around to jump in the passenger side.

  “Buy anything nice?” he asks as I buckle up.

  “Just a book.”

  “Anything I would have heard of?”

  “The Last Wish by Andrzej Sapkowski.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one. The Netflix series is a must-watch.”

  “So Ted told me.”

  “You haven’t seen it?” he asks with a small gasp.

  “Not yet. Too busy working.”

  “Then we must remedy that. You won’t get Netflix at Audrey’s, but that’s okay. I’ll grab some beers from the pub, and we’ll watch it back at mine. You free tonight?”

  “As a bird. There’s really no need though, you’re a busy man.”

  “Nah dude, it’s my night off. Deb’s covering cos she wants next weekend off.”

  “I don’t want to be too much trouble.”

  “You won’t be. Meet me at The Lock at six?”

  “Sure. Thanks, man.”

  “No worries. It’s nice to have some company, especially when you don’t know anyone in town. Although, I don’t want to impose,” he rushes to add. “It’s just that there isn’t much to do in town, so you might get fed up.”

  “You’re not imposing, man. I can either spend the evening in my room reading, or I can open a few cold ones with you and chill.”

  “That’s settled then.”

  We settle back and listen to the radio on the drive back to River’s Edge.

  “You got a good voice, man,” Damien says as he switches the engine off.

  Shit, I hadn’t realised I was singing along. Give me good music and I just can’t help it though.

  “You should come along to karaoke night while you’re here.”

  “Oh god, no. I don’t like being the centre of attention,” I say, rushing my words out.

  “Please come? It would be good to hear a good voice. Most of the people who get up are drunk, so slur their words a bit. I mean, it’s all good fun, but man, I’d love to hear you belt out a tune.”

  “Maybe after a few drinks to loosen me up,” I say, to appease him rather than because I mean it. “Need a hand getting stuff into the bar?”

  “Oh man, that would be great. Thanks.”

  It feels like the least I can do after he drove me into town and back, even if he said he was going that way anyway.

  Helping lug boxes in is thirsty work. Damien offers me a beer, and I take a cold bottle off him with pleasure. It goes down nicely as I take a large swig.

  “Cheers, buddy. Much needed after all this,” I say, gesturing to the boxes piled up.

  “Tell me about it. I usually do it all on my own. It’s hard graft getting the beer barrels into the cellar, never mind having to change a barrel or two while I’m down here.”

  I help him carry some mixers up to the bar and stack them where I see a couple of each already.

  “You don’t have to do that, man. I can do that.”

  “It’s no bother, really. Like you say, I’d be cooped up in my room at the B&B otherwise.”

  “On a sunny day like today? You wanna be taking advantage of the beer garden out back.”

  “That would be good.”

  I admit, I miss the guys back home. When we’re not up to the eyeballs, we like to sun ourselves in the beer garden of our local pub. It’s odd being here without their company.

  A text chimes, so I pull my phone out, knowing it can only be one of three people.

  >Hey, man, you should know Gordon is on the warpath. Says we’re going to continue the tour without you, tell people you have pneumonia or something. He’s really in a spin this time. Talking about losing money and fans not turning up to see just the three of us. Reckons the record label are gonna come down on him like a ton of bricks.

  Well thanks for that, Jude. You just burst my bubble.

  >Sorry, man, I can’t help. Been burning the candle at both ends for too long now. Need this break. Sorry if I’ve put you guys in an awkward position.

  I wait and see three dots.

  >It’s all good, man. We’ve got your back. But you have to know that Gordon was talking of dropping you permanently if you weren’t so idolised by the fans.

  I try to break the tension:

  >Good job I have a pretty face then, huh?

  >Damn good job, bro, I’m tellin’ ya now.

  Would Gordon really drop me? Fuck knows what goes through that man’s mind. Well, except for money and women, that is.

  >Okay. Chat soon. Got to go. Lending a helping hand.

  >Oh yeah? She pretty?

  >It’s not a woman, you perv. Met a guy who owns a pub, just giving him a hand lugging crates and shit.

  >Oh, okay. Have a good one. Oh, and Brent, you do deserve a break, we all know that.

  >Thanks, bro.

  Sometimes I don’t know how I’d get through stuff if it wasn’t for Jude. He might be a joker, but he’s all heart really.

  I know that the other guys deserve a break just as much as I do, and I know I shouldn’t have upped and left mid-tour. But I was sick of having anxiety over every little thing.

  When we first started the band, it was for fun. We tried different genres of music, but we found our niche in country music. It’s like we were made for it. We got some ribbing in college over it, because all our friends were into rock and stuff. But when they heard us play, they understood why it was the right fit.

  “What do you say to a Johnnie Walker?” Damien asks. “It’s got to be five o’clock somewhere, right?!”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He pours us both a glass, then takes a seat at the bar. I settle next to him.

  “So, should we order a takeaway later while we binge The Witcher?”

  “Sounds like a plan. What’s good around here?”

  “Well, nothing in River’s Edge. Luckily for us, places in Pedmore deliver. There’s a great Chinese, or if you like pizza, there’s this one place that does the best stuffed crust I’ve ever eaten. Or there’s curry. Take your pick.”

