Can't Go Without Page 8

  After four shots each, Sydney and I are feeling pretty good, making quite the scene. Trying not to piss off Piper, Adrian or Kathryn, I willed myself to keep my hands and other things to myself. With every shot and every flip of her hair, it’s getting increasingly harder. I just need to get through the rest of the evening and then I can take her back to my room—the privacy of my room—and reenact a few of my favorite scenes from her films. I’m a big Ivy Sterling fan. Who isn’t, really?

  Running her finger up and down the buttons of my shirt, Sydney says, “When can I start undoing these?”

  “God woman, you’re killing me,” I groan. “We can’t be these people’s entertainment. Can’t steal the show now, can we?”

  “We could give ‘em just a quick sneak peek,” Sydney whispers in my ear, running her tongue along the edge.

  “Ahhh,” I growl with weakness. “Yeah we could.” My arm circles around her waist, pressing her tightly against my body. I breathe in her scent, expensive perfume coupled with alcohol; a scent I know all too well and often possess myself. Sydney’s eyes close, and my lips meet hers.

  “What the fuck, Rory? Jesus Christ,” I yell, holding my jaw, feeling the throb throughout my entire fucking head. I’m flat on my back with every guest in the entire place staring down on me.

  “Don’t fucking touch her. Don’t fucking talk to her. Don’t even fucking look at her,” Rory says, shaking out his hand, towering over me.

  Trying to stand and stumbling back down, I look around and ask, “Did I miss something here?”

  “No Tristan,” Sydney says, helping me up. “You didn’t miss one thing—not a damn thing.”

  “Then why the fuck am I spitting blood and flat on my ass with a crowd of people around me? Can someone answer that?” I yell as everyone starts talking at once.

  Adrian and Rory are both screaming at me. Kathryn is crying and yelling at Sydney. Syd’s yelling back and storming away from her. Meanwhile, Piper’s shaking her head at me and mouthing the words, “I told you so.”

  Lanette whistles a shrill, eardrum-splitting sound that silences the entire place. “Rory, God, I love ya boy, but ya gots no right hurting Dre’s family the night before his wedding. I gots half a mind to bend ya over my knee for pulling that crap,” Lanette threatens.

  Moving through the crowd, she says, “Dre, get your brother outta here ‘fore he causes a whole mess of problems. Pipah, go check on Kathryn and see about knocking some sense into that clueless friend of hers.”

  As the crowd dissipates, I look at Adrian and ask the obvious question, “What the fuck is wrong with your friend?”

  “You were about to fuck his fiancé; that’s what’s wrong with him,” Adrian says, shoving me toward the door.

  “His fiancé? What?”

  “Well, ex fiancé,” he clarifies. “Ex fiancé—as of last week.”

  Going to bed alone in a hotel room is a new concept for me—one I don’t plan on repeating any time soon. However, after the pummeling Rory gave me, coupled with the disapproving looks from Piper, Adrian, and Kathryn, I decided I better head back to the hotel—alone.

  How the fuck was I supposed to know that Rory and Sydney were a thing or a “used to be” thing? That chick was coming on strong and was so smoking hot; I couldn’t have turned that down if I tried—if I begged myself to try. Sydney had me going, had every nerve-ending on high alert and ready for action. I haven’t felt that kind of desire since… well since… oh Hell… maybe it wasn’t Sydney after all who made my body react like that. Shit. I’m not letting my head go there right now. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

  Flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch, while waiting to fall asleep, I’m startled by the pounding on my hotel door. Reaching for my pants, I pull them on, heading for the door.

  “Come on Tristan, open the fucking door. Don’t make me use my master key,” Rory bellows. “I’ll use it. I will too. Fuck, it’s illegal, but I’ll use it.”

  “Hold on,” I yell through the door, flipping the lever off the safety lock. Opening the door, I step aside as Rory storms in, looking around.

  “She’s not answering her texts. Where is she?” Rory asks, checking the balcony and bathroom like a lunatic. “Sydney! Fuck! I know you’re in here.”

