by Carian Cole
The guy across from me looks like he’s having an equally bad night and I wonder what’s so bad that a rich, famous rock star wants to sit and have a drink with a stranger in a dive bar.
“So where’s home?” I ask.
“Small town in New Hampshire.”
“Really?” I’m surprised I never knew that. “Me too. Lived in Brookline my entire life.”
“Small world,” he says. “I got some friends in Brookline.”
I tip my drink at him. “Now you got another one.”
“Can’t have too many friends.” He shrugs off his jacket and leans back in the cracked leather booth. “You work here in the city?”
“Rarely. I’m in construction. Most of my jobs are local.”
He glances over at my uncle skeptically. “And he’s your buddy?”
I let out a laugh. “Nah, he’s my Uncle Al. I wander in here a couple times a month. Check in on him. Play some pool or darts, get a few free drinks. It reminds me I don’t want to end up like them.” I cock my head toward the two old men at the bar. They’re always here. “Lonely. Drinking all day. Nothing at home. Fuck that.”
Despite my aversion to commitments and relationships, I don’t want to grow old alone.
“I hear ya.” I catch him eyeing the wedding band on my hand. “You married?”
I stare at my finger, surprised I forgot to take it off earlier. Sometimes, when I’m getting dressed and put my other rings on, I slip the ring on and think about Skylar and our wedding day. Testing what it would feel like to wear it. To forget all the bullshit and the judgement and just let the marriage be real. I don’t know why I did it today. Wishful thinking.
“I guess you could say that. My life’s a mess, man. And I don’t know how the fuck it got that way.”
“That’s usually the way it happens.”
I shake my head and swirl the ice cubes in my drink. “Ever just have a chick totally haunt you? Like no matter what, you just can’t get her out of your head? Out of your veins?”
Closing his eyes, he nods like he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Yup. Been living that since I was fifteen years old. I wouldn’t change it, though.”
Fifteen years old. Wow.
“This girl is doing my head in. I’ve never felt like this.” I lean forward and whisper, “She’s only eighteen. Eight-fucking-teen. What the fuck? I gotta be sick, right? To feel that way?”
I need validation. Someone to tell me what’s right or wrong because my brain’s got it all muddled up. And who better to tell me than a fuckin’ rock star?
He leans back and gives me a hard stare. Not judgmental, but thoughtful. “And how old are you?”
“Way older than eighteen, obviously.”
He lets out a low laugh. “If you’re just chasing after a piece of ass, then yeah, I’d say it’s wrong. Really wrong in every way.”
Shit, if I only wanted to get laid, that’s easy. But that’s not what I want anymore. “I’m not interested in a piece of ass. I mean yeah, she’s cute as hell, but man, I think I’m in love with this girl.” Damn. I finally said it out loud. And it didn’t kill me. “We fuckin’ click in all the right ways. I want to take care of her, spend my life with her. Like your songs, man,” I say, remembering I’m talking to the king of rock ballads. “You get what I’m talkin’ about. She makes me feel like I’m worth something.”
He tugs on his beard. “Sounds like it could be love.”
“Can a chick that young even know what love is? She’ll probably break my heart and hand it to me on a platter while she’s walking off with a younger guy.” Like that ring pop dude she told me about. At least he saved her life without making a mess of it like I have.
“Lemme tell you a little story, Jude,” Asher says. “About my best friend and my only daughter and how age doesn’t always matter.”
We go through another round of drinks and a bowl of pretzels as he tells me all about his best friend, who started dating his daughter, when she was just eighteen and the guy was thirty-two. Asher admits he was so furious when he found out that he beat the shit out of his friend and didn’t talk to him for months.
“Once I cooled down?” he says. “I sat and took a good, hard look at all the years I watched them grow closer and closer. This dude is like my brother. I know him, in and out. He’s a good guy. He doesn’t fuck around—he doesn’t play games. I couldn’t deny what was right in front of me—they really loved each other. So, I got over it. Now they’re married with a baby.” He grins over the rim of his glass. “I’m more pissed off that he made me a grandfather than I am that he’s fifteen years older than my daughter.”
“I’d kill for that,” I admit, after he proceeds to tell me his entire life story—how he fell in love when he was fifteen and how he waited eight fucking years for his wife while she was in a coma. “A love like you have, like your friend and your kid has. A best friend to go through life with. That’s what it’s all about. You don’t just walk away from that, right?”
Only a dumbass would walk away from something good like that.
“No,” he says with conviction. “You don’t. You hang on to it, fight for it. No matter what. But you gotta believe in it yourself first.”
I run my thumb over my wedding band, lost in thought, wondering if me and Skylar can have something real. If I let go of my fears of getting hurt, ignore the judgement, and finally just went all in one hundred percent in every way, could it work?
I think it could. I think it’s what we both deserve—to be happy and have love.
“I’m gonna tell her how I feel,” I finally say. “I’m gonna stop pushing her away.”
“What about your wife?” he asks. “You better end that before you do or say anything to another woman. You seem like a good guy. Don’t be a cheater. You’ll get yourself in a bigger mess.”
At first, I’m totally confused, then I realize he thinks I’m having an affair with a younger girl while being married to someone else.
