“From my mother.”
“Well,” I said, licking my lips. “That even makes me speechless. What the hell does she want after all this time?”
I heard him sigh. “I don’t know. She wants me to call her or send her a letter or something, but I have no interest in that shit. She fucking left me when I was a little boy and now I’m about to have a little boy or girl of my own—there’s no way I’m letting her into my life.”
“So she’s had a change of heart thirty years later?”
“Apparent-fucking-ly. That or she’s out of money, which is my actual guess. Either way, I’m making sure everything I own is locked down tight. If I’d end up in a ditch like my dad, she’s not getting her fingers on any of it.”
“I feel ya there. Do what you need to do. Family first.”
“Family first,” he muttered back. “Hey, speaking of which—this isn’t really the way to ask this, but it’s me and you so it is what it is. I’m going to have a will drawn up for Jada and me and for the baby while I’m up there. It won’t be official until the baby is born, but it’ll be ready to go. We want you and Kari to be the godparents.”
“I’d be honored.”
“You’re the only family I got, besides Jada. I’d rest easy knowing my kid was growing up with you.”
“Ah, thanks, man. I appreciate that. I’m flattered. Really.” In the midst of my own despair, I couldn’t help smile.
“Good,” he laughed. “Alright, I see Kari’s headlights coming up the driveway, so I’m gonna go get my shit ready. Talk to ya tomorrow sometime.”
“Later,” I said, ending the call as I pulled into Casaar’s Bar.
What the hell am I doing here?
Without thinking twice, just knowing I wanted to escape all the mess of my life, I walked inside. It was busy as hell and not my normal style with lights flashing and pop music pounding over the stereo. My normal choice would’ve been something quieter, maybe a little Keith Whitley on a jukebox in a corner, a pool table, and some old men cracking jokes.
Then again, my normal choice would leave me ample room to think about shit I didn’t want to think about.
I grabbed a seat at the bar and waited on the bartender to make her way over to me. She was young and flirty and having a ball with all the just-turned-21’s around me. I scanned the bar, the karaoke stage being used for the DJ. I imagined what I’d looked like up there singing for Kari.
I probably looked like a fool . . . but it got me what I wanted in the end.
Or did it?
I’d started to mellow out a little but the thought sent the anger boiling up again.
“What can I get ya, baby?” the bartender asked, winking, as she finally made her way over to me.
“Crown on ice.”
She pursed her lips. “You got it.” She made my drink and sat it in front of me. I tipped the glass to my lips and let the fluid drain down my throat. “Give me another.”
“Whoa, there, sexy. It’s gonna be a quick night if you keep that up.”
I nodded to the glass and she shrugged again and filled it. She sat it in front of me and scampered off before I could replay my request. I took another drink. The liquor stung and soothed, burnt and caressed.
I hated everything about this situation. I hated not being home. I hated knowing Kari wasn’t at home either. I hated not knowing what she was thinking, what she wanted, what I needed to do.
I hated I was in this shitty bar, getting drunk, by myself.
I swallowed the rest of the liquor in the glass, feeling sick.
Just as I was starting to feel the numbness set in, my phone alerted me of a text. When I saw Pierce’s name, I dismissed it.
I’m just gonna get hammered and forget this damn night.
I flagged down the male bartender and got myself another drink. I watched the girls in too tight dresses dance on the dance floor, college-aged guys in Polo shirts trying to get their attention. But my attention was on Kari.
My brain felt comfortably fuzzy as I tried to make sense of my situation.
Did I push her too hard? Did I force a relationship on her when she didn’t want one? Would she ever have told me or just eventually left?
I downed the glass and pushed it to the other side of the bar for a refill.
I closed my eyes, letting images dance across my mind in one long fuzzy blur. I felt the peace that came with drinking a bit too much, the bliss that came with a slight buzz.
Or a heavy buzz.
At this point, who cares?
My phone went off again and this time it wasn’t Pierce.
“Heya, Sammy,” I slurred into the phone over the beat of some pop shit.
Don’t these people know Alabama? Tim McGraw? Blake Shelton?
“Max? What’s going on? Where are you?”
I chuckled. “Well, I shouldn’t probably tell ya that.”
“Oh, I think you should. You aren’t by yourself, are you? Because it sounds like you’re pretty wasted.”
“Ah, hell. I’m alright?”