Page 51 of Almost Had You

After I hang up, I toss the cell onto a chair in the corner of the room without taking my eyes off the couple in front of me. And they are definitely a couple. He’s cradling her around her waist, fingers digging into the silk like he’s familiar with the texture, knows how it bunches when it lands on the floor. I stagger back a step, and then another as the pain crawls from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. The heartbreak takes root inside my center, my heart, as Clover grabs the sides of the guy’s face and plants her lips, my lips, on his mouth. Just once.

“It is over,” I whisper.

I lose my breath completely—absentmindedly forgetting to take in oxygen. I watch as he pulls out of her embrace and strides into his side of the duplex, the taste of my girl on his lips. I catch my breath in a sputtering, noisy inhale. How can she do this? Why? I want to rush over there and get answers to all of the questions invading my mind. What are the odds of me bearing witness to what just happened? Slim to none and for some reason, the universe thought I needed to see it. In vivid detail. I rub my eyes, shaking my head—a limp attempt at erasing it from my mind. It’s my fault. I told her to make friends. I was gone. I have no right to be upset. I never had a claim on Clover after only two weeks. She never loved me. She loved the idea of me. Of us. The hold I had on her lessened in my absence. I was foolish to think a woman like Clover could be kept. That she’d marry me. Beating that dude to a pulp would do nothing to help my cause.

Walking back to the bathroom, I clean the coffee off my feet and bring the towel to the front room to clean the mess. After I sop up the ceramic littered coffee, I stand with the larger pieces of the broken cup. It used to say Back by Popular Demand.The shards laying in my palm don’t say anything anymore. I glance out the window, my hands still shaking.

Clover is staring at my house, like she knows I’m in here. Or wished I was. Maybe she feels guilty for what she’s doing. Or maybe she really doesn’t care at all. My mama has a canvas hanging in the hallway back in ‘Bama. It says, ‘Show me what you love, and I’ll tell you who you are.’ I’m a lying, cheating, manipulating pile of absolute hogwash.

Chapter Eighteen

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Mercer

IT’S TEN INthe morning and Bentley and I are back at Dizzy Rocket. He drove us straight here after I landed last night. I didn’t have my fill of oblivion, so I called him early this morning and told him to pick my ass up. We banged on the good side of the DR doors two minutes before Glenda opened up shop. It’s quiet, not even the breakfast crowd has shown up yet. Everyone is probably at home gearing up for the party in town square tonight. No one likes a damn festive occasion more than Greenton. American flags are attached to every light pole and red white and blue décor is pasted to the windows of the businesses lining the main drag. The occasion is the war ending and the mayoral elections.

“Let’s get Glenda to fix you some eggs,” Bentley says, grabbing my shoulder from behind. “You drink any more of that heartbreak hooch on an empty stomach and more than your heart will be broken.” Glenda glares at me from the kitchen, her gaze like angry lasers. Bent leans down. “She’s scary, Ballentine. Your hero status is running out. Especially after you put a hole in the bathroom wall last night.” I’d forgotten about that. My damn fist mustered up a mind of its own.

I down the bourbon sitting on the bar top in front of me, remnants of someone else from last night, and shove the glass away. The room tilts, and my seat moves. My cell phone is open on Clover Wellsley’s social media. There are colorful squares with her life staring back up at me. I drag my finger down on the screen and wait to see if anything new pops up. Nothing. Just a photo of her bird from three days ago and a stupid poem she wrote about him escaping up the chimney. I hate the bird, the poem, and the chimney. Most of all, I hate what Clover has done to me.

“Order yourself another bourbon,” I tell Bent.

He growls at me. “She knows it’s for you, dumb ass. As loose as I am, I don’t even drink this early. Don’t you want to go visit with your parents? You showed up drunk last night and left before they could even tell you good morning.” When I don’t respond to him, he lays his hand on top of my phone to cover it. “Listen to me. Get the fuck out of your head. There’s a way things that are bending change before they snap. You know, a little shiny, losing shape. That’s you right now, my friend. You’re a stone’s throw away from a loud ass snap.”