I finish off my drink and plunk my glass on the table. “Trust me, it can’t get any messier than it is. The girl? The eighteen-year-old? She is my wife.”
His eyes widen with surprise, and he raises his hand to get Uncle Al’s attention. “Can we get two coffees?” he asks. “We’re gonna be here a while.”
Turning back to me, he says, “Man, I did not see that coming.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I reply.
Chapter 42
Jude
I spent the night with Asher Valentine.
Hold up—not like that.
Even though the guy’s a famous, multi-millionaire rock star, he’s the most down-to-earth person I’ve ever met. We stayed at the bar until two a.m. talking, and then we sat in my truck and talked for a few hours more about music, life, and relationships. By then I was too exhausted to drive. We fell asleep in my truck and I dropped him off at his house this morning.
Before he got out of my truck, he gave me one last piece of advice.
“Marriage has nothing to do with rings or vows or a fuckin’ piece of paper. None of that shit binds people together,” he said. “Marriage—being in love—is a choice to stay every day, and keep staying, no matter what. You don’t lie, you don’t cheat, you don’t leave, and you don’t give up. You stay.”
I nodded at him, letting it sink in. If the dude managed to keep his marriage alive while his wife was in a coma for eight years, he’s gotta be doing something right.
“And one other thing,” he said, grabbing my shoulder. “Time goes by fucking fast, man. Every day you sit on your ass, avoiding living, you’re missing out. Take the chances, love the girl, before it’s too late.”
I left Asher feeling pumped and more clear-headed than I have in a long time. He struck a nerve—I’m sick of just existing. Working a job that doesn’t do shit for me except pay my bills and kill my back. Avoiding relationships like they’re poison just ’cause I’m afraid they’ll go up in flames someday.
These wa
lls I’ve put up haven’t been doing me any favors. I’m just living in a cage.
When I get home, Skylar’s coming down the stairs just as I walk through the front door and trip over the Christmas tree box. She’s got on a sweatshirt with the letters STFU, BISH printed on it. It’s so big on her it hangs to her knees.
“Oh, you came home,” she says in a tone that makes it clear she thinks I spent the night with someone else.
I should’ve texted her last night instead of just not coming home.
It looks bad.
“Come talk to me,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “If I don’t get some coffee into me, I’m gonna fall flat on my face.”
She follows me and perches on one of the stools at the island as I pour some milk into the reservoir of the fancy coffee maker Aunt Suzy gave me last year, stick a pod in, and press the brew button. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you. I didn’t think I’d be gone all night.”
She’s tight-lipped. “You don’t have to check in with me.”
The coffee maker whirrs and sputters its magical mix of water, espresso, and frothy milk.
“I know, but I still like to.” I stir a heap of sugar into my foamy latte and sit on the stool across from her. “There’s some things I want to tell you.”
She leans her elbow on the granite countertop, her chin in her palm. “Good. I have some things I need to say, too.”
I take that as a good sign.
“Okay… ladies first.”
“I did a lot of thinking last night, and I finally realized that you’re right. About us not being together.”
I quickly swallow my coffee. “Skylar, wait—”
She mows right over my words. “Jude, you don’t have to say anything. I did a lot of thinking, and I talked to someone who helped me understand that us being just friends is probably best.”
I’m crushed. All I wanted to do was tell her I spent the night with Asher freakin’ Valentine, and how his advice woke my ass up. I want to tell her I’m crazy about her and go put up our first Christmas tree.
I want to tell her I want us to stay.
Her chin lifts, and she sniffles back tears. “I’m not mad at you, and I don’t blame you for the things that happened. Things between us just got complicated. I wasn’t expecting it and…” She lets out a shuddering, heartbreaking sigh and looks past me, out the window to the backyard. “I wasn’t ready for it. And you’re right, I’m probably too young for this. For you.”
“Skylar, I wasn’t expecting it or ready for it either, but—”
She doesn’t let me finish. “Too much shit has happened to me—and to you—in the past few weeks. We haven’t been thinking clearly. I have to focus on getting my life together. I have to get healthy physically and mentally. That was the plan and the whole reason for this arrangement.”
Anxiety waltzes up my spine and I nod as my hungover brain tries to figure out what I’m supposed to say to fix this. Do I agree and let things end? Is that what’s right, after all?
I don’t want to treat her like a ping-pong ball.
Oblivious to the hope that’s dying a slow death inside me, she keeps talking. “I think the whole marriage thing kinda got to me.” She puts her hands up and does air quotes when she says the word marriage. “Even though I don’t believe in that stuff, a little part of me started to think it was going to turn into some kind of Disney fairytale.” Her cheeks turn pink, and she lets out a short, sad laugh. “But, that stuff never happens in real life, and the first person I give my heart to can’t be a thirty-four-year-old guy who’s not into relationships and can’t commit to save his life, right? I’ll get destroyed, and that’s a mess I can do without, thank you very much.”
Fuckin’ ouch.
My defenses fly up. I can commit. I just never wanted to before I met her.
