Page 28 of Fighting for You
By the time I met up with them outside of Louie’s, I had convinced myself I’d stay for one drink and make a polite excuseto leave. But within five minutes of being in their company, I’m finding myself relaxing; their constant chatter helping me escape my own head.
“Maybe some water, babe?” says Ripley over the sounds of the Thursday night crowd. She gives him a bemused look. “Ha! Kidding. I’ll grab some shots,” he says and then adds as his eyes snag on something behind me, “Let’s grab the booth in the corner.”
Thea doesn’t hesitate as she snatches my hand and leads me through the small group of dancers in the middle of the bar to a recently vacated booth. We settle on opposite sides, pushing glasses and empty plates from the previous occupants to the end of the table to be picked up by a busboy.
“So, Margot,” Thea says with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever heard from her. “I’m so happy you called! I’ve been trying to get you out with us for months.”
“I know, it’s been tough with my schedule, but I’m glad this worked out. I’m sorry if I’m crashing a date,” I say, suddenly hit with a wave of discomfort for having inserted myself in their night out.
Thea laughs like I’ve made a joke. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Ripley’s glad to get a break from listening to my incessant Cary talk.”
“Things not going well at RED? Your mom mentioned he went back to Seattle.” I can’t even imagine what she’s going through. From what I heard, she had a close relationship with Brooks and Cary’s parents, and their death has been difficult, but now having to navigate working with your ex while grieving seems like an impossible situation.
She sighs dramatically like only someone after a few drinks can. “Yes, he left. And now he’s stopped texting me. He was texting me, you know? I sent him this letter his mom left for us, and he didn’t respond. And he stopped texting me. What do youthink that means? It has to mean something.” She’s rambling in true Thea fashion, and I open my mouth to respond, just waiting for a moment where I can interject to cut her off.
As soon as she pauses for a breath, I say, “A letter?”
“Yeah, Brooks had them,” she says with an eye roll. Clearly there’s a story there. “He’s just been sitting on them, can you believe that? Cary’s mom left us letters with her will, and he just left them in a folder on his counter for God knows how long.”
“Brooks got a letter too?” I ask, to which Thea nods, and then her attention is on her phone as she’s texting. She looks up toward the bar with a mischievous look. When her phone pings, she giggles and types out a response. I turn to the bar and see Ripley’s also on his phone, a big smile on his face, as he waits for the bartender to pour our drinks.
Brooks got a letter from his mother. I want to ask when and if this has anything to do with him ignoring me, but I know this is not a time for that conversation with a tipsy Thea. My heart breaks a little for him. From what little he told me about his relationship with his parents, it was complicated. For his sake, I hope whatever the letter says brings him some comfort or, in the very least, some closure.
I look down at my phone sitting on the table, tempted to send him another text. Thankfully, I’m saved from myself when Ripley plants a tray of shots on the center of the table.
“Here we go, ladies,” he says. “The rules of Redneck Wrecked are very simple.” He smirks, his eyes jumping from me to Thea and back again. “There are no rules, and we’re all losers at the end of the night with a killer hangover tomorrow, but we’ll have fun, that’s a guarantee.”
He squishes himself in on Thea’s side of the booth and slings an arm around her. Thea melts into him, already reaching for one of the shot glasses. Ripley quickly slaps her hand away playfully. “Okay, tonight’s rules…” he trails off as he looksaround, and a devious look crosses his face as his eyes catch on something across the room. “We’ll have the usual: if Shelley gets hit on, Thea has to take a shot. If Bob plays that stupid cowboy song, I’ll drink. If—”
“If Ripley gets hit on by anyone over the age of forty-five, we all drink!” says Thea and devolves into a fit of giggles. “Those cougars want you baaaad,babe,” she adds after coming up for air. “Don’t think I didn’t notice Mrs. Davis talking you up at the bar.”
“Ew, she’s practically my grandmother. And happily married. Pretty sure she changed my diaper a time or two,” Ripley says and rolls his eyes, but I do notice a few appreciative gazes turned in his direction.
I’ve never really paid much attention to his looks, since he’s very much taken with Thea, but Ripley is attractive. Mossy green eyes, shaggy dark hair that looks almost black in the right lighting. He’s got that sweet southern charm but with some biting wit, I can see how people are drawn to him. And although he’s usually laid back, with a bit of a worldly rockstar vibe to him, I know from both Thea and Lydia he’s serious when it comes to crafting his whiskey.
“What I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted,” he throws a playful, sideways glare toward Thea, “is when—not if—Tiffany hits on someone other than her boyfriend, Margie here drinks,” he says, his usual smirk in place.
“Oh, umm… it’s Margot, actually. Not Margie,” I say, feeling awkward at having to correct him.
They both chuckle. “Oh, I know…Margie.I bestow nicknames to all the best people in town,” he says with another wink. “It’s a badge of honor really.” The explanation has a small smile pulling at my lips. I’ve never had many friends and certainly never any who liked me enough to give me a nickname—unless you count Brooks. Only Hayes has ever done that, and that nickname is less than desirable.
“Ripley,” Thea says, sounding sober all of a sudden. “I actually want her towantto hang out with us again. And we’ll be taking her to the hospital with alcohol poisoning in an hour with that rule.” They stare at each other with serious expressions for a long moment, and I’m a bit lost since I’m not familiar with Tiffany. Then they both burst out laughing and turn to me.
“Okay, okay, okay, no need to scare the poor girl. You’re right, she’ll never come out with us again. Don’t worry, her current boyfriend is surprisingly good at reining her in, you’ll probably be okay,” says Ripley, placing a shot glass in front of me.
Though I wasn’t totally comfortable with coming out tonight, I’m deciding to just lean into it. Thea and Ripley make me feel like I’ve known them forever, giving me a glimpse into the small town they’ve known their whole lives. “So, what are we drinking?” I ask Ripley.
He purses his lips and looks almost contrite for a second.
“Ripley,” Thea scolds.
“Margot needs to get the full Redneck Wrecked experience, and you know tequila is the only way to do that.”
“Fine, but I’m holding you responsible for anything that happens tonight,” says Thea right before she downs a shot.
“Don’t worry, baby girl. I got you,” he coos. “You’ll be coming home with me tonight.” He kisses her cheek and takes a shot of his own, making a face at the burn. “All right, nurse lady. Bottoms up!”
I can’t help but smile at their back-and-forth as I lift the glass to my mouth. “I hope you guys know I almost never drink, but here goes nothing.” I hold their eyes as I pour the contents of the shot glass down my throat, the liquid burning all the way down.A few minutes later, a warmth floods my system, and some of my worries ease.