  Sitting back down on my bed, I turn the television down, continuing to watch him scour my hotel room for a girl who isn’t there. I wait until it finally hits him that she isn’t in my room. She isn’t with me. I’m not currently violating his ex in all the sexual ways I planned. I’m alone in my room watching Sportscenter much to my own dismay.

  “Well if she’s not here, where the fuck is she?” Rory yells, punching a hole in the wall. “Fuck,” he says, examining the damage and shaking out his hand for the second time tonight. “Damn it.”

  I get up, not saying a word. Grabbing the ice bucket, I head to the end of the hallway, fill it quickly with ice from the machine, and return to my room. Rory’s sitting on the end of my bed, sobbing like a little bitch. I hand him the bucket; he stuffs his hand in the ice, moaning as he does so.

  “I’m not paying for that shit,” I say, motioning to the hole in the wall.

  Rory looks at the hole, shakes his head, and groans, “I know. Fuck, I know.”

  “Dude, I didn’t know she was your girl. Nobody said anything,” I explain. “Not that I’m above that shit or anything, but I sure as Hell wouldn’t have done it right in front of your fucking face.”

  “Was. Was my girl,” he groans again. “I fucking blew it.” Lying back on my bed, he covers his eyes with one arm while the other hand rattles around in the ice bucket. “What am I gonna do? How am I gonna fix this shit?”

  Looking around the room for a second, it oddly occurs to me that he’s talking to me—asking me. “Now, I know you’re not asking me this shit,” I say, incredulously. “If you came here to beat my ass, get drunk, or let me find you a chick to bang for the night, then I’m your guy,” I say honestly. “But if you’re looking for… for… advice, you just hit up the wrong O’Donnell.”

  After a long pause, Rory’s body starts shaking again. Man, I cannot deal with a crying dude in my hotel room for much longer. Then, I realize he’s laughing, laughing hysterically. Removing his arm from his face, Rory’s smile is pained. “You are something else Tristan, ya know that?”

  “So I’ve been told,” I say, taking a mini vodka from the mini bar. Opening it, I hand it to Rory, and say, “I’m not paying for that either.” I open one of the beers and chug it in its entirety. It’s been a long damn day. “Or this.”

  “You’re really not the asshole you make people think you are. You know that right?” Rory says, wincing as he shoots the Vodka. “Hand me the whiskey too, would ya?”

  “Yeah I am,” I disagree, opening the top on the whiskey for him. “Just because every now and then I bail out a friend doesn’t make me better than shit.”

  “Bail out a friend?” Rory shakes his head. “How about bail out your brother’s friend and never tell a single soul about it—not even your brother? That makes you pretty damn good in my book, bro.”

  “Eh, I got no friends of my own to help out, no big deal. Plus, that was years ago,” I say, opening another beer and sitting down on the couch. “I haven’t done anything for anyone in a long time. I’m not Adrian, or ‘ Dr. Dre,’ whatever the fuck you people call him these days.”

  “Was that a racist joke, the ‘you people?” Rory laughs, feigning anger.

  “Still pulling the race card?” I ask, laughing. I always liked Rory. Thought he was an arrogant, ignorant ass, but who am I to judge, really? I still liked him.

  “Trying anyway, never seems to work,” Rory says, settling back on my pillows. Fuck. Is he staying? Hanging out with me? “So Dre’s getting married tomorrow. Can you believe it?”

  “Yeah, I believe it,” I say, propping my feet on the coffee table. “That guy’s been looking to get married since he popped his first woody. He’s the marrying t
ype.”

  “I know, right? Guy used to think he was such a player. Yeah he screwed around, but was always ready to ‘take the next step’ the next morning,” Rory laughs. “But shit, thank God, he didn’t marry Waverly. That girl… fuck… what a whore.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Yeah, I never understood why he couldn’t forgive you for that shit,” Rory says, getting up to get himself a beer. I’m not paying for all this alcohol. It better not be on my bill tomorrow morning. “But yet, Dre forgave me the second it happened. Never could understand that.”

  “You?” I say, staring at him totally blown away. “You fucked Waverly too?”

  “Who didn’t?” he says, shrugging. “Couldn’t help that shit. She came on like a hooker with a quota. I couldn’t protect my dick to save my life.”

