On the Rocks
Page 9
A day that wouldn’t be the anniversary of Dad’s death.
I pulled out my wallet to pay Buck, and once my cash was on the bar, my thumb hovered over the corner of the only photo I carried with me. I pulled it out slowly, eyes scanning the younger faces of my brothers, of Mom, and of Dad. It was the year before Dad had died, when we’d taken a fishing trip to the lake, and we were all grouped together in front of one of our tents, sunburnt and smiling. Mikey was missing a front tooth, his adult one yet to replace the one that had fallen out. Logan and Jordan had their arms slung around each other, Mom standing behind Logan with her hands on his head.
And then there was me and Dad.
I had jumped on his back for the photo, giving him a noogie as the picture was shot. He was full-on laughing, looking up at me, and when I looked at that picture, all I felt was happiness. All I felt was indescribable joy for a family that didn’t know what hardship lay ahead, that had everything they ever wanted or needed.
If I could go back in time, I’d go back to that exact moment and live there forever.
“Two beers, Buck. Whatever you got that’s cold and wet,” someone said from beside me, knocking their knuckles on the bar. I was fine to ignore them, just like I’d ignored everyone else that night, but then I felt eyes on me, and I turned, meeting the gaze of Patrick’s youngest son.
Malcolm was a scrawny kid, just a few years older than Mikey. His older sister was Logan’s age, and she was about the only Scooter that I didn’t hate — maybe because she was sort of the black sheep in their family, acting out in every way possible, down to getting her septum pierced her senior year of high school.
I liked a girl who ruffled feathers.
Malcolm, on the other hand, was long-faced just like his dad, with skin that somehow always looked dirty. He was scrawny, liked to wear his ball caps a little to the left like it was still the 90s, and had a knack for getting under my skin, too.
“Well, if it isn’t the oldest Becker boy,” he spat — literally, spat, the words coming out of his mouth just as a thick wad of chewing tobacco did. He spit it into an empty Mountain Dew bottle, grinning at me with pieces still in his gums, and already, he was trying to push my buttons by calling me the oldest.
It was Malcolm’s way of saying that he didn’t recognize Jordan as a proper part of our family, because his skin wasn’t the same color as ours and some bullshit paperwork said he wasn’t blood.
My pulse kicked up a notch.
“Rough day at the office?” Malcolm asked when he didn’t get a rise out of me.
I blinked. “Fuck off, Malcolm.”
“Ohhh,” he said, raising both hands in a mock surrender as he elbowed his buddy next to him. I didn’t know his name, but recognized him from around town. “Someone’s on their rag.”
His eyes dropped to the photo still in my hand as he rested his elbows back on the bar.
“Ah,” he mused. “I see. You’re crying into your whiskey over your daddy, huh?” He framed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Was it today’s date that that fire happened?” He shrugged, smiling at his buddy. “Guess I forgot.”
Buck slid Malcom the beers he asked for, eyeing me with a warning and a slight shake of his head. “Here are your drinks. Now go play pool or sit at a table far away from here, understand?”
“Aw, come on, Buck,” Malcolm said. “We’re just kidding around. Noah and I go way back. We’re buds.” He clapped me on the shoulder, and every nerve came to life at his touch. “Ain’t that right, Becker?”
“Get your hand off me.”
“Or what?” he seethed.
And I should have let it go. I should have slammed back my whiskey and walked out that damn door. But instead, I slammed my hand into his chest, gripping his shirt and yanking hard until his back hit the bar. He yelped a little as I stood, lowering my nose to his, steam rolling off me as I poked a finger in his face.
“I told you to fuck off, Malcolm. You should have listened to me.”
I reared back, ready to plow my fist into his smug smile, when Buck intervened, jumping over the bar and grabbing me from behind. He yanked me away, my fist still twisted in Malcolm’s shirt until his buddy tore it away from me, ushering Malcolm to the other side of the bar.
He was laughing.
I charged after him again, which only made him laugh harder as Buck caught me around the chest, spinning me around to face him.
“Hey!” he said, voice loud and firm.
I had no idea if he’d said anything to me before that moment. I couldn’t hear anything but that asshole’s laughter.
“Listen to me,” he warned. “You know that pussy will call the cops and have charges pressed against you. You don’t need to spend any more nights in jail. Okay? So finish your whiskey and get the hell out of here.”
I tried twisting out of his grip, but he held me more firmly, and my breath singed my nose with every exhale. Finally, I growled, shaking him off and reaching for my whiskey. I tilted the glass back, finishing what was left, and then plowed through the bar door just as I had the one leaving the warehouse earlier that day.
My vision was half red, half black as I barreled through town, walking the short distance to my house that was a few blocks behind the main drug store. I stayed on Main Street until I hit that street, and as soon as I turned, I nearly ran over Ruby Grace Barnett.
“Oof.” She gasped as I plowed over her, both of us spinning and her nearly toppling over before I caught her by the upper arms, righting her again. The paper bag she’d been carrying out of the drug store fell in the process, toilet paper and toothpaste and other miscellaneous girly shit that I didn’t recognize spilling out onto the concrete.
