Whiskey Lullaby

by Stevie J. Cole

  She hopped out and followed me around to the back of the truck. I lowered the tailgate, jumped into the bed, and grabbed an old ski rope from the toolbox, then dragged Benji’s patio table to the edge of the tailgate.

  “What is that for?” she asked, pointing at the table.

  “It’s our sled.”

  “Uh-huh.” She fought a smile. “I see.”

  “This is how you do Redneck Sledding.” I flipped the table over before tying the ski rope to the trailer hitch and tugging to make sure it was secure. With a grin, I stepped into the middle of the table and grabbed the ski rope handle. “Glides over grass like a dream.” I winked. It may have sounded stupid, but I didn’t care. Right then all I cared about was that she was smiling and distracted.

  “Let me guess, you brought me along so you have immediate medical care when you break something, right?”

  I know the smirk that worked its way over my lips just then must have been arrogant. “Nah, you’re going first.”

  “Yeah, no.”

  “Ladies first.”

  “That’s alright.”

  I dropped the rope and stepped toward her, trapping her between me and the tailgate. “Ah, so now you’re scared, huh?” I pushed a piece of hair away from her cheek.

  “No.”

  “It’s alright.” I leaned in close to her lips. “You’re kinda cute when you’re scared.”

  “You better not get me arrested for trespassing.”

  “What kinda guy do you take me for?”

  “One that borrows boats…”

  “Touché. But, you don’t have nothing to worry about, it’s my landlord’s land. And he’s half batshit crazy.”

  Her eyes crinkled. “So, are you gonna show me your house?”

  I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to tell her no. “Maybe, if you get on the sled.”

  “It’s not a sled.” Rolling her eyes, she stepped around me, grabbed the rope, and plopped down, right in the middle of the upside-down table. “Are you gonna pull me or what?”

  “Just let go of the rope if it’s too fast,” I said, walking to the driver’s side.

  “Okay, how about you not go too fast.”

  “Well, my idea and your idea of fast is probably a little different.”

  “Noah!”

  Laughing, I climbed inside and revved the engine. In the side mirror, I could see her shaking her head and gripping the ski rope so tight I bet her knuckles were white. “Ready?” I called out the window.

  “I guess so.” She sighed. “Just don’t flip me over.”

  “Aw, now, whether you flip over or not is up to you, dear…” I cranked the radio up, letting “Country Girl” echo out into the night before I pressed my foot on the gas. The rope caught, slowly dragging her behind the truck. When I saw her grinning, I picked up speed until I was doing about twenty miles per hour across the field. I turned, and the table slung out to the side. I could hear her squeal over the radio.

  That night, all that mattered to me was her and that smile.

  23

  Hannah

  The wind whipped through my hair, the smell of exhaust and freshly cut grass swirled around me when Noah took a sharp turn. He kept driving me in circles until I was dizzy, laughing and screaming like a kid.

  When the truck came to a stop, he opened his door. I tossed the rope down and hopped up, staggering a few steps as my equilibrium leveled out.

  “Now you’ve been Redneck Sledding.” His hands landed on my hips and he yanked me to him, placing a soft kiss on my lips.

  Rubbing my lips together, I pulled away a little. “So, now you can take me to your house.”

  He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck before picking up the rope and winding it around his forearm. “There’s not much to see.”

  “I don’t care.”

  With a sigh, he chucked the rope over the tailgate, followed by the table.

  “Please?”

  “Come on, but if Old Man’s outside—”

  “Old Man?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know his real name. That’s what everyone calls him, and he’s a pervert, so just don’t make eye contact with him.”

  “Okay.”

  We climbed into his truck and took off through the pasture, barreling over a creek. Everything inside of the cab jostled around.

  “You don’t believe in roads, do you?”

  “I got a truck, who needs a road.”

  The pasture dumped out onto a dirt road and just as soon as we turned onto it, Noah took a hard left onto a gravel drive. A goat skipped in front of the truck, stopping and staring at the headlights. Noah honked the horn, waving his arm out the window. “Go on, Marvin!”

  On one side of the long drive sat a shotgun house, the yard littered with tires and metal barrels, and then we pulled up in front of a small house with white siding and forest green shutters. The engine cut off and Noah sighed. “Yep, he’s out there. He’s got a mouth on him, alright. He’s just old…”

  “It’s fine.” I laughed.

  As soon as he opened his door, a deep chuckle came from across the yard. When I stepped out and shut my door, I noticed an old man push up from a lawn chair and shuffle toward the chain-link fence. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” he said before turning up a beer can. “You gots you a lady friend, ain’t ya?”

  “Yeah, Old Man.” Noah rounded the car, placed his hand on the small of my back and moved me toward the front porch.

  “If I can give ya some advice.”

  “I’d rather you not,” Noah mumbled.

  “I been with my fair share of ladies, and they like it when you fiddle with their clit, you know play fiddlesticks with good ole’ Satan’s doorbell.”

  Covering my mouth, I choked on a laugh as we climbed the few steps to the door. Noah rammed the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

  “Alright, Old Man, thanks for the advice.” Noah practically shoved me inside the dark house.