I lean back and almost fall off the stool. “That’s not me, it’s physics, Bent. You’re right about one thing. I need to have a clear head when my dad gives his acceptance speech. I’m so angry. There’s nothing I can do to forget. To get that woman out of my damned head.”

Bentley moves his hand off my cell and puts his hand back on my shoulder. “No one has figured out the female species. They’re the world’s most confounding mystery. Why do they do what they do? Who are they really?” He pauses for effect. “The government has a compound of them like Area Fifty-One where they laugh at us men while we navigate all the shit that makes no sense!”

I update Clover’s feed and a new image appears. A photo I myself saw in person an hour before. It’s Greenton Main Street, all the patriotic décor on display. A block or so from DR.

“She’s here,” I say, choking on my own tongue. Bent is in his own world, telling me conspiracy theories about women that explain why he’s single. Rising from the chair, I slide my phone back into my pocket and grab a large bill out of my wallet. I slam it on the counter and thank Glenda. She snarls at me. “Bent, buddy,” I interrupt. “The more likely scenario is you’re an asshole. That’s okay, though. I love you. But I’ll love you more if we get the fuck out of here right now. Clover is here.”

He quirks a brow. “In Greenton? Wellsley lost the election. Why would she be in Greenton?”

My heart races. “No, fucker. She’s here,” I say, gaze darting to the door when two shadowy figures appear. “Here, here,” I add. “Glenda,” I call out, sliding over the counter in a baseball slide. Bentley follows. “The nation requires the use of your back door.” I wince when I realize how bad it sounds. We’re crouched behind the bar. It’s sticky from spilled sweet drinks last night. We move around the edge until we get back to the kitchen. The room tilts sideways as I stand and push my back against the wall. We’re hidden from view at this angle.

“We’re here for breakfast,” a woman calls. It’s Goldie. Fuck. Why aren’t they at the Slippy Egg? Sweat breaks out under my shirt as my body goes into flight mode. Bent’s eyes go large and round. Glenda responds to Goldie to tell her she’ll be there in one shake of a stick.

Before she leaves the kitchen, she comes over, grabs me by the collar of my shirt, and pulls me to her. “Last get out of jail free card, boy. You owe me working hours tonight after you sober up. Floors need cleaned, the grease trap could use a hose down, and you will fix that hole.”

I nod furiously.

Glenda turns her glare to Bent. “Take him home and sober him up. His daddy would be so ashamed if he saw him right now. With the party tonight too.” She tsks in a way that actually does make me feel like I’ve disappointed her.

“Yes, ma’am. Of course, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. That breakup of his is really eating at him. Gotta appreciate a broken heart,” Bentley says, trying to win my favor.

“Get out of here. Don’t touch anything in the back room,” Glenda hisses, grabbing two menus from the cart next to us.

My friend grabs my arm and pushes me out of the double doors into the back storage room. “It’s Clover and Goldie,” he says. “How did you not know she was coming?”

I cough, shaking my head. Nausea hits. “Well Einstein, you think I was stalking her social media for no good reason? That’s why I was obsessing.” Half of why I was obsessing.

“I thought you were trying to hunt down the guy she’s fucking. Didn’t know you were keeping tabs on her.” That’s all it takes to lose it altogether. Shuffling outside, I toss my cookies next to a rusted dumpster. Bent follows me out, the heavy metal door slamming shut. My hair is wet with sweat and I have on the same shirt as last night. A mess would be a nice way to describe my appearance. The thought of the woman I love fucking another man is terrifying, enraging. “Alright, alright,” Bent coos. “Get it all out.” He peeks down the alleyway to make sure no one is coming, and I vomit again missing our shoes by a few inches.

Leaning up, I brace my hands on my hips, catching my breath. “I haven’t been this drunk since high school.” I wipe at my face with my sleeve.

Bentley makes an annoyed noise. “You were this drunk last night. Why don’t you sober up and actually talk to Clover? Give yourself some closure of this whole thing. Or I can call up Billy-Jo and you can get this out of your system in an alternative way. What do you say, pal? Tit for tat?”

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