“Shit,” I murmured, bending to help her retrieve it all.
Ruby Grace bent down as much as she could in her skirt, and once everything was back in the paper bag, we both stood, an awkward, heavy silence passing between us.
“Sorry about that,” I murmured, scratching the back of my head. Then, I turned, ready to close the distance between me and my house that was just a couple of blocks away now.
“Wait,” she called, and I paused, forcing a breath before I turned to face her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You almost ran me over,” she said, smiling a little. “And you look like you’re ready to kill the next person who looks at you.”
“Not far from the truth.”
She crossed her arms over the bag, balancing it on her hip as she cocked a brow. “Want to talk about it?”
“No,” I answered definitively. I made to turn again, but she spoke before I could.
“Someone’s particularly moody tonight.”
My nose flared, head aching with how tightly I gritted my teeth. I needed to get home. Now. “And someone else is particularly nosey.”
Her face fell at that. “Noah…”
“Look, why don’t you stop prying into my life and get back to your own? I’m sure you’ve got cake to taste or ribbons to tie or something.”
Ruby Grace’s mouth popped open. “Why are you being so mean to me? I was just making sure you’re okay.”
“Oh, is that right?” I asked, seething as I stepped into her space. Our chests were an inch apart, my breath hot on her nose as I looked down on her shocked expression. “You want to go back to the Black Hole, sit on my horse and rub your ass on me while we ride? Pretend like you don’t have a fiancé who would mind while I tell you all my fucking problems?”
Her brows folded together, eyes narrowing into slits. “Fuck you, Noah Becker.”
“I’m sure you’d like to, sweetheart. But, not tonight.” I somehow managed a smirk before I turned on my boot, shoving my hands in my pockets and picking up my pace to get back to my house.
It was out of line. It was nowhere near what I felt about Ruby Grace, but she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and my fury needed a friend to call home.
She was the lucky winner.
I shoved it out of my head as I walked, hell bent on getting home, into a hot shower, and then into my bed.
I’d had enough bullshit for one day.
Ruby Grace
That Sunday at church, I was everything I was supposed to be.
I was dressed prim and proper, thanks to Mama picking out a gorgeous, sunshine yellow dress that hugged my waist and flared at the hips, cutting off just below my knees. It was covered with lace, and she’d paired it with a large white hat with a yellow ribbon that matched the dress, as well as white designer heels — the same ones I’d worn to the barrel tasting my first week back in town. My hair was curled and smoothed to perfection, makeup classy and well done.
I was on time, in the third-row pew where Mama always liked to sit, and sitting like the young lady I was.
I was smiling, shaking hands with the congregation as they chatted before taking their own seats.
I was proudly and properly representing the Barnett name, the town of Stratford, the mayor everyone knew and loved.
And I was happy.
I am happy, I told myself, over and over and over.
This is me. This is my family. This is everything I’m supposed to do and know and be on a Sunday morning.
But right in the center of my chest there was an ache. A tight, unfamiliar pressure, like I was in a glass box sinking deeper and deeper into unmarked waters, sipping air as casually as I could and ignoring the feeling that there would soon be none left to sip.
I felt marginally better when the congregation was fully seated, our pastor taking to the podium on stage to open service with a prayer. Soon, we’d sing and praise the Lord, witness a few baptisms, hear the message of God through our pastor, and then I’d be set free for the afternoon.
At least for the next hour, the attention would be off me.
I hadn’t realized what I’d been feeling until Noah Becker pinpointed it with the perfect word.
Smothered.
And ever since he’d said it, I couldn’t shake it.
When Mama wanted to plan, to spend hours and hours every single day working on the tiniest details of the wedding, I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I felt the collar to any dress or shirt I wore growing tighter as the days grew longer, summer in full swing. The only bit of relief I got was when Anthony would call and talk to me at night, calming my breaths and easing my mind by assuring me he would be there soon, that he’d help, that no matter what, it would all be okay.
No matter what, we would be married in five weeks. And that was what mattered.
Those conversations with him that drifted into late night laughter were the only things that saved me.
That, and the night with Noah.
But that had been tarnished.
I found him one section over in the front row, sitting with all his brothers and his mom. Last Sunday, I’d watched him with a curious smile, thinking about our night at the Black Hole together.
Today, I wanted to shoot laser beams through the back of his head with my eyeballs.
I frowned, narrowing my eyes as I stared at his perfectly styled hair, the collar of his olive green button up, the tan skin of his neck. I’d been naïve to think Noah Becker could be anything less than an asshole. I thought he’d shown me a softer side of him that night at the Black Hole — he listened to me, saw that I was anxious before I did, and even opened up to me a little. All week, I’d caught myself thinking about that night, about the way it felt to ride Tank in the moonlight, to have the heat of a man behind me, the ear of the last person on Earth I expected bent to listen to every word I had to say.
But it was just an act, or a drunken game, or some way for him to mess with me.
He’d shown his true colors again when I’d run into him Wednesday night.