  I can’t believe it. Rory, the best friend, the guy that’d do anything for Adrian, screwed his fiancé, and Adrian couldn’t care less. That is total crap. But when I do, I get ostracized and cut out of his life for good. Adrian has made me feel like an ass for years over Waverly, but Rory gets a free pass. That’s just bullshit.

  “Dre’s into the bitch-type, always has been,” Rory continues.

  “Kathryn’s a bitch?” I ask, surprised.

  “Oh yeah, but the good kind of bitch, ya know?” Rory explains. “The kind that doesn’t take his shit—take anyone’s shit. They’re good together.”

  “They seem like it,” I say, agreeing. “He seems pretty pussy-whipped if you ask me though.”

  “Oh he is, he certainly is,” Rory agrees, laughing. “I thought I had that with Syd, too, man. But shit, that’s over, and look at me now, crying like a little girl to a guy I still owe fifteen grand to.”

  “Rory, forget the money. I don’t need it,” I offer sincerely. “I’m just glad you kicked the habit.”

  “Habit?” Rory asks. “Hell, it wasn’t a habit; it was a full-fledged addiction. I couldn’t get enough of the thrill, the high. And if those goons, Luchesi’s henchmen, hadn’t come after me, I’d still be looking for my next fix.”

  “Dude, you’re making it sound like you were on drugs. It was just a little gambling. You got in over your head, no big deal.” I say.

  “O’Donnell, are you nuts? It was a big deal. I was 150K ‘in over my head’ as you say—with a broken nose and four broken ribs.” Rory says, standing and pacing the room. “I couldn’t tell Adrian. He’d already bailed me out like four or five times. I couldn’t go to my dad. He thought I was a fuck up already. My gambling debt would’ve put him over the edge.”

  “Rory, I know all this—”

  “Listen, you may know the facts and shit, but you saved me, man.” Rory explains. “You paid my debt. Got me hooked up with that guy, Paulie, from GA. Paid my medical bills. I know I still owe you, but I ain’t never told you how grateful I am.”

  Continuing, Rory says, “The thing is, when I saw you with Syd tonight, I lost it. I lost it… well… because shit… you’re a better man than me, and she just deserves better.”

  “If Ivy means that—”

  “Sydney,” he corrects vehemently.

  “Sydney. If Sydney means that much to you, then do what you need to do, anything, to get her back,” I advise. I really am giving advice in the middle of the night in my hotel room. Christ. I should be in the Bahamas. How in the fuck did I get here?

  Continuing, I say, “I mean the chick’s a hot piece of—”

  “And, now I’m outa here,” Rory says, standing and smiling. “Thanks. Thanks for—everything.”

  “No problem… and Rory,” I say, stopping him. “Forget the money, seriously.” As I thump him on the back, I add, “Fix this shit with Ivy. Otherwise, you are gonna find her in this room… and she may never want to come back out.”

  “The whole thing is just a stupid circus sideshow,” Samuel says, fixing his tie in the mirror.

  “Ya got that right,” I agree, buckling the strap on my sandal.

  I spent last night trying to talk Samuel into leaving this morning before the wedding. But he refused. He thinks it’s important that I hold my head high and pretend like Tristan O’Donnell’s got nothing on me. Samuel even thinks that I should talk to Tristan and act like I’ve forgiven him and forgotten the horror of that night. Granted, there was no horror, but Tristan doesn’t know that. Samuel knows that though and still thinks I should face him. I cannot believe Samuel talked me into actually going to this wedding. Samuel’s got more clout with me than I’ve ever given him credit for.

  “Why drop 25 grand on a wedding that nobody even cares about the second the bride and groom gallop off into the sunset?” Samuel muses.

  “Exactly! That’s why I’m all about the destination wedding. Get away, elope, and start the honeymoon immediately,” I say, checking my dress in the mirror. “Plus, you’re 20 thousand richer in the end.”

  “Babe,” Samuel says, walking over to me. He sits down on the bed and takes my hand in his. “You don’t want to get married do you?”

  “Well, not like today, but yeah, eventually I guess I do,” I admit, cautiously. “Why? Don’t you?” Samuel and I have been together quite a while, but the subject of marriage has never been broached. I just always assumed it was a natural progression of all relationships that worked. We worked.

