Jamie McGuire - Beautiful Oblivion

“To spending more time with awesome people.”

“To brothers who make life impossible.”

“I’ll drink to that shit,” Trenton said, throwing back his shot. “I love my brothers. I’d do anything for them, but sometimes I feel like the only one who gives a shit about Dad, you know?”

“Sometimes I feel like the only one that doesn’t give a shit about mine.”

Trenton looked up from his empty glass.

“He’s old school. Don’t talk back. Don’t have an opinion unless it’s his. Don’t cry when he beats the shit out of my mom.”

Trenton’s eyes tightened.

“He doesn’t do it anymore. But he used to. Fucked with us kids, you know? That she stayed. That she could still love him.”

“Goddamn. That’s awful.”

“Your parents loved each other?” I asked.

The smallest hint of a smile touched Trenton’s lips. “Like crazy.”

My expression mirrored his. “I love that.”

“So . . . now?”

“Everyone acts like nothing happened. He’s better now, so whoever doesn’t pretend that she didn’t have to spend extra time in the mornings covering bruises is the bad guy. So . . . I’m the bad guy.”

“No, you’re not. If someone hurt my mom . . . even if it was my dad . . . I’d never forgive him. Has he apologized?”

“Never,” I said without hesitation. “But he should. To her. To us. To all of us.”

He held out his empty glass this time. I poured a single, and we held them out again.

“To loyalty,” he said.

“To running away,” I said.

“I’ll drink to that shit,” he said, and we both knocked back the drinks.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, and rested my cheek on my knee, looking over at Trenton. His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his red baseball cap. He had brothers who were identical twins, but the youngest four could have been quadruplets.

Trenton reached for my shirt and pulled me into his chest. He folded me into his arms and squeezed. I noticed on the inside of his left forearm was thick script that spelled DIANNE, and a few inches down, in much smaller, cursive font that read MACKENZIE.

“Is that . . .”

Trenton turned over his arm to get a better look. “Yeah.” We sat in silence for a moment, and then he continued. “The rumors aren’t true, ya know.”

I sat up and waved him away. “No, I know.”

“I just couldn’t go back there, with everyone looking at me like I’d killed her.”

I shook my head. “No one thinks that.”

“Mackenzie’s parents do.”

“They need to blame someone, Trent. Someone else.”

Trenton’s phone buzzed. He lifted it, took one look at the screen, and smiled.

“Hot date?”

“Shepley. Travis has a fight tonight. At Jefferson.”

“Good,” I said. “Every time they schedule one on a night the Red is open, it’s empty.”

“Really?”

“I guess you wouldn’t know that, since you go to all of them.”

“Not all of them. I’m not going tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I have better things to do than watch Travis beat somebody’s ass. Again. Besides, he doesn’t have any moves I haven’t seen.”

“Right. You’ve taught him everything he knows, I’m sure.”

“One third of everything he knows. That little shit. We beat his ass so many times growing up, he picked up on everything to keep from getting pummeled. Now he could beat all of us . . . at the same time. No wonder no one can beat him.”

“I’ve seen you and Travis fight. You won.”

“When?”

“Over a year ago. Right after . . . he told you to quit drinking before you drank yourself to death and you beat him pretty bad for it.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not proud of that. My dad still hasn’t let me live that down, even though Travis forgave me the second it was over. I love that little bastard.”

“You sure you don’t want to go to Jefferson?”

He shook his head, and then smiled. “So . . . I still have Spaceballs.”

I laughed. “What is your obsession with Spaceballs?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. We watched it a lot as kids. It was something we did as brothers. It just makes me feel good, ya know?”

“You just keep it in your car?” I asked, skeptically.

“No, it’s at home. Maybe you can come over. Watch it with me sometime?”

I righted my posture, creating more space between us. “I’m thinking that’s a horrible idea.”

“Why?” he asked with his charming smile. “Don’t trust yourself alone with me?”

“I’m alone with you right now. Not even worried about it.”

Trenton leaned in, just a couple of inches from my face. “Is that why you just leaned away? Because you’re not worried about being close to me?”

His warm, brown eyes fell to my lips, and his breath was the only thing I could hear until the front door swung open.

“I told you not to mention the Dallas Cowboys. Daddy hates the Dallas Cowboys.”

“They’re America’s football team. It’s un-American to hate the Cowboys.”