First, he’d nearly run me over. And as if that wasn’t enough, he’d yelled at me — speaking to me like I was just another nosey, gossiping bitty in town. Add in the fact that he’d practically accused me of wanting to cheat on my fiancé, and I knew one thing for sure.
I was done with Noah Becker, and I never wanted to talk to him again.
But I still wanted to knock him upside the head.
I was still staring at that head of his when I heard my name flow from the pastor’s mouth.
I blinked, turning my gaze to the stage as the congregation applauded. My heart rate ticked up a notch as I tried to dig through the haze to see if I’d heard anything that had just been said.
“Stand up,” Mama said under her breath, keeping her smile as she clapped.
I did as she said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I offered the warmest smile I could to the pastor.
“There she is,” he said, hands outstretched.
Pastor Morris had been the pastor for Stratford’s Baptist Church since before I was born. He was a jolly man, average height with a belly built on all the church baking fundraisers. He was pale as snow, with hair that he dyed the black it was in his youth — though the gray peppered it now.
“Ruby Grace,” he said, shaking his head as the applause died down. “I remember when you were just a young girl, singing for us up here during Vacation Bible School. Hasn’t she grown into a lovely young lady?”
The congregation applauded again, Mama dabbing at the corner of her eyes with her handkerchief as my cheeks burned.
“Ruby Grace has been such a woman of God, giving her time to those in need by volunteering all over our town, namely at our nursing home, and she’s continued to help spread the word during her time attending the University of North Carolina. And five weeks from today, right here in this church, our lovely Ruby Grace Barnett will become Mrs. Anthony Caldwell.”
The applause was deafening at that, whistles ringing out as I fought the urge to curl into a ball under the nearest pew.
“There will be an open reception at our house after!” Mama called out, standing long enough to say her peace before curtsying and sitting back down. Everyone laughed at that, a few hollers about free champagne echoing before it was silent again.
“Now, for those of you who don’t know Anthony, he is a good Christian man. I had the pleasure of meeting him when I sat them down for their pre-marriage interview, and he absolutely blew me away,” Pastor Morris said. “And, much to Ruby Grace’s father’s delight, I’m sure — Anthony is running for State Representative of North Carolina!”
A mixture of ooh’s and ahh’s touched my burning ears, and I smiled as widely as I could, waiting to be dismissed, to sit back down, to blend in again.
“Ruby Grace, we are all so very proud of you,” Pastor Morris said, his eyes shining as he placed a hand over his heart. “And we honor your choice to forego your education and follow your mother and father’s footsteps. Lord knows they have done so much for us in this town, and we know you and Anthony will do the same for North Carolina, and someday, the United States of America as a whole.”
Daddy’s chest swelled at that, pride rolling off him in waves as he beamed up at me from where he sat next to Mama. I wasn’t very close with my father, but in that moment, he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.
“Congratulations, Ruby Grace,” Pastor Morris finished. “May God bless you and your union.”
Amens rang out in unison across the congregation, and I finally sat with the applause fading as Pastor Morris continued with service. Mama squeezed my hand, still smiling, and I smiled back as much as I could before turning my attention to the program in my hand.
Once the attention was firmly off me, I looked up again, watching Pastor for a while before I scanned the stage absent-mindedly, my thoughts drifting. I was ready to send more laser beams into the back of Noah’s
head, but this time, when I looked at him, he was staring back at me.
I blinked, surveying the bend in his brows, the sympathetic line of his lips pressed together in understanding. He was the only one I’d opened up to about the pressure I felt, about the wedding, in general.
And now, it was like he was the only one in the world who truly saw me.
I tore my eyes away.
After the service, Mama insisted that I stand with her near the door to shake hands with everyone as they passed. It felt like we were practicing for the receiving line at my wedding, and all I could think about was how badly my feet hurt, and how much I couldn’t wait to get away from that church.
I was in a daze, smiling and repeating the same sentiment with each hand I shook, until Noah Becker stepped into view.
I paused, my smile slipping into a frown as I met his hand with mine. “Have a blessed day,” I said flatly, ignoring the warmth I felt from his calloused hand.
He chuckled, cocking one brow. “That sounded more like a curse than a blessing.”
“Take whatever you want from it,” I said, pulling my hand away to shake his mother’s and the rest of his brothers’.
He still stood there, waiting.
They were the last ones out of the church, and though Mama was caught up talking to the pastor, I excused myself, making my way to our car. Daddy had already left, saying he had business to attend to, and I was more than ready to join him in that escape.
“Hey,” Noah said, jogging to catch up to me even though I’d made it clear I had nothing more to say to him.
“Mm?” I asked nonchalantly, not stopping. In fact, I took my phone out of my pocket, instead, proving my disinterest as I typed out a reply text to one I’d missed from Anthony.
“Giving me the cold shoulder now?”
“You’re lucky that’s all I’m giving you,” I mouthed back, still looking at my phone.
His rough hand caught the crook of my elbow, pulling me to a stop when I was just a few feet from Mama’s car.
“I deserve that,” he said as I finally lifted my eyes to his. They were strikingly blue against the dark hue of his shirt, the clear sky behind him highlighting them even more. “And I wanted to apologize.”