Page 13 of Collide

“How?” I ask, my brain only able to ask one word at a time. A second after I speak, I answer my own question. Of course, I know how. I mean, sex. Images run through my mind of her having sex. With a guy. Which produced a baby. I shake my head, realizing the ridiculousness of asking.

“When?” I question next. Her mouth opens and shuts, rolling her lips inward a second. It’s seductive and sweet, and I still want to kiss those pink lips although something surges through me. Anger. Defeat.

“Who?” As the question rolls off my lips, I sense the answer. My heart plummets to my feet like the Tower of Terror ride. I’m going to be sick. “Who?” I repeat, my voice sharper, and she flinches. Her hands fold before her similar to the manner in which she twisted them the night before, but I can’t take my eyes from her face. She doesn’t speak, and suddenly, I have my answer.

“It was him, wasn’t it? It’s his.” My voice grows colder, the question freezing my tongue and numbing my lips.

Dear God, no.

Son of a bitch. That selfish bastard.

Did he know? Had he cared? Did he love her? Did she love him?

I can’t process this. My hands come up in surrender as I take a step back. I can’t feel my legs, so they make the motion on their own.

“Gage, I’m—”

“I’m out of here.” I can’t hear what she has to say next. My brain still reels from what she’s said.

Pregnant. Cash.

She didn’t say his name, but I can read between the lines. I’m so stupid, I think as I step around her, giving her a wide berth so as not to accidentally touch her. I take large strides to walk away, passing a waitress and grabbing a drink off her tray.

“Hey,” she yells at me as I keep walking, guzzling the sticky sweet alcohol. It won’t be enough. I need something that burns—burns my throat, my esophagus, my heart.

Oh wait, Ivy Carrigan already took care of the last one.

+ + +

I’m grateful the bar doesn’t have a no-shirt, no-shoe policy since I left everything poolside. The casual lobby bar doesn’t mind the midday wanderer looking for a cool refreshment, and I’m dying of thirst.

“Jack Daniels, straight up, three fingers.” The bartender gives me a quizzical look and then pours. He sets the crystal glass before me, and I point at the bottle. “You might want to just leave me the whole thing. I’ll put it on a tab.”

I guzzle what I consider will be round one, feeling the burn ignite my throat. I may never sing again because my inspiration died outside with her words.

I’m pregnant.

I take another drink, swallowing down my pride as I foolishly enjoyed those words for thirty seconds before my brain kicked in. It couldn’t be mine. Then I thought of Cash. I want to chuck my glass at the wall of bottles behind the bar, then feel every shard of glass as they explode, and relish the cut. It might hurt less than the pain in my chest. I use the heel of my palm to rub at my left pec. I’m having a heart attack, but then I decide it might be heartburn from swallowing the whiskey so quickly.

I don’t know how long I sit there, nursing the rest of my glass while I aimlessly stare at the television above the bartender. A presence next to me doesn’t even turn my head until a Southern drawl stings my ears.

“Mind telling me what the fuck happened out there with my niece?”

I don’t acknowledge him. On the rare occasions I’ve seen Ivy over the past eighteen months, I’ve noticed she and her uncle are very close. He’s a father figure, I surmise. Her dad killed himself when she was a child. How ironic the father of her child did the same thing. The pain in my chest grows, burning outward to include my lungs. I can’t breathe when I consider what she’s been through.

“Did you know?” I won’t be spilling any secrets, but I’m under the assumption Tommy knows this news.

“I just found out.” He sighs and motions at the bartender toward my glass, signaling for two. “Why do you care?”

I don’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t.

“I’m not spelling this out for you, old man, but no need to worry now. My little crush on your niece has been squashed, obliterated.” I knock my knuckles together and then spread my fingers, making exploding hand motions to emphasize my feelings.

“Huh.” He snorts. “Short-lived romance.”

I’d like to punch him instead of breaking bottles. The fist to flesh might feel good. But I can’t take out my frustration on the guy. I need him too much. I have a plan.

“I’m gonna get shitfaced and find a girl to fuck.” I’m already slurring from my lack of lunch. I was hoping to find Ivy and ask her to join me. Good-bye to that plan.