  “Pizza with wings and potato wedges?”

  “Sounds like a plan, my man. I’ll take the beers I got earlier in town back to mine.”

  “You didn’t get a bottle of JW did you?”

  “I did. I noticed you were a shorts man rather than beer last night, so I wasn’t sure what you drank.”

  “Anything alcoholic, bro. Beer and JW is all good. Unless you have an imported bottle of Macallan anywhere?!”

  “Jeez, I wish I did. Last time I had that was when I was in the States.”

  “Snap.”

  We end up talking about some of our favourite spots in the US. I accidentally mention a couple of places the band have played but managed to play it off as having seen good bands there.

  “You ever been to the Grand Ole Opry?”

  “Yeah, man. What a place. Saw Garth Brooks there in 2005.”

  “Didn’t have you pegged as a country man.”

  “Well, not just country, but when Garth plays, you go and watch him.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty fucking good alright. What’s your favourite song of his?”

  “You’re putting me in a spot here, bro. Man,” I scrub a hand over my face as I think, “I guess I’d have to say it’s a toss up between ‘Papa Loved Mama’ and ‘The Thunder Rolls’. You?”

  “ ‘Callin’ Baton Rouge’ or a track he did on his album Sevens, called ‘Belleau Wood’.”

  “That song, man. It gives me all the feels.”

  “You know it?” he asks with a tone of surprise.

  “Yeah, I own all his albums,” I confess with a wry chuckle.

  “He’s one talented dude.”

  “That he is,” I agree a little too enthusiastically. “There’s this one song called ‘The Dance’. It was my sister’s favourite growing up.”

  “ ‘If Tomorrow Never Comes’ was my grandma’s favourite.
Guess she’s the reason I know who he is.”

  I feel a pang in my heart as I listen to his words. My grandma must be furious to hear I’m not on tour doing what I love. She gave me my passion for music and has always been my biggest fan.

  Pushing those thoughts away, I swig my scotch and smile as Damien pours me another.

  “Last one, man. Otherwise, I’ll be three sheets to the wind. I haven’t eaten bar a croissant I snagged from breakfast at Audrey’s.”

  We chat a little longer, nothing more than small talk about our families and how much I miss mine when I’m away. He’s the kind of guy I could find myself admitting too much to if I’m not careful. He’s just so open and friendly, it makes me feel at ease.

  I don’t think he’s the kind of person to ring the press and tell them there’s a celebrity in his town—god how I hate that word celebrity—but it’s not a risk worth taking. Especially as Gordon would descend on the town like a goddamn storm cloud, zapping me with lightning for good measure.

  ***

  I’m three chapters into my book when my phone chimes. I almost don’t bother looking, but I pick it up from the bedside table.

  >Buddy, Gordon is talking about suing your ass for breach of contract.

  I am sick of hearing those last three damn words.

  >He’s all fur coat, no knickers. He won’t do shit. Not if I can butter him up.

  Evan replies:

  >Wouldn’t you have to answer the phone to do that?

  >I’ll send him an email. Just need access to a computer.

  >Dude, you can email him from your phone. Unless you bought a burner or something.

  >No, I just changed out the SIM. Yeah, okay, I’ll write him an email in the next day or two.

  >You better make it sooner than later dude. I’m covering for you as best I can. He blows hot and cold. One minute we’re going on the tour as planned and pretending you’re sick. Next minute he’s talking about suing your ass.

  >I appreciate you covering for me, Ev, I really do. But man, when I said I needed space, I meant it. I need some space to think. Just please try to tamp down the flames of his temper until I can put into words why I did what I did.

  >Sure. Look, I’m not a monster. I know you need a break. I’ve seen touring taking its toll on you. It could have come at a better time, sure, but it is what it is, and we’ll deal. Whatever Gordon says, we’re in this together.

  >Thanks, bro. I really mean it. You’re a good friend. Too good to me sometimes. I promise I’ll tell Gordon and try to smooth things out.

  >’K. Just take of yourself, kid.

  I roll my eyes. I’ll give him kid. I’ll put him on his ass.

  I pull myself up off the bed, grab a towel and head into the en suite. Turning back, I grab my iPod and put it on shuffle.

  “Shameless” by Garth Brooks plays first, and I find myself singing along as I get in the shower. It’s the kind of song you find yourself belting out. I feel sorry for the people in the room next to mine.

  Fresh from the shower, I grab some clean clothes and dress quickly. I go to pull on my cowboy boots but change my mind at the last second and pull my Vans out of my suitcase. Then I splash on some aftershave, look at myself in the mirror and try to tame my still wet hair.

  I decide to stop by The Lock first for a quick drink. And maybe a little bit because I want to see the pink-haired angel I have been dreaming about.

  Deb serves me a Pepsi, but there’s no sign of Caleigh, so I nurse my drink in the corner for a while, deciding it would be suspicious if I just left.

  After what I consider a reasonable amount of time, I down the rest of my drink and head out to Damien’s. Thankfully, he gave me directions earlier. Not that I think I could get lost in a town this size.