  “Ya get the deepest when you do ‘em from behind like a poodle in heat and then you—”

  Bam. Noah slammed the door shut and flipped the light switch. “Fuck me, I told you.”

  I burst out in laughter. “He’s kinda funny.”

  “He’s kinda something alright.” He crossed the small room, snatching up a beer can and an empty bag of Cheetos. The inside of his house was bare, all that was in the living room was a floral couch and wooden side table, and a guitar propped in the corner. I could tell he was embarrassed by the way he was walking around trying to tidy a room that didn’t need tidying because that’s what Momma always did when she was nervous or embarrassed. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

  “I think it’s great.”

  He gave me a smug nod. I crossed the room and picked up his guitar, then sat on the edge of the couch and strummed my fingers over the tight strings. “You know, I wanted to take guitar lessons, but I did the piano instead.”

  “God, I’d love to play the piano.” He sat down, stretching one arm across the back of the couch and flipping the tips of my hair with his hand.

  “They say if you learn one instrument it’s not hard to pick up on others…” I plucked a few notes.

  “Well, I never learned the guitar.”

  “What?”

  “I taught myself, so I can’t read music.”

  “How in the world did you teach yourself?” I thought about how he played on the stage with such ease like it was second-nature. I figured someone who played like that had taken years of lessons.

  He shrugged a shoulder. “I just… listened to the songs I like. Really listened and picked out the notes.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive.” I shoved the guitar into his lap. “Play something.”

  “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” He grinned as he sat up and adjusted the guitar in his lap. “What do you want me to play?”

  “I don’t know, surprise me.”

  “Oh, come on now, you can’t do that to me.”
r />   “Fine,” I said. “Your favorite song. Sing me your favorite song.”

  “So now I’m singing too?”

  “Yep.” I straightened up, tilting my head as I grinned at him. “It’s your fault for having a pretty voice.”

  His gaze held mine, a deep smirk reaching his eyes as he slowly strummed a few notes. “You know this one?”

  He plucked out a few chords, slow and steady. “No.”

  “You will.” He glanced down at his fingers, dropping his chin and subtly swaying along with the melody that filled the room. A low “oh” slipped through his lips, his eyes squeezing shut as he held it out. And then, I recognized it.

  “‘One More Time’ by George Michael,” I blurted. He grinned and nodded before singing the first few words. The emotion and vulnerability in his voice made my chest go tight. The faded jeans, the tattoos, and rugged jawline covered in stubble made him attractive, but there was so much more to Noah. There was this amazingly kind person that he hid behind a hard exterior, but when he sang, the veil lifted. All his heartbreak poured out in his voice, and maybe that’s why every word he sang broke my heart just a little.

  As far as he was concerned, his world had fallen apart long ago. And mine was falling apart. He told me all he wanted to do was make me smile, and all I wanted to do was make him feel like he was good enough. I trailed my fingers over his arm, tracing over his tattoos before slowly sweeping up his arm and taking his chin in my hand. I turned his face toward mine and pressed my lips against his. When I brushed my tongue against his, he dropped the guitar to the floor with a clang of chords. On a groan, his hands went to my waist. The kiss grew deeper, more desperate, and all I could think about was being closer to him, touching him. Cupping the sides of his face, I shifted on the couch and threw one leg over his thighs to straddle him. “Hannah,” he groaned while his fingers dug into my hips. “Don’t do this to me.”

  I pulled away just enough to look at him. A feral, wild flickering drowned his eyes, and I bit down on my lip, my chest heaving. There were things about me that Noah didn’t know—things I didn’t want him to know, because as bad as he thought he was, he wasn’t. “I’m not doing anything to you,” I whispered, pressing my body tight against his before I kissed him again. His hands went to my hair, fisting and pulling. The kiss grew brutal. It turned into the kind of kiss you’d expect from a guy like him, and I reveled in that. His hands roamed over my body, lifting and tugging at my shirt like I was something he needed just as badly as I needed him. Feeling that kind of pure want and lust, it did something to me that I was pretty sure would never be undone. He lifted my shirt up and I raised my arms, my heart fluttering with anxiety and excitement as he peeled the material over my head and dropped it to the couch. His gaze dragged over me, heating me. I liked him looking at me. I liked the way it made me feel, the way it made me want him. Kissing along the side of my throat, he placed an arm behind my back and lowered me onto the couch before ripping his shirt off and settling between my thighs. “Shit,” he whispered running his hand over my leg. “Your skin’s so smooth.”

  The heat of his chest pressed against mine sent a delicious swimming feeling through my stomach. I swallowed. Was I going to lose my virginity to a guy everyone said was bad for me, on his couch, without him knowing? Was that right? Shit… I wanted it to be. There was something about him that my soul wanted, some part of him I wanted forever. No matter the consequences. He kissed my thoat, his hand skimming my waist while more of his weight rested between my legs. It was just enough heat, just enough pressure that left me desperate for more. I threaded my fingers through his hair, tilting my head back on the cushion to grant him better access to my neck. “I would do so many things to you,” he whispered beside my ear, his tongue trailing its shell. “So many fucking things.”

  I wanted to say something, but all that came out was a deep breath.

