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Luke
Itapafingeron my glass when the bartender passes. She nods and pours my third round in the past hour. It’s been two weeks, three days, 8 hours plus some change since I ripped the light out of my world. Nothing tastes the same, nothing sounds the same. It’s the least of what I deserve.
Mark sighs next to me. “Dude. You’re killing me.”
“Doors that way.” I hook a thumb towards the bar entrance.
Mark removes his hat and scrubs a hand over his short hair in irritation. We’re dressed down in worn jeans and hoodies, old ball caps pulled low as we try to blend into the dive bar around us. The dim lighting and worn wood under our butts paired with the faint whiff of mold, old cigarettes, and cheap booze have been my constant companion most nights and some afternoons.
The bartender, who’s also the owner, is an old friend of my mom’s. She worked in this very bar where she met my dad. He rescued her from this dump and gave her a better life. A life that was cut short. Would she still be alive if she never met him? I sure wouldn’t be. Maybe that's where it all went wrong.
Sherry’s hair is a fake blonde, and the Botox injections keep some wrinkles at bay, but a long life of tanning hasn’t done her any favors. She’s quiet though, doesn’t pry, and doesn’t alert the media to my presence.
“Luke. Please. We’re worried about you.”
“That’s sweet. You should stop.” The words slur out of my mouth. Pretty sure I’ve been drunk for two weeks straight. I haven’t found a liquor strong enough to make me forget Liv. The search continues.
“Fucking dramatic asshole.” Mark mutters and sips his water. He’s also been my constant companion, the poor bastard.
I ignore him and sip my drink. I can’t taste it anymore, which is perfect because I’m sure it tastes like shit. “We can’t keep canceling all your events. The media are getting suspicious.”
“Let them know. It’s time anyway.” I whip out my hand and grip his arm like he was going to stand up and follow my orders right this second. “But warn her first. No more surprises.”
Liv’s gorgeous smiling face flashes in front of me and I close my eyes. I knew this would be difficult, but I underestimated how much it would crush my soul.Fuck. I am a dramatic asshole.
“I’ll be outside.” He grumbles and charges out the door in a huff. I wouldn’t want to be around me either.
“Rough night?” I blink a few times to focus on the owner of the gruff voice. He’s wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up over his ball cap. He has a dark gray beard that sits just above his chest, and he looks like he can take care of himself in a fight against me, Mark, and the big burly guy playing pool in the corner.
I turn back to my drink and take another sip. “You could say that.”
“What’s her name?”
I squint at him. “Olivia. We called her Liv though.”
He slides over so there’s only one stool between us. I still can’t see his face in the dim light, but it doesn’t matter. I pull out my phone and hand it to him to show him my screensaver. It’s a picture of me kissing Liv’s cheek while she giggles. We’re at The Lone Boot. She looks so happy. He looks at the screen for a moment, then hands it back.
“She’s beautiful. You fuck it up, or did she?”
“I did.” I grip my glass until my hand shakes, then shoot back the rest of the liquid and set it on the bar so Sherry can pour me another.
“Thanks.” I mutter. She eyes the stranger, then continues down the bar.
“So, what are you doing sitting on your ass here instead of begging her for forgiveness?” The stranger nods to Sherry when she sets a beer in front of him.
I frown at him. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“You looked like you could use a friend.” He sips his beer and shrugs.
“You don’t want to be my friend, trust me. I’ll just make you hate me when I have to do something you don’t agree with.” God, I miss my friends too. We’ve never gone this long without talking or hanging out.
“There’s a story there.”
“What’s your story? You fuck something up too?”
He chuckles without humor. “You have no idea.”
“Is it as bad as breaking the heart of the woman you love in order to save her?”
