Rock Bottom

by Emily Goodwin

  “That was Logan and Owen,” I counter, though I remember helping those assholes set up a fog machine in the hallway in the middle of the night.

  Archer leaves the house in a rush, and I take my food back to the island counter. As soon as I sit, a white cat comes running, jumping up and immediately going right for my bowl. I push her away and get bombarded by two more.

  Annoyed, I stand, holding the bowl in my hand, and lean against the counter. The same white cat paws at me, meowing.

  “Fine,” I say, and give the cats each a little piece of roast. I finish the food and put the bowl in the sink, yawning. I got up at five AM this morning to meet my construction crew on a job site, and spent the day filling in for one of the guys who left with food poisoning. I finished the day with a workout, ran home to shower, and then came over to Quinn and Archer’s for dinner.

  I’m exhausted and should crash. It’ll be another early morning tomorrow, filled with client meetings and approving designs before sending them to our architect. But just the thought of lying down causes anxiety to ripple through me.

  Night is the time I remember I’m alone.

  That I’ve been alone, even before the divorce was final.

  The time I question if any of my marriage was real, or if it was bullshit all along.

  I’m not going to risk feeling. Risk admitting what I’ve been denying to everyone—and myself.

  “You ate it all,” I tell the cats, who are still winding around my feet, meowing for more food. I step over them, going back into the basement to watch TV. I make it halfway through an episode of The Witcher when my phone vibrates with a text. It’s Maria, and if she’s texting me around midnight, I know exactly what she wants.

  Maria: Hey, handsome. Whatcha doing?

  Me: Hanging out at my sister’s.

  Maria: You gonna be there long?”

  Me: Probably. Her husband just got called into work and I said I’d stay. She doesn’t like to be home alone at night.

  Maria. Awwww that’s so sweet of you. You’re a good guy.

  I wince. I broke my rule of don’t hook up with the same woman twice with Maria. I was drunk when we hooked up the second time, thinking of my failed marriage and putting the blame on myself. I needed something—someone—to distract me, and Maria was more than willing to spend all night being said distraction.

  Not wanting to lead her on, I laid it all out from the start. I’m divorced. Not looking for anything serious. I committed once and won’t make that mistake again.

  Maria starts typing again and then the three little dots go away. Letting out a sigh, I turn off the TV and get up. I’m not above pouring myself some whiskey before passing out, letting the alcohol flood my veins to help me sleep.

  Yawning, I flick off the lights and feel my way up the stairs in the dark, tripping over another damn cat. It growls and runs away, sounding like an elephant is running through the house instead of a ten-pound feline who’s supposed to be graceful on its feet.

  Trying to be as quiet as I can, I head up another flight of stairs, going up the back staircase. It leads me right by the master bedroom, and I stop at the door, looking in at Quinn.

  “You awake?” I whisper, but my sister doesn’t answer. Two cats are in bed with her, and I stifle a laugh. No wonder Archer complains about them. Silently, I walk down the hall, checking on my nieces. Arya and Emma each have their own rooms—and they’re huge fucking rooms at that—but they prefer to sleep together, snuggled up in a twin bed.

  Emma kicked the blankets off and Arya is huddled up, probably freezing. I tiptoe in to cover them up. Emma’s eyes flutter open when I pull the blanket up over her and Arya.

  “Love you, Uncle Dean,” she mumbles, not surprised to see me. I stayed here for a few weeks right after the divorce, and the girls still miss me and want me to move back in.

  “Love you too,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  Sneaking back into the hall, my foot hits a toy that’s been left in the hallway. It doesn’t knock over, but scoots a few inches on the hardwood floor. Wincing, I turn back around and pray I didn’t wake up the girls.

  They’re still fast asleep.

  Letting out a breath of relief, I go across the hall to Aiden’s room. The door is wide open, but a cat is in the crib instead of my nephew. Assuming he’s in bed with Quinn and not eaten by one of Quinn’s many cats, I walk into the guest room.

