Whiskey and Country

5

NICHOLAS

Present

This morning, I called in sick. For the first time ever. And I really was sick. I’d been throwing up all night. In between drinking whiskey straight from the bottle.

Deadly combination.

But necessary after what I did. I fucking pushed that button.

A flame of pain licked my spine, crushing my vertebras, pooling in my neck and shoulders. Tension extended to the length of my back.

In my mind, the images of the previous night flashed in a loop, haunting my dreams. Even the ones where I lay awake on my couch, staring at the ceiling, relishing the sensation of the room spiraling around me, making it harder for me to notice the spins in my head.

“Nick, there are no sick days on this job. You either show up, or you don’t. If you choose the second option, don’t bother stepping a foot on one of my sites again. You already missed a few days last week without my consent. No second chances granted either. You know the drill,” Cody yapped on the other end of the line. I sealed my lids, wishing for the room to settle. For a minute.

Grief, hangover, and the sound of my boss’s raspy voice were an awful mix. One I didn’t need at five in the morning.

To erase my annoyance, I moved to a reclining position and took a gulp of the amber liquid, the fire soothing the pain of my heartache and the squeaky voice of my boss.

“Someone died. In my family.” I covered my mouth with my hand to silence a hiccup. “I need another day to deal with it. I spent the entire night up.” Don’t need you to chew me one in addition to everything else, I had the decency to speak only in my mind. Or I wished I did. When he didn’t reply to my insolence, I knew my wish had been granted. Never in my life had I argued with my boss. And I didn’t want to start now. But today all I craved was a break. To fucking mourn in peace.

And erase those images so I could sleep peacefully later.

Fight left Cody’s voice. “How long do you need? I have no one else to replace you on the condo project on such short notice.” His annoyance spilled from each syllable he spoke.

I huffed a jagged breath. “A day. I’ll keep my phone next to me. Tell my guys they can reach me in case of an emergency.”

The man on the other end of the line sighed, what sounded to be a relief, a tiny reprieve from his ire over the next few hours.

I took another sip, congratulating myself for avoiding a near-certain fight with the man I half-respected and half-feared. He had started the business more than twenty years ago from nothing, but down the way, he had forgotten to be fair and humane. And furthermore, fully grateful for not losing my job.

No matter the reason, he’d never grant me any more sick days. That I knew as much as I was aware that being hungover wasn’t a cure for sadness. Yeah, Cody could be an insensitive jerk most of the time.

On unsteady legs, I stumbled to my bedroom, bottle in hand, chasing some darkness. The sun coming through the small windows of my living room could shine on me some other day. Now all I wanted was to be left the fuck alone. In my bed, I tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. Derek was gone. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. An invisible hand strangled my heart, crushing it so tight, it prevented the blood from reaching it.

Later, a knock on the door brought me out of my slumber. My fingers tapped the bed until they connected with my phone. The one I kept close in case of work-related emergencies. I peeled my lids off, one at a time, my eyeballs dry and prickling. With the crook of my elbow, I rubbed the sleep away from them. My gaze adjusted to the screen. Six. Was it morning already? From the early darkness outside, I guessed not. My heart sank. For a beat, I almost fancied I’d slept for an entire day. I pushed on my hands to sit up, but the room waltzed around me. Geez, how much did I drink that I was still wasted? Through my foggy mind, I did the math, trying to assess how long I’d passed out. The simple calculation turned out to be much harder to do in my intoxicated state. My brain took over after a full minute as more poundings resonated on the door. Squinting at my hand, I counted my fingers. Well, I’d slept for four—no, five hours. Yeah, five. I desisted the urge to pump my fist.

Lumbering toward the door, I unlocked it. Tucker almost ripped it from its hinges as he yanked it open.

His face creased with concern as his eyes moved up and down my body with a perturbed frown. He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head in despair.

“Fuck, man. Jace called and asked if I could come to check on you since you weren’t at the work site today. Not that we hoped you’d be. But fuck.”

