I have a feeling the last one is the right answer.
I close the cabinet and lean my forehead against the cool mirror, closing my eyes.
“Lachlan?” I hear Kayla’s soft voice from outside the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”
I grunt in response, clearing my throat. “Just a minute.”
I take a quick piss, and when I get back to bed, she’s under the covers, watching me.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, climbing in beside her. “Come here.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and tug her up against me. I brush my fingers along her hairline, feeling the silk of her hair and skin sooth me into a drug-induced sleep.
***
Jessica and Donald live about an hour outside of Edinburgh, their house just a few shrub-lined blocks from the Firth of Moray and a fabulous fish and chip shop I used to spend much of my allowance on.
About twenty minutes away, I pull the Range Rover in beside Robbie’s Bar and put it in park.
“What are we here?” Kayla asks. “Do they live in a pub?”
“Nah,” I tell her. “But I used to frequent this place a lot growing up. When I was fifteen I hit my growth spurt and didn’t even need to use a fake I.D. It’s not as dodgy as it looks. Come on, let’s have a beer.”
She frowns at me, so I flash her a smile. “Don’t tell me it’s not fancy enough for you,” I add, knowing that will egg her on.
“Hey,” she says, raising her palm at me, “don’t talk to me about fancy. The most interesting people are found at dive bars.”
“Well, this is a dive pub, so it’s a step above. Just don’t order any of the food.”
“Don’t want to spoil my appetite.”
“You don’t want to get sick.” I get out of the car and grab her hand.
To be honest, I haven’t been in here since high school, but it smells just the same. Grease and salt from the fryer, fish batter, stale beer that owns the red and green carpet. The memories come flashing back, not all of them horrible.
It’s just after five o’clock, and the pub is fairly full of regular blokes off from work. We snag a high-top table by the door and I ask Kayla what she wants to drink.
“Surprise me,” she says, though there’s an air of caution in her voice, as if I’m going to get her a beer called the Haggis Surprise.
“Done.” I saunter over to the overworked bartender, who’s wearing a grey shirt with sweat stains down the sides. I’m pretty sure he’s the same guy who worked here fifteen years ago.
I lean against the bar and wait until he notices me, and when he does his eyes go wide. But there’s no way I look the same as I did back in the day, growth spurt or not.
“Well, I’ll be,” the man says, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. “Lachlan McGregor.” I squint at him, trying to figure it out when he continues, “You’re the best part of Edinburgh rugby. Tell me you’re fully healed now? The team has been playing the dog’s bollocks since you left us.”
That’s not exactly true. The end of last season wasn’t particularly good, but that might have happened whether I was on the team or not.
“I’m back,” I tell him.
“Brilliant. Practice going well? Ready for the big game?”
“Aye,” I tell him, not wanting to get into it. “Could I get a pint of ale and a pint of cider for the lady over there?” I gesture to Kayla. She’s sitting at the table, taking it all in.
“No worries. It’s on the house, mate,” he says, and promptly pulls out the pint glasses.
“Well, cheers then,” I say as he hands me the drinks. I take a moment to stare at the amber liquid, my thirst suddenly rampant. I could down it all in a second, just two gulps, and the relief would be immediate. Instead, I bring both drinks over to her, my hands shaking slightly.
“Here you go,” I tell her.
“Did the guy know you?”
I shrug. “Not really. More like he knew who I was.”
She beams at me, sliding the cider toward her. “That’s awesome. You’re famous.”