Hard Pass (St. Louis Mavericks 3)

“This is part of being on our team,” I told Alvarado. “The team is a family. You’re like the youngest kid in the family. The one who just hit puberty and jerks off in his bedroom all the time.”

He rolled his eyes. “When are you going to stop busting my balls?”

I laughed and shook my head. “When it stops being fun. Which won’t be anytime soon.”

I rang Sawyer’s doorbell. It took him a couple minutes to answer it, and when he did, I pressed my lips together to avoid him seeing my surprise.

Dude looked like absolute shit—even worse than when I’d seen him last week. He hadn’t shaved since Annie died more than two weeks ago, and he’d gone from clean-shaven to sporting a short, dark beard. His hair was going in a hundred different directions and he was wearing the same Mavericks T-shirt and pajamas he’d had on last week; I just didn’t know if he’d washed them since then.

“What’s up?” he said, looking like we’d woken him up even though it was two in the afternoon.

“Just coming by to see how you are,” I said.

“I’m fine.”

I scowled. “Well, we drove all the way over here so at least invite us in for a beer, asshole.”

He stepped aside. “Yeah, come on in. The place is a mess.”

There was a blanket on the couch and at least a dozen empty beer cans on the coffee table. Alvarado and I exchanged a look as we sat down.

“I’ll get us some beers,” Sawyer said.

“No, forget the beers,” I said.

“I don’t mind. I’ve got plenty.”

It was obvious he was drinking a lot, and I didn’t want to add more fuel to that fire.

“It’s fine. Just sit down and come talk to us,” I said. “Have you left the house since the last time I was here?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why does it matter to you?”

“I don’t want you sitting here feeling like shit all day every day, man.”

“I watched my wife die. How else do you expect me to feel?”

I sighed heavily, looking to Alvarado for help.

“Is this what Annie would want for you?” he asked.

Sawyer’s expression darkened. “She’s gone, dipshit. And trust me, you have no idea what it’s like to experience a loss like this.”

“You’re right, I don’t. It’s…” His voice trailed off and he didn’t finish.

“What?” Sawyer demanded. “What is it?”

“Never mind,” Alvarado said.

“No, tell me. Seriously.”

Alvarado exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and scooted to the edge of the recliner he was sitting in.

“It’s different than losing your wife in other ways. Which is what just happened to me.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“My wife left me. She said she met someone else, and that someone else is the contractor remodeling our house. They were fucking, in our goddamn bed, while I was on the road. And the worst part is that I’m stuck with the house now. What am I supposed to do with a house my wife’s lover renovated?”

“Sell it,” Sawyer said.

“Yeah, I’ll probably have to. In the meantime, I’m sleeping on the floor in one of our guest rooms because the remodel is now done, but we hadn’t moved any furniture back in, and now she’s moving in with him.”

“What the fuck?” I asked, completely shocked.

I’d always assumed Alvarado and his pastor’s-daughter wife were one of those couples that would do it missionary style three times a week, have two point five kids and retire to Florida, where they’d peacefully die within a few hours of each other once they got old.

“Sorry.” Alvarado put a hand up. “I didn’t mean to make things about me. I just wanted to show you that Annie might have passed, but she loved you with everything she had.”

Sawyer shook his head. “Don’t apologize, man. It’s nice to have something else on my mind for a change.”

“Are you guys getting divorced?” I asked.

Alvarado scoffed. “Yeah, of course. And there was no prenup, so that’ll be a nice hard ass fucking.”

Sawyer stood up. “I’m getting some beers.”

He brought in three cold Bud Light cans, and we all cracked them open.

“Shit,” I said.

“Yeah,” Alvarado said. “Anybody got any good news?”

“Sariah’s giving me another chance,” I said.

“Good,” Sawyer said. “She seems like a nice girl. Don’t fuck it up.”

We drank our beers in silence for a few seconds, each lost in our own thoughts.

“What’s the contractor’s name?” I asked Alvarado.

“Shawn McCoy, why?”

“I’ve got a few bumper stickers that would look good on his work truck. There’s an I love crack whores, I love dick, and Honk if you have herpes. Take your pick, man.”

Sawyer busted out laughing. Alvarado followed, and soon all three of us were cracking up.

“Like that magnet shit you kept putting on my truck?” Alvarado asked.

“No, these are stickers. They’ll be a bitch to get off. I ordered them when I was pissed at you about Sariah.”