  As I’m walking in what I hope is the right direction, I see a flash of pink hair. I slow my pace when I see her with a little boy, who must be about five or six years old.

  “Hi,” Caleigh says as she comes to a stop in front of me. “How are you enjoying your stay?”

  “Hi, Caleigh, it’s good to see you. Yeah, I’m liking the place so far. Nice and quiet.”

  “Sorry, where are my manners? Rhett, this is Hardin. Hardin, this is Rhett.”

  “The man you met on the plane, Mummy?” he asks as he gives me a quizzical stare.

  “Yes, baby, that’s right.”

  “Hi, Rhett.”

  “Hello, Hardin, it’s nice to meet you,” I say as I hold out my fist for him to bump, which he does after a long second.

  “Rhett’s a funny name.”

  “Hardin, that’s not nice. Remember what we say about manners?”

  “They cost nothing, Mummy. Sorry, Rhett.”

  “Honestly, buddy, I agree with you. It’s after a character in a film my mum loves.”

  I feel bad for not telling the truth about my name, but I told the truth about why it was chosen. Little consolation really, I know.

  “My mummy loves The Rock.”

  “Oh, does she? Well, I’m glad my mum didn’t name me that. It would be a funny name to go around with.”

  “It’s not his real name, silly. It was his name as a wrestler. His real name is Dwayne.”

  “Oh, well that’s a much better name.”

  So Caleigh goes for the ripped kind of man, does she? That rules me out. I mean, I don’t have a bad physique, but nothing compared to the muscles Dwayne Johnson has. I’m sure the dude’s muscles have muscles.

  “Where are you off to?” Caleigh asks. She flashes me a beautiful smile and I could melt.

  “Just off to binge watch a series on Netflix with Damien.”

  “Oh, right. Cool. What are you watching?”

  “The Witcher. Full disclosure, I never played the game or read the books. Though I am three chapters into The Last Wish. I bought it when I went into Pedmore today.” I don’t know why I’m rambling.

  “You went into One Last Chapter?”

  “I did. Your uncle is a very nice man.”

  “How do you know we’re related?” she asks as a bemused look crosses her face.

  “Ted told me. Actually, he asked me to give you a message when I next saw you.”

  “Oh, I see. What did he say?”

  “He wanted you to know that Miriam is away for another week at her mum’s.”

  “Oh.” Her faces falls slightly. “I’d hoped my great-aunt would be better by now.”

  “I’m sorry it’s not better news. He did ask me to say hello to you, though, Hardin.”

  “Mummy, can we go and see if Uncle Ted has any new books for me?” Hardin asks in a pleading tone.

  “Maybe next week, baby,” Caleigh says, smiling down at her son. “Thank you for passing the message on, Rhett. We should let you get going to Damien’s before you’re late. Full disclosure, The Witcher is phenomenal.”

  “Does it live up to all the hype? I’m quite late to the party, I know.”

  “It depends on how you look at it. I’ve never played the game or read the books either. I just looked at it as a new fantasy to sink my teeth into, and I loved every second of it. It didn’t hurt that Geralt was so handsome.”

  “Oh, so weird colour eyes and long grey hair is your thing, huh?” I ask with a wink.

  Caleigh’s giggle is melodic. God, could she get any more perfect?

  I really need to stop thinking of her like that. It could never happen, even if she liked me that way. Long-distance relationships are tricky, then there’s the fact that she doesn’t know who I really am and the fact that she has a kid. I’m not bothered she has a kid, it’s more that if we got attached to each other and then I had to go away all the time, it would make it that much harder.

  Plus, there’d be the whole telling Hardin why I lied about who I am in the first place. It’s hardly a good thing to lie to a child.

  “I’d hardly say I have a type, actually. I like who I like. It’s not so much what’s on the outside that counts.”

  “So, Henry Cavill
could approach you and if he was a”—I catch myself before saying dick in front of Hardin—“an idiot, then he wouldn’t stand a chance?”

  “Hmm,” she ponders, rubbing a hand over her chin for effect. “If he looked like that but was as dumb as a box of frogs, or if he didn’t have a sense of humour, then no he wouldn’t stand a chance. A man has to be kind, intelligent, funny, loving, respectful—”

  “Sounds like you’re describing me there.”

  “Someone’s full of themselves,” she replies with a tinkling laugh.

  Her emerald eyes sparkle with mirth and I feel drawn to her by some invisible force. I’m the moth and she’s the flame. If I fly too close, I’ll get burned.

  “Nah, I just know I possess all of those traits.”

  “Hmm, I’m sure you do.”

  She looks me over from head to toe, her gaze scrutinising me, and I feel like I’m under a microscope.

  “Well, since you didn’t swipe right, you’ll never know,” I tease.

  The blush races across her skin, making her cheeks pink. Just when I thought she couldn’t get any prettier, she goes and proves me wrong.

  “Mummy, what’s Rhett on about?”

  “Nothing, baby. It’s just a joke from when we met.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t get the joke. Aren’t jokes supposed to be funny?”

  “Manners, Hardin,” she chides quietly.

  “Sorry, Mummy.”

  “We’d really better be going. You’re probably already late. We’ll let you get on with your evening.”