  I strip down to my boxers and climb in bed, mind going a million miles an hour now that I have nothing to distract myself with. I toss and turn for what feels like hours, but in truth is probably only a few minutes. I never had issues sleeping before.

  My life wasn’t a fairytale, but I thought I had things figured out. Turns out everything I thought I knew was a big fucking lie.

  Giving up on sleep, I get up and go downstairs. One of the guys on the construction crew makes his own moonshine, and that shit is strong. Strong enough to not need much to help me pass out, and I know there’s a jar or two stashed in the back of the pantry.

  A few cats come running when I open the panty door, thinking I’m going to give them treats. I gently shoo them away, closing the door behind me once I get the jar of moonshine, and go to the counter, grabbing a glass from the cabinet.

  I down my first drink too fast and feel the burn right away. Closing my eyes, I try to silence the voices in my head. Soon enough, there will be nothing, and the numb, empty void is almost worse than the pain.

  Refilling my glass, I sigh and turn around. I sip this one slower this time, and right as I’m almost done, soft blue light glows from the stairwell. What the hell? I narrow my eyes. I didn’t drink that much.

  Setting the glass down, I push off the counter and walk over to the stairs and see Quinn slowly creeping down holding a lightsaber.

  “It’s me!” I say when she startles.

  “Dean!” she exclaims and comes down the last few steps. “The fuck?”

  “Hello to you too, sis.” I go to take the lightsaber from her and she jerks it back.

  “You scared me! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Archer didn’t tell you I was staying?”

  “No! I didn’t know he left either. Aiden kicked me in the face—that kid sleeps like an octopus—and it woke me up. I assumed you both were still playing games in the basement, but then I saw his text about being at work. I thought you would have left too.”

  “Wait a minute,” I laugh. “You thought someone was in your house and you come downstairs with a fake lightsaber? You do know the sheriff of this town is our brother, right?”

  Quinn purses her lips. “I didn’t think it was a person. The alarm would have gone off if it was.”

  “Ohhh, you thought it was a ghost.” I’m laughing even harder now. “And that would have saved you? Quinn, it’s just plastic.”

  “Shut up.” She whacks me with the lightsaber. “I wanted to make contact with the spirit and thought if I turned the light on it would go away.”

  I go back to the counter and put the cap back on the Mason jar. “Ghosts aren’t real, Quinn.”

  “They are, and I’m pretty sure one is in the house.”

  “You have all those high-tech cameras and motion sensors. Wouldn’t they have set them off?”

  “Eventually they will. I just ordered an infrared camera and a thermal scanner. They’ll be here in a few days and I’ll prove to everyone I’m not crazy.”

  I sweep my hand out at the five cats that are now in the kitchen, thinking Quinn is up to feed them. “We already know you are.”

  “Hah,” she quips, and then notices the moonshine in my hand. “Why are you down here, drinking alone in the dark?”

  She doesn’t have to ask; she already knows and is trying to get me to admit it.

  Just like Mom does.

  Weston too. He’s been through a divorce as well, and out of all my siblings, comes the closest to knowing how it feels to give everything to someone who tak
es it all and then some…only to have the floor give out beneath your feet.

  “You want to talk?” Quinn asks gently, setting the lightsaber on the counter.

  “You know I don’t like to talk.”

  “Too bad. You’re standing in your boxers drinking moonshine in the dark. We’re talking.”

  She picks up a tabby cat and motions for me to follow her into the two-story living room. Letting out a sigh, and feeling the alcohol start to take effect, I follow her into the living room.

  “Why are you drinking alone?”

  “I didn’t think you or the kids would want to drink with me.”

  “Dean,” she says sternly, looking and sounding so much like Mom it’s not funny. “You’re starting to remind me of Owen before he and Charlie got back together. Maybe you—”

  “I don’t want to get back together with Kara,” I interrupt. “Owen broke up with Charlie because he was young and dumb. Kara cheated on me…for weeks before I found out.”