The happiness I felt earlier deflates like a leaky balloon. I almost got caught up in the fairytale myself. Maybe guys like Asher Valentine and his best friend are lucky enough to have love stories like that, but not me—an ex-junkie hood rat. I’ve been paving the road to loneliness for a long time, and it looks like it’s a dead end for me. The light at the end of the tunnel just got blown out.
I nod slowly and set my coffee mug back down a little too hard. “Right. And the first person I commit to can’t be an eighteen-year-old girl who’s never even been in a relationship. It’d be a total waste of my time,” I add, just to be a dick and deliver the blow back at her.
I immediately regret it.
Blinking, she sucks her quivering lower lip into her mouth, and her top teeth edge into the pink flesh. The act makes me want to reach across the counter and drag her to me so I can suck that same lip into my own mouth and make her mine right here in the middle of the kitchen.
I run my hand across the stubble on my face. How do I manage to fuck shit up? I came home planning to follow the King of Rock’s advice to love the girl. So, what do I do? Insult the girl.
Good move, Lucky.
Suddenly her eyes focus on my hand like laser beams. “You’re wearing your wedding band.”
“Yeah…” I glance at the ring on my hand that, until this moment, I forgot I was still wearing. “I stuck it on yesterday before I went out.” Skylar’s gaze hangs on to mine, her eyes doing that shimmery sparkle that always hypnotizes me. “I only put it on so women wouldn’t hit on me while I was out.”
Lies. Not even a good one.
“Oh.” She straightens her spine and blinks away the emotion that was swimming in her eyes seconds ago. “Your turn. What did you want to talk about?”
I could tell her about my epiphany. Admit to her that I’ve been falling in love with her since the day I saw her cruising in her ’vette, blasting Meatloaf. I could tell her I was a goner the second she blew that bubblegum bubble at me. I just didn’t know that’s what falling in love felt like. I could tell her she’s the only girl who’s ever made me happy, who’s ever given me what I needed. I could tell her she’s the only one who’s ever been there for me and made me think, even for a minute, that maybe love isn’t just a four-letter word.
I could tell her I don’t give a shit about the age difference or what people think.
I could throw it all out there and tell her—for the first time in my life—I want to stay.
With her.
Indefinitely.
Try for forever together.
But, let’s be real. She’s clearly made up her mind. And she hit the nail on the head—I don’t know anything about taking care of hearts. Skylar deserves so much more than I can give her.
I down the rest of my coffee in one big gulp. “Nothin’. I just wanted to tell you I was sorry about how everything went down.”
She swallows hard, obviously choking on disappointment.
“I’m going to do what I can to get my life together. So we can move on.” She lifts her gaze to meet mine, and I hate the sadness that’s sucked all the brightness from her eyes. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Lucky. More than I can ever say. Everything you’ve done for me… It’s changed my life.”
That was the plan—for her to eventually leave. But hearing her say it hurts like a bitch.
“I’m sorry for all the shit that’s happened, Skylar. All I wanted to do was help you out, not fuck you up even more. No good deed goes unpunished, huh?”
A faint, sad smile touches her lips. “Yeah, I guess not.”
Coughing into my hand, I rise to my feet, ready to end this demolition of hopes and dreams. “I meant what I said the other day—this is your home. I don’t want you to leave. I can keep my distance. But nothing’s going to change our friendship. That’s something I can commit to.”
She tilts her head with a sad, yet wistful look that just about crushes me. “You’re a great friend. I don’t ever want to lose that.”
I go up to my room and yank the wedding band off, shoving it in my dresser drawer under the pile of lottery tickets I squirreled away to give her every
day.
I’m never going to put it on again.
I never should’ve let myself think otherwise—a fake marriage is all I’m ever going to be good enough for.
Chapter 43
Jude
“Maybe I should stay home,” Skylar says when she meets me in the foyer. “It feels weird spending a holiday with your family when you and I aren’t exactly in the best place.”
“I promised Aunt Suzy we’d both be there. I think we can put on some fake smiles for one day.”
“I guess you’re right,” she says, grabbing the bird cage off the floor. “Fake smiles should be a breeze compared to a fake marriage.”
Ignoring her comment, I usher her out the front door and lock it behind us.
“Why exactly are we giving your aunt a parakeet? They say pets should never be given as a gift. Do you know how many pets end up in shelters less than three months after Christmas?” she asks when we’re in my truck and on our way to Aunt Suzy and Uncle Al’s. She holds the birdcage, wrapped with a big red bow, on her lap.
I glance at the small blue-and-white bird and turn the heat up a little. I don’t want to show up with a dead gift. “It’s what she wanted. A parakeet and an air fryer. Trust me, she’s not going to get rid of either.”
“He’s cute. I’ve never seen one up close before.”
“Birds are messy.”
“So are people.” She pokes her finger into the cage, and the bird eyes her warily. “Will it talk?”
“Maybe.” I didn’t read Birds 101; I just bought the one that had the most feathers. “I think they mostly make noise and shit.”
“Lucky… don’t be a grump.”
“I’m not being a grump—just stating facts.”
We’ve been giving each other the cold shoulder since our talk, and it’s awkward as hell. I miss her.
I used to think that the feeling-so-connected thing that people talked about was pure Hallmark-card bullshit.