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No wonder Ash wanted to marry her.
We stumble into Harry’s Joint—a local bar with a jukebox as old as Betty White and a dingy pool table nestled in a dimly lit corner. It’s ten miles from home and quiet for a Saturday night. It smells of cigars mixed with stale beer and man sweat. Three of my least favorite things.
Only after a minute of being inside, Ash orders a round of beers, ignoring us while he isolates himself in the corner rubbing chalk on his cue. Alessandra walks over, placing her hand on his shoulder only for him to remove it.
“Great,” I mumble from where I’m leaning against the bar. “This will not end well.”
Logan positions himself next to me, watching them with boredom. “You’re telling me. Fuck! Your dad’s fuming. I could practically see the steam shooting out of his ears.”
His comment prompts me to text Mom. I know the situation has upset her even though she’s not as vocal as Dad. Pulling my cell out of my purse, I quickly send her a text asking if she’s okay. Since my cell’s still in hand I also text Wes hoping to have a quick chat with him and reconcile after last night.
A few seconds, I see my screen light up.
Mom: I’ll be ok kiddo. Just need to process.
I let out a sigh while gazing at my brother. He doesn’t know how many lives he’s affected by making such a rash decision. It’s fair to say we’re all hurting in some way or another—the moron just doesn’t care.
Logan nudges me to follow him to the pool table, carrying the tray of beers. By the time we get there, Ash and Alessandra have reconciled and they’re making out like lovesick fools.
Gross. Nobody wants to see their brother making out. Ever.
I grab a beer off the tray, almost chugging it in one go. It doesn’t sit too well in my stomach. My body’s used to the high-end martinis at Hollywood parties. But I don’t want to be that person, especially in front of the boys mainly because I’ll never hear the end of it.
We decide to play a game of pool. Ash and Alessandra versus Logan and me. It’s great to let our hair down, and even better that the four of us can unwind in a place where no one knows who we are. In the eyes of the few patrons hanging around, we’re a bunch of rowdy drunks playing pool in the corner. I crave this type of solitude. Filming a reality show means we’re always followed by cameras.
Cliff believes that to catch the essence of a person’s life, cameras need to be around them twenty-four-seven.
Thankfully, after much negotiation, they permitted me to be camera-free for the weekend.
Ash and Logan are in the same boat. Their back-to-back wins mean they’re in the public eye more than they care to be. Soccer’s huge in Europe, and overnight the two of them became household names.
Side-tracked by my thoughts, I catch up to the conversation which happens to be about Star Wars. It forces me to walk back to the bar to order something my stomach will agree with.
“Hey, Harry,” I greet in a chilled voice with menu in hand. “What do you recommend?”
Harry doesn’t make eye contact, wringing a hand towel while chewing on a piece of tobacco. “You’re a lightweight. Maybe a glass of ginger ale.”
I scrunch my face, shuddering at the thought. “What about a martini?”
He throws the towel on the bench, resting his palms on the edge of the counter while watching me. “You’re that Chase kid.”
I nod, smiling politely and putting on the charm. I don’t know where this is going, but by the way Harry’s watching me suspiciously it doesn’t look good.
“On
e of,” I answer, clearing my throat. “Emerson.”
His stare doesn’t budge making me very uncomfortable. “You’re the one that left the gate open and let Rufus out.”
“Rufus?” It jogs my memory and without raising too much suspicion, I glance sideways tapping on the counter pretending it wasn’t me. Of course, I let Rufus out. He was an overweight bulldog who looked sad behind the wired gate. I thought he needed to live a little. Mind you, I was eight. My perception of living meant running wild without a care in the world. How was I to know Rufus would run away and never come back?
What’s that saying again? Something about ‘letting something go, and if it doesn’t come back it was never meant to be.’
“So, about that martini?”
He bites down on his teeth releasing a small growl while grabbing a glass and making the martini. I take the opportunity to wander over to the jukebox. Scanning the songs, I notice there’s nothing after nineteen-ninety, leaving very few choices. I settle on some Prince then head back after grabbing my martini from Harry.
“You know what his problem is?” Ash shouts, sliding the cue between his fingers and aiming straight for the red ball that’s nestled amongst the others in the corner.