  “Trust me,” Quinn starts, bringing her hand up. “No one wants you to get back together with Kara. If you even had the slightest notion, I’d have Archer check you into a psych facility. She’s a cunt,” she says bluntly. “Even before the…the…incident we didn’t like her. She never wanted to hang out with me and I’m a really fun person. But what I was going to say is maybe it’s time you stop with the one-night stands and look for something more serious. It’s been over a year,” she adds gently.

  “I did the serious thing, Quinn, and you know how that turned out,” I say, words coming out harsher than I meant.

  “But Wes—”

  “Is Wes,” I stand, anger filling me. I’m not angry at Quinn. I know she has the best intentions. And I’m not angry at Kara, not anymore.

  We wanted different things in life.

  I wanted kids and a family.

  She didn’t.

  Even if she hadn’t cheated, we wouldn’t have worked out in the end. If we’d stayed together, we would have both been miserable.

  “I don’t want anything serious,” I press, though even to me, it feels like a lie.

  “Aren’t you getting tired of the one-night stands?” She wrinkles her nose in disgust as she talks.

  “Not at all. Like you would know.”

  “I’ve had a one-night stand,” she protests. “Then I got pregnant and married the guy but—”

  “What?”

  “Ohhh.” She winces again. “I forgot no one but Scarlet knows. Well, and Archer. And Jamie. And Marissa.”

  “I don’t want to know. Wait. I do, so I can beat up Archer if I need to.”

  Quinn dramatically rolls her eyes. “Just don’t mess with his hands. He needs them for surgery…and for me.”

  “Gross.”

  She laughs. “Now I feel like enlightening you.” She wiggles her eyebrows, knowing how much I hate this.

  “And now it’s time for me to go to bed.”

  “Just think about what I said?”

  I give her a look. “About you and Archer? No fucking way.”

  “Hah. Not funny, Dean. I’m worried about you. You’ve always been a relationship person. You’re happiest when you’re with someone.”

  “I am with someone. Someone new every night.”

  She lets out a heavy sigh. “Can I set you up with someone. Please?”

  “As long as you make it clear that I want a no-strings night, then sure.”

  “I love you.” She stands and looks upstairs. “Just…be honest with yourself. I miss the old Dean.”

  “The old Dean was married to a cunt, as you delicately said. I’m happy now, and I see why Owen loved the single life for so long.”

  “Yeah, because he was trying to make up for the fact that he was desperately in love with Charlie.”

  “I’m not in love with anyone.” I let out a breath, knowing this can turn into an argument in a few seconds flat. Quinn can be dramatic, and I can rival her, if I’m being honest. “I appreciate your concern,” I say, hoping to close this out and actually go to bed. Quinn starts to say something else, but then Aiden cries, calling for Mama.

  “Oh, he’s in my bed,” Quinn rushes out, jumping up. “I don’t want him to fall.”

  “Go. Take care of my nephew.”

  I lean back on the couch and let out a breath, hating that there’s no way I can deny it.

  Quinn is right.

  Chapter 4

  Rory

  I sit up, groaning, and glare at the sun coming through the window.

  “What are you so bright and cheery about?” I grumble. Pushing my hair out of my face, I flop back down and stretch out. I’m desperately thirsty but am afraid I’ll puke if I move. I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for the wave of nausea to pass. Why did I drink so much again?

  Oh right.

  I got let go from my job.

  Got dumped by my boyfriend.

  And have ninety days to find a new place to live, and the only other available apartments in Silver Ridge cost at least twice as much as I’m paying now.

  And, again, I don’t have a fucking job.

  Taking in a deep breath, I slowly sit up again, needing to pee. My feet hit the floor and I stumble, tripping over the pile of clothes I discarded on the floor. I don’t even remember stripping down naked and getting into bed, but hey, at least I’m in my bed—alone—and not passed out on the living room floor, right?

  “Don’t judge me,” I tell Figaro, who’s standing in the doorway, wondering why it’s half-past nine and I haven’t fed him yet. “You’re lucky you’re a cat and don’t have a girlfriend or need a job.”

