Apparently satisfied, the handful of neighbors that were close enough to see my driveway from their homes went back to their dinners and their families, and I was left there alone, but less angry than I’d been in a long time. Purging had felt good, but now the sadness was starting to creep in.
I left the hose near the smoldering mess of soggy boxes and went into the house. By the time I was dressed and ready to walk out the door, the last of the embers was out. A snow shovel tucked into the corner of my garage proved to be perfect for my needs, and within minutes I was hosing the last bit of evidence off my driveway and waving at the neighbors who peeked through curtains to see if I’d gone crazy. I was broken, but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me lose it in public. The ex wasn’t worth that, and he definitely wasn’t worth getting ticketed for burning without a permit. This wasn’t the city. People had certain standards they expected everyone to abide by, broken heart be damned.
A few quick taps on the cell phone later and I was in the back of a Kia Soul with a chatty driver who didn’t look a day over eighteen. “I’d like to go to someplace out of the way,” I told him when he pulled the list of bars up on his navigation. “Nothing this close to home, you know?”
He nodded and I wondered if he really understood. But it didn’t matter. If I wanted understanding, I would’ve gone to The Club and hung out with other patrons. What I wanted was anonymity, a place where no one knew Brian Hattersly “tennis star” and I would be just one of a sea of nameless strangers drinking away the weight of the world.
The car pulled up in front of a sketchy-looking building with a flickering neon sign. Two men sat on a rickety bench near the door smoking. The window behind them was covered with a crusty white film like it hadn’t been washed in years. Nearly ten miles from my home and a world away from the million dollar houses nestled in a cul-de-sac, it was exactly what I was looking for. The driver beamed when I handed him a fifty-dollar tip, then he was gone and all that stood between me and sweet oblivion was a heavy wooden door that looked like it had been created out of driftwood.
It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting as I made my way to the bar and ordered a drink. “Rum and cola,” I told the brawny, clean-shaven man behind the counter. “And keep them coming.”
His eyebrow raised a pinch when I handed over the black American Express card. Limitless, it was an exclusive card only offered to the wealthy. Despite his obvious appreciation, his demeanor didn’t change, and he handed my card back to me as if it were nothing out of the ordinary in a working class neighborhood. “You tell me when,” he said with a smile.
I nodded, throwing the first drink back quickly, then nursing the second. I was three glasses in when the bartender brought a bottle of top shelf whiskey out and poured me a line of shots. “You look like you could use these.”
“My man,” I said, as I hiccupped and wondered where the phrase “my man” had even come from.
I was feeling good when I noticed a game of pool and decided I wanted in. Holding the bar, I wobbled where I stood, then found my balance and strutted over to the group of younger men holding bottles of beer in their hands. “I call next,” I announced.
A dark-haired man with a bit of scruff that wasn’t quite a beard looked at me and shook his head. “Someone already has next. It’s going to be a while.”
“I can wait,” I countered. I noticed a slur but the buzz I was feeling overrode my embarrassment. “How about a round, guys? On me.”
Mr. Not-Quite-Beard glared at me. “I think you’ve had enough,” he said.
“Your hair looks soft. Do you curl it or are those waves natural?”
His mouth dropped open, then he laughed. “Correction, you have had enough.”
“I’ll have enough when I tell you you’ve had enough,” I said, running my hand over my face. “Wait, what I meant to say is enough is enough all right, beardy.”
I took a step to the side and bumped into the bar. It didn’t hurt, but I winced anyway. The room blurred and I stumbled forward into the dark-haired man’s arms, spilling my drink all over him. He started to slide upward, then I realized it was me who was sliding down. Strong arms wrapped around my chest and my downward spiral stopped so abruptly my stomach lurched.
“Whoa, buddy. Not today, all right?”
“What?” I asked, head dropping to the side. I dragged it back up, but the room was spinning and the urge to empty the contents of my stomach was overwhelming.
“Is there someone we can call for you?”
“There’s no one. There’ll never be no one again. Wait, I said that wrong, no one will never be no one again.”
“I gotcha, buddy,” the man said even though I was still trying to straighten my words out. “You didn’t drive, right?”
I shook my head, then I moaned. “My head is splitting.”
“I’m sure it is,” curly dark-haired said. “What’s your name?”
“Brian. You probably heard it before.”
“I’ve met a Brian or two,” he chuckled. “Not like this, but it’s all the same.”
“Not just Brian,” I insisted. “The Brian. Hard-Hitting Hattersly. I’m, like, the most famous tennis player in ever.”
“That’s cool.” He pulled my arm over his shoulder and suddenly we were side by side, hip to hip. “Can you tell me your address?”
He started walking toward the door and I dug my heels into the floor. “I need to buy the bar a round on me. I’m not ready to leave.”
“Oh, you’re ready,” he said. “You’re already going to be hurting tomorrow. You don’t want to be broke, too.”
“I can’t be broke,” I tried to explain, but things were starting to get fuzzy.
“That’s why I’m saving you. You look like you need it.”
I scoffed. “You don’t know who I am.”
“You told me. Brian Hatterson.”
“Hattersly. The tennis player.”
“You have a match tomorrow?”
“No. I injured my elbow. There’s no more tennis for me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I understand why you’d want to tie a few on to forget your troubles.”
The fresh air hit me hard and my stomach roiled. Dizzy, I managed to keep my insides inside me, but I was stuck on what the man had said. “It’s not the tennis that broke my heart,” I said. “It’s the-” I blinked and we were in the back of a car. “How did I get here?”
“I’m going to make sure you get home.” He squeezed my hand. “You’ve had way too much to drink.”
“Did I black out?”
“No. You’ve been talking nonstop this whole time.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” he said, patting my leg. “You’re pretty hammered.”
“I feel awful.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“It hurts.”
“I know, Brian. I know.”
“You’re a good guy. What’s your name?”
“Jeremy.”