  “Uh, not so much,” Samuel confesses, pulling me down onto his lap. “Why fix what isn’t broken?” he wonders, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Kissing my neck, he adds, “Plus, marriage is an archaic institution that just doesn’t work in this day and age. Look at the numbers—the statistics speak for themselves. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. Why go through all that just to end up in court five or six years down the road?”

  “Archaic?” I ask, standing up, fixing my dress again, trying to give it a sexier look.

  “Yes, archaic. Men and women aren’t meant to fornicate and cohabitate for life. It’s just absurd to think that one man and one woman can find happiness in each other forever,” Samuel explains, grabbing our keycard and his wallet. “We’re seriously supposed to look at the same face every day for the rest of our lives? That’s asinine. People grow and change over time. They can’t possibly like the same things—or people—at 25 that they do at—say—55.”

  “Alright,” I nod, as we wait for the elevator. “So what? People should just bed-hop year after year after year? What about kids? Where do they fit in to the grand scheme of things?”

  “Well thankfully, you and I are on the same page with that,” Samuel says, letting me go ahead of him into the elevator. “Kids aren’t in my future—just like you don’t want them either.” I nod again, recalling our recent conversation about children and how absurd it is to subject them to the ills of this world, knowing you can’t protect them from all the pain and suffering that goes along with life.

  “But marriage, it’s just so dated… so… so… stupid,” Samuel continues as we exit the elevator. I walk ahead of him out the front doors of the hotel. I head toward the parking garage to get our car. “Hey wait,” he says, pulling me back. “Marriage is stupid… I’ve always said that. But being in love and knowing you want someone with you for as long as you both want… isn’t.”

  “What does that even mean?” I ask, as he holds me against him.

  “Leah, I’m here… I’m here for as long as you want me to be. I just don’t think we need all that bullshit to prove to the world that we’re in love. We don’t need the document or the church,” Samuel says, smiling.

  He motions to someone behind me. A horse and carriage pulls up to the sidewalk, and his smile widens. Charleston sure makes it easy to turn up the romance in a relationship. “And just because I’m not on one knee, putting a rock on your hand, doesn’t mean that I don’t want you to feel romanced and loved… and it certainly doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

  “Samuel, I—”

  “Your chariot awaits, my dear,” Samuel says, helping me
up onto the carriage’s platform. “We may not have a wedding or any of that, but we do have each other.”

  Samuel’s right; I know he is. I’ve always thought it was a bizarre concept to stand in a church, God’s place, and vow in front of all of your friends and family that you would love the person beside you “until death do you part.” How can anyone be sure that you have that kind of love—the kind that lasts? Things happen. People change.

  How do you know that the man next to you isn’t going to beat the shit out of you when the Patriots lose to the Broncos? How do you know he isn’t some creepy pedophile who’s wanted in 25 states? You don’t. You trust your heart, but I’ll be damned if your heart doesn’t fuck up every now and then. Hearts make mistakes. Nothing is every foolproof, especially the heart. The heart and its feelings can damn near kill a person. Samuel may be right, but as I sit here and take it all in, I’m not so sure that I don’t want all this. It would be nice to know who you’re going to grow old with—if you get the opportunity to grow old.

  Watching Kathryn come down the aisle, staring at Adrian like he’s her lifeline, the one thing that keeps her going, it’s hard not to believe in a love that will last until death parts them. How could any woman look at Kathryn, at both of them, and not want that? My rational self knows Samuel is right. The dreamer in me wants to believe he’s wrong. But if I’m being honest, I can’t see myself on my father’s arm, walking down an aisle with Samuel at the end to welcome me to the rest our lives together. That’s just too much fiction and “what if” for me to accept.

  As we listen to Adrian and Kathryn make their vows, I glance around at the other people in the wedding. Kathryn’s friend, Sydney, hasn’t taken her eyes of Rory, Adrian’s best man, since the ceremony began. There’s a story there; I’m not sure what it is. I’m not sure I want to know, either. But there is definitely something going on there. There’s no reason for me to get embroiled in these people’s problems. I’m on the afternoon plane back to New Hampshire tomorrow.