On The Rocks

I want to get him to talk to me, but chances of that happening right this very minute are slim. We just had a major fucking fight, causing me to yell at him. He didn’t engage… just quietly told me that he was sorry, and turned around to stock the beer.

I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it would make him happy. I know it would make me happy.

Foolishly, I met him at Last Call first thing this morning, excited about my proposition.

“Brody,” I had told him, a warm smile on my face. “I’d like you to be partners with me. Fifty-fifty ownership of Last Call.”

Foolishly, I expected him to smile at me. The first smile I would have seen on his face… the face that was identical to mine, for the first time in five years. Instead, he stared at me blankly for a moment and then said, “No thanks.”

What the fuck? No thanks?

No amount of begging, pleading, or cajoling could get him to consider. He just quietly… so very fucking quietly, thanked me but said he was happy just having the job that I gave him. He didn’t want to be partners with me. Said he didn’t deserve it.

It didn’t matter that I yelled and cursed at him, calling him an ingrate, which I instantly regretted. I immediately apologized, and he just nodded his head at me and grabbed the first case of beer from the store shelf.

Now I watch him as he’s lost in his own thoughts, while he stacks a case of Budweiser. I wonder what he’s thinking. Is he remembering that night? When he killed that man?

Or is he remembering what it was like to live life in a six-by-eight steel and brick box?

Does he ever think about what his life was like before? Because he surely isn’t giving much thought to what his life could be like now.

Sighing in frustration, I glance down at my watch and see that Gabby Ward is due here in a few minutes. Just the thought of her causes my stomach to clench, and not in a good way.

I’m nervous as fuck about seeing her… about trying to carry on a normal conversation with her, without one or both of us snapping at the other. It’s been our pattern for the last five years. Ever since she blew my mind with that hot-as-fuck kiss, and I metaphorically slapped her in the face with my rebuff.

God, if I could go back and change that day, I would. She threw me for a loop when she kissed me, and I responded the way I had thought about kissing her for the longest time. For a few seconds, I engaged in the best kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life… a kiss that has never been equaled since. Then I reacted horribly and put hurt in her eyes that has never left. Because while she hides behind mockery and condescension, I still see the pain that lives just below the surface.

I’m not stupid. I know the reason Gabby acts so vile toward me is because she’s bruised and angry. And she has every right to be. I behaved badly, and I wounded her deeply. There’s not a doubt in my mind that Gabby had deep feelings toward me, and she was expressing them that night. It’s why that kiss was so fucking good… because of the depth of feeling behind it.

It certainly didn’t help that for a few years prior, I had noticed with keen awareness how beautiful she had become. How sinfully sexy she was. She was forbidden fruit, completely fucking tempting me at every single turn.

Not only was she Casey’s best friend, but she was indeed like a sister to me. I cared for her a lot… still do for that matter. But more than that, I couldn’t have a relationship with her because my life was all kinds of fucked up crazy, with me being on the pro surfing circuit. I traveled ten months out of the year, and a relationship was just not feasible. It’s not something I wanted, even with someone as amazing as Gabby. And there was no way I was ever going to let Gabby settle for something less than a devoted partner. She deserved way better than what I could ever have given her.