Page 71 of Four Letter Feelings

Chapter 28

Before long, it was February, and then March. Jeremy’s life had fallen into a fairly consistent routine of working out as much as he could stand, doing the bare minimum in school so he could keep playing hockey, and drinking. He hadn’t seen AJ much since they’d returned to Alabama from his parents’ funeral, and in truth, Jeremy had kind of been avoiding him. He hadn’t returned his therapist’s phone calls, he didn’t want to hear her lectures about processing his grief correctly and he sure as hell didn’t want to hear AJ’s persistent lectures about how he needed to talk to someone, or cut back on the drinking and partying, or do better in school. After the first few weeks back in Alabama, AJ had confronted him about his behavior. Jeremy had told him to back off and let him work through things the way he wanted to but AJ wouldn’t back down. He’d told Jeremy that he was worried, scared he was going to pick a fight with the wrong person or drink himself into doing something stupid. Jeremy had dismissed his friend’s concerns and washed the argument away with beer, whisky and shots.

It hadn’t taken long for Jeremy to realize that alcohol worked well as an emotional anesthetic. When he was drinking, the ache in his chest became duller, and he was able to let loose a little and enjoy himself. When he was in the bar, he was almost able to convince himself that life was normal and his parents hadn’t been brutally gunned down because of him. Almost.

Tonight, he’d left AJ a note to say he wouldn’t be home for dinner and not to wait up. It was the same note he’d left countless times throughout the last few months, he should probably just leave a huge neon, ‘I’m avoiding you’ sign instead. As he pulled open the door to the bar, he was surprised to see a green hue covering the bar and everyone in it.

How the hell is it already St. Paddy’s day? He wondered, convinced it had been Valentine’s day only last week. He hadn’t cried in weeks, and while he wished he could say he hadn’t punched anything in weeks, the familiar aching bruises on his knuckles reminded him that the opposite was in fact true. It would seem that while the drink subdued his pain, it fueled his anger.

This was his life now.

Glancing around the bar through the shamrock and leprechaun decorations and the sea of green shirts and light-up headbands he struggled to find someone he knew. The Chargers had made it to the playoffs and despite the weekend of back-to-back games they were coming up to, Jeremy wanted to celebrate.

Sitting alone at the bar he was already on his third whisky on the rocks when he spotted Chelsea out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t replied to her messages, either, and she’d stopped sending them. Guilt flared in his chest. He’d hooked up with random girls over the last few weeks, but he hadn’t even called Jess for a roll in the sheets and she hadn’t called him. It was safer for everyone for him to keep them all at arm’s length and work through his grief himself. He felt bad for not replying to Chelsea and his guilt flexed as he quickly washed it away, replacing it with the comforting, familiar burn of Jack Daniels.

As far as he could tell, she hadn’t noticed him yet, so as he sat swirling the golden liquid around in his glass, he watched her. He watched her hips sway as she walked past a group of guys. One of them reached out a hand to grab her as she walked by, Jeremy primed himself to intervene, feeling jealousy and rage pooling in the pit of his stomach. Chelsea side-swept the man’s extended hand, leaned over and said something in his ear and continued on her way until she reached her friends.

She seemed happy. She was drinking beer and chatting to her friends. Jeremy had almost talked himself into prying his eyes away from her in a desperate bid to stop his love-sick-puppy-ness when the guy who’d tried to get handsy with her stood up and took an unsteady step in her direction.

Stay in your lane, man. Jeremy silently willed him. Downing the rest of his drink and flexing his hand he stood, ready to step in if need be. As he watched the man get closer to Chelsea he moved quickly through the crowd, stopping just before he got to Chelsea. The man draped his arm around her shoulder and as she attempted to shirk it, she held her hand up to him and told him to leave her alone.

Jeremy took this as his invitation to get involved and placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder, he spun him so they were face to face.

“She said no, man. Step off.” His voice was even and low, but Jeremy’s meaning was clear, don’t fuck with her.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” The drunk man puffed his chest out and spread his palms, clearly keen for the confrontation.

“I don’t want any trouble. She said no the first time and she’s said no again. Leave her alone, man. Do yourself a favor.”

Jeremy glanced at the table where the guy’s friends sat and one of them hurried to his side and tried to reason with him. “C’mon man, you’re drunk, let’s just leave.”

But he wouldn’t, he stared at Jeremy, who, without looking away, planted his feet wide and firm. If he was going to get hit as he suspected, he was certainly not going on his ass in a bar full of people.

He heard Chelsea’s gasp at the fist connecting with his jaw before he felt it, but the throb of bone on bone was quick and seared deeply into his face.

“You should learn to mind your own business, asshole,” the guy spat, taking a step towards Jeremy muttering something else under his breath that Jeremy struggled to make out. He didn’t hesitate another second before he returned the guy’s punch, watching with quiet satisfaction as he fell to the ground. Stepping over him Jeremy grabbed his collar and wound his arm up for a second punch. He could feel the adrenaline entwined with whisky running through him as his body buzzed. His anger encouraged him to continue, telling him he’d feel better if he threw a few more punches at the man lying beneath him on the ground.

I couldn’t save my parents, but I can definitely save Chelsea.

Taking a breath, he leaned his weight back to take another swing when he felt cool fingers wrap around his wrist. Snapping his head to glare at the owner of the fingers, he found himself glaring at one Ms. Chelsea Davis, she didn’t say anything but her eyes implored him to stop. She gently pulled at his arm and he found himself giving in to her. Feeling the anger smolder somewhere deep inside of himself he stood and followed her outside the bar into the night air.

Déjà vu struck as he felt his breathing quicken. This was the same bar I found out about the shooting. He glanced at the wall, spicy-chicken-vomit wall, he glanced back at Chelsea who was watching him intently, and Chels.

He could feel the tendrils of panic curling themselves around his chest and he closed his eyes for a beat or two, willing the anxiety to stop dragging him into the darkness.

“He deserved it,” he grumbled after he opened his eyes, expecting her to start grousing at her. Instead, she launched herself at him and hugged him tightly.

“Jer,” she breathed his name with such relief that he felt it at his core. The tone of her voice was sobering and his guilt resurfaced. “Damn straight he did. The first one.” She pushed back from him and held up her index finger to emphasize the number one. “Whatever shower of punches you were about to deal out to him, no, he didn’t deserve that.”

They stood staring at each other awkwardly and Jeremy felt the corner of his mouth tug into a half smile.

“What?”

“You look gorgeous, Chels.”

“You’re drunk, Jer.”

“I only had three.” He held up three fingers to mimic her action a moment ago and she gasped at his bruises. Grabbing his hand, she examined his knuckles.

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