Page 12 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

“Yeah, but then you said ass.” I jog forward and grab the ball as it bounces back toward us. I turn and toss it against his chest, forcing him to let out a sudden gasp of air. He’s eleven, but he isn’t a little kid. I can already see the teen he’s growing into, then the man that’ll follow soon behind. “So now you don’t get shit. That’s one for me. First to ten wins.”

Mac and I horse around for a couple hours and we end up collapsing to the concrete court in exhaustion when the score sits around thirteen to sixteen. I’m fairly certain I was on sixteen and Mac thirteen, but he’s claiming to be the winner. Either way, I find myself exhausted and not giving a damn, as sweat drips down my temples and my feet throb in my shoes. “What time does your mom get home tonight?”

Mac looks at his wrist in what must be an old reflex, because he has no watch. “Said she’ll be home at eight.”

That’s a little over an hour away. It’s Friday today, which means the guys and I have to play at the club, but I have hours before I have to be there. We tend to set up about nine-thirty and start really getting into the swing of things around eleven. More often than not we practice at my place or Alex’s in the garage, or even in the club earlier in the day when it’s empty except staff, but tonight I decide I’ll ditch. “Let’s go get some pizza for dinner.”

“Aw, nah.” Mac’s words are an embarrassed mumble as he lies on his back a few feet away from me. “Mom made me some dinner. I just gotta reheat it.”

“What will she eat when she gets home?”

He shrugs awkwardly and taps the heel of his high tops against the ground. “Dunno, I’d have to check. There might be leftovers. Or maybe she ate at the diner. Or maybe she’ll make a grilled cheese.”

“How about I buy you pizza, then your mom can have your dinner. And if she already ate, then she doesn’t have to worry about cooking tomorrow night and you can reheat it then.”

“You don’t have to buy me food, Mr. Turner. We’re okay. Mom would never let me go hungry.”

“I know.” I let my head flop to the left and wait for his gaze to meet mine. I know Katrina would never let Mac go hungry, but I wonder how many nights she gets a proper meal herself. “I’m going for pizza anyway. I have to order a whole pizza anyway. I never eat the whole thing though, so I may as well split it with you.”

He watches me for another long moment and considers his options, then eventually he nods, rolls to his hands and knees, and climbs to his feet.

A couple hours later, I walk into the club with my lucky guitar under my arm, and my long hair flopping into my eyes and tickling my ears. I give Mac shit for his haircut, yet I walk around like a homeless person who hasn’t had a haircut in forever. My mom renews that razor subscription every month, but I never use it. I maintain my facial hair, but I don’t shave it off. I have stubble covering my chin and above my lips and it meets my sideburns, then it just blends into the dirty mop on my head that I’ve been sporting since high school. My mom blames my hair and stubble as the sole reason why I’m not married and settled down yet. She thinks I’d attract the right kind of women if I didn’t look so homeless.

Everyone knows what went down in my final semester of high school, but after a year of no contact with Sammy Ricardo, then another, and another, it was all kind of brushed away and forgotten.

I haven’t seen Sammy since the night I dropped her off at her family’s estate and watched her slowly walk up her front stairs and head inside with plans to meet and run away together the next morning. I haven’t heard a single word from her since the phone call that changed my life. Since she told me it was all over.

I don’t know where she is now, or what she’s doing. I technically don’t even know if she’s alive, but I figure since we’re still legally married, someone would have called me if something happened to her. Maybe. Or maybe her folks took care of it so I never hear one way or the other. I’m her husband by law, but her daddy is a master manipulator of the law and everyone around him. And she chose him.

Whatever.

I look toward the bar and find Tink working like usual. She and Tina smile as they chat and pour beers for customers, then I glance up at the stage to find the guys setting up for the night. The club is already loud and hot from all the dancing bodies, but our set isn’t officially on for another thirty minutes, so I don’t rush, and neither do the guys.

“Nice of you to join us,” Marcus drawls from my left. His green eyes watch me, but his hands work on his guitar as he fine tunes the strings.

I place my guitar case on the stage between speakers, swing a leg up and over, and climb up as random dancers grab at my jeans. “I had dinner with a friend. I’m here now.”

Luc’s eagle eyes snap up to mine. “You were on a date?”

“No. I wasn’t on a date. I was wi--”

“Because this is probably a good year for you to move on, dude. Nineteen-year-old virgins might be cute, like a fixer-upper for the big-breasted girls to fix. You know how they have this inbuilt need to press your face to their tits and smother you with love? But we’re not kids anymore. It ain’t cute. It’s time to finally--”

“Shut up, jackass.”

“I’m just saying, you moved past cute and into pathetic.”

I roll my eyes and wait for him to finish. This isn’t the first time the guys have given me shit about girls. And every year that passes brings louder and more insistent nagging. It’s not just my mom who’s concerned with my love life.

Luc’s pretty much on the mark with the ‘fixer-upper’ thing though. Women want to fix me, but I just want to be left the hell alone.

Angelo’s eyes meet mine, and though he thinks Luc is funny, his eyes are soft. “I’m glad you got out tonight though. That’s good. I’m not even mad you ditched practice.”

“Yeah, I know you idiots mean well, but you jump to conclusions. I was with an eleven-year-old boy.”

Marc’s eyes flare wide. “Um. Well--”

“That’s what you get for making ASS-umptions,” I laugh. “You deserve to feel awkward. Next time you’ll mind your own damn business about my life.”

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