Page 34 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

I watch as she pulls up a stool beside mine. I try to be a creepy fucker. I try to stare at her tits as she moves, but I don’t even have it in me. “Nothing. My home life sucks at the moment.”

She looks at me with a lifted brow. “You live alone, dummy.”

“I live with ghosts.”

Her lifted brow turns to a concerned frown, then her soft hand rests on the top of mine. “Wanna talk about it?”

I look at our hands and study them. Hers is tiny, milky white skin with neatly manicured nails and a dark purple polish. Mine… are much bigger and covered in ink that stretches all over my arms. She squeezes mine like she’s the bigger person. The protector.

“Better get your hand off me before your husband comes in. I don’t fancy getting knocked the fuck out today…” But then again, that has merits too.

“He won’t touch you. You have my protection.”

I snort. She’s quite literally half the size of her fighter husband, but she’s not wrong. What she wants, she gets. Today, I have immunity from the Rollers. “Today might be the best time for me to try to kiss you. See if it feels good. Maybe…”

She laughs. “You try and kiss me, and you’ll need protection from me. But we can talk. I’ll buy you a beer and you can tell me about your ghosts.”

I shake my head and look away from our hands. “Don’t wanna talk. Hurts.”

“I get that, but I learned a long time ago, locking that shit up doesn’t help. It just poisons you from the inside. Let it out, take away its power. Take control of those ghosts. And while you’re at it, tell me your real name.”

I bark out a laugh. “You’re not above taking advantage of a vulnerable moment to get my secrets?”

“Not even a little bit.”

I chuckle and pluck the bottle back again to swallow another bitter mouthful of scotch. “I told you all along, it’s just a regular name. Nothing to get excited about.”

“So why the big secret?”

“I didn’t make it a secret! You lot did. I just had a nickname, same as people call you Tink. I didn’t make it a big deal.”

She smiles. “Okay, tell me your real name. I promise not to get my hopes up for something amazing. Is it Frank?”

“No.”

“Steven?

“No.”

“Orlando? Daniel?”

“No. No.”

“Well that’s all I’ve got,” she laughs. “Your turn.”

“It’s Sam.”

She stares at me for a long minute. “Sam?”

I nod. “Just Sam. Samuel.”

“That’s… weird,” she cackles. “Okay. Samuel. So why the nickname?”

“I already told you ages ago how I spewed in my mama’s roses. I basically chugged scotch all night when I was a kid.” Jesus. Just saying that much has my back warming as though Sammy is wrapped around me again, breathing on my neck, kissing spilled liquid off my chin. I can even see the snitch, force feeding me the disgusting liquid. “I was with a girl, the girl.” I look back into Tink’s eyes. “Her name was Sammy. We were dating and she found it weird that we were both called Sam, so she gave me a new name.”

“That’s kinda cute.” She smiles. “Sam and Sammy. So what happened to her?”

“I married her.”

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