In one stride, my friend erased the gap between us, one palm resting on my shoulder. Without a word, he studied me. A mixture of empathy, worry, and fear flashed in his brown irises.

In my head, I thanked him for holding me still, not sure my legs would support my weight on their own. The room spun.

A bitter taste had taken my tongue hostage. The aftertaste of whiskey persistent.

My body rocked to the side, and I closed my eyes, certain I could fall back to sleep even while standing. A constant buzz filled my ears.

The pain that had been haunting my mind, soul, and body had numbed out. And I relished the feeling. Because now I couldn’t sense a thing.

I pushed that button. I caused a life to end.

But, right now, nothing mattered. Except burying myself back in bed.

“Shower. Now.” Tuck’s tone brought my attention back to him. Oh yes, he was here. In my apartment. A man who never went unnoticed, but my brain had somehow made him a figment of imagination.

He spoke, but I caught nothing.

“Nick, focus. Shower. You reek of booze, puke, and sweat. And it’s disgusting. Gosh, I should have come earlier. Taken the day off.” One at a time, I pried my lids open, their weight making it a challenge. I could only zoom in with my right eye, the left too lazy.

I waggled a finger in his face. “I’m allllll righttt, Tuckkk.”

A loud hiccup followed. And a smug grin stretched one side of my lips.

Tucker’s face stayed impassive.

I was doomed. I recognized the look. He wouldn’t leave. Or leave me alone.

Through slit eyelids, I studied him while he kept talking. As if I was seeing him for the very first time. Somehow, his brown skin looked darker right now. I blinked. It became shinier. Was I hallucinating now? Nope. His black crew-cut hair and skin tone seemed to be a kaleidoscope of alternating colors. No kidding. My lips bent at the thought he had magical skin.

“Nick. Shower,” he barked, pausing my flow of thoughts.

Geez, why did he have to be so bossy?

With my hands up to silence him, I leaned back and stumbled toward the bathroom, Tuck hot on my heels.

Twenty minutes later, with a black towel draped around my hips, my chest still drenched from the shower, I teetered on wobbly legs to the kitchen, my throat and mouth resembling the Sahara. Right now, I could drink the entire Atlantic Ocean if it wasn’t so salty. Maybe Michigan Lake would be a better option. Was it, though? Pollution. Factories. Weird species of fish. Damn.

As if he could read my mind, Tucker uncapped a bottle and pushed it into my hand, stopping my random thoughts.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, sipping the water, worried my stomach would turn if I wasn’t gentle.

Drops of water rolled down my torso, and a chill ran through me. As I retraced my steps to the bathroom, I took in the wet path I left behind. Great.

Tucker brought me a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Unbalanced, I sat on the edge of the bathtub, like a child dressing on his own for the first time, struggling to fit my limbs in the pant legs.

Before I exited the bathroom, I caught sight of my reflection in the semi-foggy mirror. Oh, shit.

My face, usually tanned, was blotchy. Golden eyes now bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, lips cracked, my shaggy jaw unruly. Even my blond tousled hair looked dull. Shoulders, wide and muscular from years of working in construction, appeared narrower than usual. And my back was slumped as if layers of weight had lumbered it. I barely recognized the image the mirror reflected.

Reality hit me. Grief had turned me into a zombified version of myself. Derek wouldn’t want that. Shit, I had let myself go even when I’d promised him to take better care of myself. This was bad.

Shaky on my feet, I reached the kitchen, where Tucker stood at the sink, cleaning the mess I had made. Food containers were now stacked on the island beside the empty beer and liquor bottles. In the last two weeks, since I came to know about Derek’s fate, I had let myself turn into a slob.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, now sober than I had been in hours.

“Man, how hard did I fall last night?”

Last night.

Time had no meaning anymore. Hours. Days. Somehow, it felt time stopped the moment Derek passed away, and no one was in a hurry to restart and fix the broken clock. Every hour that ticked by since then felt like a year of my life forfeited. I watched Tucker when he said, “Bad.”