  “Shit…” he huffed before dropping his head into the curve of my neck. His grip tightened on my hips and he pushed himself against me harder. Heat tingled up my spine. And then… he sat up, dragging his hands through his hair before sinking back against his couch and staring at me.

  I clumsily pushed up onto my elbows, my cheeks heating. “What?”

  “You have no idea the moral dilemma I’m having right now.” His eyes dropped to my chest. I suddenly felt vulnerable, judged. I quickly covered myself with my arms. He bit down on his bottom lip and groaned. “I just… I can’t do that to you.”

  “Do what to me?” My face burned red-hot. I snatched my shirt from the arm of the couch and tugged it over my head.

  He shook his head. “You’re someone I don’t wanna lose. I care a lot about you and I—”

  “It’s fine.” I dusted an imaginary piece of lint from my sleeve.

  “Look, I fuck everything up.” He grabbed my face. “I don’t want to fuck this up, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Silence settled between us like a barricade. “Don’t be all pissed.”

  “I’m not, I’m just…” I glanced at my watch and sighed. “I probably need to get back home.”

  His eyes went all puppy dog. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “Well, I can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  “I…” I felt guilty that I wasn’t at home. Home… the panic crept around me. I didn’t want to go home, but at the same time, how would it look to my father, the preacher, if Noah dropped me off in the morning? That man gave me a promise ring on my twelfth birthday. So while I may have been twenty, I didn’t want to disappoint him. “I just… shouldn’t.”

  “Okay.” He nodded, then stood up and grabbed his shirt. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  24

  Hannah

  Meg sat on the swing next to me, blinking. “Wait, he didn’t screw you?” Meg whispered like the idea itself would summon the devil.

  “No.” I glanced across to the field, watching Noah and Bo pull green beans from the poles.

  “You were gonna screw him?”

  “I mean, maybe, I don’t know. I just…”

  “And he didn’t?”

  “Again, no!”

  “Wow, maybe he does like you.” She deadpans. “Maybe I was wrong.”

  “I told you he wasn’t as bad as you made him out to be.”

  “Or… maybe he just had some kind of rash on his dick he didn’t want you to see. There’s always that.”

  “And there’s that…” I rolled my eyes.

  Noah dropped the basket to the ground and peeled his shirt over his head, his sweat-soaked shoulder muscles glistening in the bright afternoon sun.

  Meg groaned. “Damn, he is nice to look at. I bet he pulls your hair.”

  “Anyway…”

  “You coming to Alan’s lake party for the 4th?”

  “No.”

  “That response was too quick.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “You didn’t even think about it.”

  “There’s nothing to think about.”

  “Come on, music and the pontoon boat.”

  I glanced over at Momma sitting underneath the oak tree with a sun hat on, reading. “I can’t.”

  Meg sighed.

  “Meg…” I didn’t want to go over it again. I didn’t want to be around people. As bitter as it made me sound, it bothered me to be around other people’s happiness because all it did was remind me of everything I was losing.

  “You can’t do this to yourself.”

  “Since when have I liked parties?”

  “It’s not about the party, it’s about living. It’s about taking a second to just breathe. Look, my mom ran herself ragged when my grandma fell ill. It took its toll on her. You know, she hasn’t always been an alcoholic. Your body needs a way to relax, and you’re not letting it, Hannah.”

  I sighed, glancing back at Noah.

  “Invite him.”

  “Invite Noah?”

  “Yeah, why not? If he makes you
feel better, invite him.”

  “Why do you force me to do things.”

  “Well,” she smiled. “I always have…” That was true. Meg forced me to the Senior Prom, and into that dumb high school pageant. She was the one who had made me try sushi. “And I’m just trying to make sure I take care of you.” Exhaling, she placed her arm around me. “Look, you are doing everything you can for her, but you aren’t God. You have no control over what happens.”

  That was a bitter pill to swallow, one I struggled with gravely.

  “You need some level of sanity to your life,” Meg said.

  I glanced over at her. “If you are my level of sanity, I’m in a load of trouble.”

  “Nah”—she looked over my shoulder—“that one’s why you’re in a load of trouble.”

  I turned around to see Noah walking up to the porch with the basket tucked under his tattooed arm. No shirt. Abs on full display. In an effort to maintain a shred of dignity, I fought the smile tearing at my lips.

  He dropped the basket filled with green beans onto the bottom step, then rubbed the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “You busy tonight?” he asked.

  I remembered kissing him the night before, the way the stubble on his face made my lips burn, the way my stomach clenched when he settled between my thighs. “Maybe…”

  “You’re not.”

  I shrugged.

  “I told my grandma I’d bring you over for dinner.”

  “How very presumptuous of you,” I said.

  “Maybe… I’ll be here around six.” Those dimples popped before he walked back out to the field.

  “That easy, huh?” Meg asked. “I sit here and guilt you into hanging out with me, and Mr. Fucking Dimples just waltzes up and says he’ll pick you up at six.” She shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  ______

  For some reason, I was nervous about going to dinner at his grandma’s. I tried on four different outfits. A sundress. A maxi dress—too dressy. Shorts that were too short. I finally decided on a pair of jeans, a tank top, and my Converse.