Raegan turned on her heels, and Kody leaned back. “But you didn’t have to say that to him! Jesus!” Raegan turned to look at Trenton and me on the couch. I was leaning back, and Trenton was leaning in close.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. “Did we interrupt?”

“Nope,” I said, pushing Trenton away. “Not at all.”

“Sure looks like it—” Kody began, but Raegan turned her wrath on him again.

“Just . . . stop talking!” she yelled, and then retreated to her room, Kody following quickly behind.

“Great. They’ll probably be fighting all night,” I said.

“Just . . . go home!” Raegan said, slamming her bedroom door. Kody rounded the corner, looking distraught.

“Look at the bright side,” I said. “If she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t be so upset.”

“Her dad fights dirty,” Kody said. “I didn’t say shit until he’d been talking about Brazil for an hour. Then I tried to change the subject, and couldn’t resist.”

Trenton laughed, and then looked at Kody. “Can you give me a ride home? We’ve had a little bit to drink.”

Kody jingled his keys. “Yeah, man. I’m heading over here in the morning to grovel if you want to pick up your car.”

“Sweet,” Trenton said. He stood up, ruffled my hair with his fingers, and then grabbed his keys. “See you at work tomorrow.”

“Good night,” I said, smoothing my hair.

“You get anywhere with her, man?” Kody said, purposefully louder than necessary.

Trenton chuckled. “Third base.”

“You know what I hate?” I asked. “You.”

Trenton rushed me and turned, lying on top of me, letting his entire weight push me down. “No way. Who else can you drink Crown straight from the bottle with?”

“Myself,” I said, grunting against his weight. I elbowed him in the ribs, and he pulled himself up by the back of the couch, awkward and dramatic.

“Exactly. See you tomorrow, Cami.”

When the door shut, I tried not to smile, but failed.

THE BOTTLE CRASHED TO THE FLOOR, AND BOTH HANK and Raegan stared down at the broken shards and splattered liquid.

“Coors Light!”

“Vegas Bomb!”

“Fuck!” I said, bending down to pick it up.

“I got it,” Gruber said, hurrying behind the bar to clean up my mess.

Week two of my new job, and it was already beginning to wear on me. Going straight from class to Skin Deep wasn’t difficult Mondays or Tuesdays, but Wednesday through Sunday kicked my ass. Trying to keep up with studying and papers after a shift that lasted until after 2:00 AM, and then waking up for a 9:00 AM class was grueling.

“You all right?” Hank said into my ear. “That’s the first time you’ve dropped a bottle since you learned to flip ’em.”

“I’m fine,” I said, wiping my wet hands on the towel that was tucked into my back pocket.

“I said Coors Light!”

“Wait a goddamn minute!” Raegan yelled at the impatient jerk standing among forty other impatient jerks at my station. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this for Coby,” she said, a residual frown still on her face.

“It’s just easier.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s called enabling. Why would he straighten up, Cami? He has you to bail him out after a two-minute guilt trip.”

“He’s a stupid kid, Ray. He’s allowed to screw up,” I said, stepping over Gruber to get to the Blue Curaçao.

“He’s your younger brother. He shouldn’t be a bigger fuckup than you.”

“Everything isn’t always the way it’s supposed to be.”

“Blue Moon!”

“Blind Pig!”

“You got Zombie Dust on tap?”

I shook my head. “Only in October.”

“What kind of bar is this? That’s one of the top ten beers ever made! You should have it year-round!”

I rolled my eyes. Thursday night was coin beer night, and always packed. The dance floor was shoulder to shoulder, and the bar was three rows deep of drink calling and doubled as a prime spot for what Hank affectionately called the Meat Market, and it wasn’t even eleven o’clock, when the rush would start.

“West corner!” Hank called.

“Got it!” Kody said, pushing through the crowd to get to a writhing mob.

The patrons were always more violent for two or three days after a fight. They’d watch Travis Maddox maul some guy without mercy, and then everyone at that fight walked away thinking they were equally invincible.

Raegan smiled, pausing for a few seconds to watch Kody work. “Damn, he’s hot.”

“Work, bitch,” I said, shaking the hell out of a New Orleans Fizz until my arms burned.

Raegan groaned, lined up five shot glasses, pulled the stack of napkins to the lower shelf, and then tipped a bottle of Chartreuse upside down. She overpoured the shot glasses, and then ran a thin line across a clean section of the bar. She flipped a lighter, and fire erupted.