  I drink straight from the faucet, use the toilet, and groan all over again when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Somewhere between the first bottle of sangria and episode number four of The Vampire Diaries reruns, I cried so hard my eyes hurt. Then, somewhere between episode number five and the second bottle of sangria, I apparently removed all my clothes and dragged my pity-party-for-one ass into bed.

  I go right back to bed, stomach gurgling, and pass out for another hour before getting up. This time, I force myself up, put PJs on, and feed Figaro. I down another glass of water and regret it immediately. Grabbing a box of saltine crackers from the pantry, I trudge into the living room and plop heavily on the couch. I turn The Vampire Diaries back on, staring at the TV and avoiding real life.

  “You know what’s the most unrealistic thing about this?” I ask aloud to Figaro, who’s now sitting on the back of the couch, grooming himself like he always does after he eats breakfast. “How good everyone looks when they first wake up.”

  I break a cracker in half, not caring about the crumbs that will inevitably bother me later.

  “I know, this show is about vampires. But trust me, I’m more likely to meet a sexy vamp than look that good after I’ve cried myself to sleep.” I motion to my face. “Case in point.”

  I let out a heavy sigh and nibble on crackers, telling myself I’m never drinking that much ever again. My phone, which I left on the coffee table last night, chimes with a text. I can see Mom’s name, and I’m sure she’s reminding me something about tomorrow night’s dinner.

  I was looking forward to it. I haven’t seen Sam or Mason in forever, and now that Lennon is teaching full-time and working as the unofficial assistant principal at the high school in Detroit, we hardly have time to see each other either.

  They’re going to ask me how I’m doing, you know, the obligatory polite question to ask someone when you haven’t seen them in a while. But unlike most people, my family cares.

  Especially my brothers.

  Tossing my head back, I sigh again, this time even more dramatically than before, and tell that voice of reason to shut the hell up.

  I get emotional when I’m tired.

  I get dramatic when I’m upset.

  “Dra-motional” as Mason put it years ago. I need to get my ass up, shower, and start looking for jobs. It’s slim pickings here in
Silver Ridge, but I can’t just sit here and wallow for the rest of my life.

  Though watching Damon and Stefan fighting on TV for the next few hours doesn’t seem too bad either.

  “What?” I groan when my phone chimes again with another text from Mom. A message from Sam pops up next, then a bunch from Mason, and I grab the phone to read through the group text.

  Mom: I can’t wait to see all my boys tonight!

  Mom: And you, Rory, of course.

  Sam: Nice save, Mom. We all know I’m your favorite though.

  Mason: Mom had to have two more boys after you to get to the favorite. Obviously it’s me.

  Mom: Stop it! You know my favorite child changes daily, and Jacob did just bring me lunch…

  Sam: pathetic mama’s boy

  Jacob sends a GIF of someone rolling their eyes and I smile, feeling a little tug on my heart, but dreading having to tell everyone that my life imploded within a matter of three hours yesterday.

  Sam: My last surgery got rescheduled because the patient stopped at McDonalds on the way in for surgery, so I’ll be leaving soon.

  Mom: Yay!!!! Will you make it in time for Friday night dinner? I can make chicken pot pie.

  Sam: Just for me?! Who’s the favorite now? And yes, assuming I don’t die in a fiery car crash on the way up north, I should be there around four.

  Mom: That’s not funny, Samuel James Harris.

  Mason: …so you like me more now, right?

  Mom: You boys are exhausting. Drive safe, Sam. Everyone come for dinner if you can. And Mason, aren’t you driving right now? STOP TEXTING!!!

  Since I didn’t charge my phone last night, the screen goes black and I drop it to the couch, grabbing another cracker.

  “One more minute and I’m getting up,” I tell Figaro. But when that minute goes by, I don’t get up. And that little asshole does nothing to hold me accountable.

  After this episode I’ll get up.

  And then when it ends, I still make no move. My eyes start to feel heavy, and I set the box of crackers on the coffee table and lie down, picking the blanket up off the floor. I snuggle up on the couch, wanting to bury myself and get up when things magically sort themselves out.