Page 94 of Until August
“I don’t know, August.” I sighed in exasperation. “Maybe because I care about you.”
August faced forward, his shoulders hunching, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. “Find someone who’s worth it.”
He’d said those exact words to me when I was sixteen.
But what would ever make him think thathewasn’t worthy?
He downed the rest of his drink, slammed the glass on the bar, and signaled to the bartender. “Another round. Bring one for my….” He licked his lips and closed one eye, squinting through the other one like he was trying to come up with the right word. “What do I call you? My piece on the side? My booty call?” He let out a raucous laugh like he found that funny.
I ignored his words and excused his behavior because he was drunk. “Just give us the check, please,” I told the bartender.
“Us?” August asked, skewering me with a look. “There’s nous, baby.” He waved his empty glass in the air. “Where the fuck’s my refill?”
The bartender sliced his hand across his neck. He was probably in his late sixties with graying brown hair in a ponytail and a long beard that reached the middle of his Grateful Dead t-shirt. “You’re done, man.”
He slapped the check on the sticky bar, and I grabbed it, but August snatched it out of my hand and got to his feet, swaying.
“What’re you gonna do? Are you gonna pay my bills too? I don’t need your fucking help. Don’t need anyone,” he muttered, searching his pockets until he came out with his wallet.
“Obviously, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me.”
I was lying. August hadn’t called me. I called him when I got to his apartment.
After knocking on his door and waiting for ten minutes, I scoured the parking lot looking for his truck before concluding that he wasn’t even there.
So I called him. Three times before he finally picked up. But still. He’d answered and told me where he was. No need to argue over the semantics.
“It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have called you. You can go home now.” He waved his hand toward the door like he was trying to shoo me away. “I’m good.”
He was far from good, and I wasn’t going anywhere. August was in no condition to drive, and I didn’t even want to think what could have happened if I hadn’t turned up. Hopefully, he would have been smart enough to call for a ride.
After he threw crumpled bills onto the bar to cover the tab, we walked out the door. I pressed my key fob to unlock my car and went to open the passenger door for him.
“I’ve got it,” August growled. “I can open my own damn car door.”
I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue as I rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel. It took him at least six tries to get his seatbelt fastened, but when I heard it click into place, I backed out of my spot and swung onto the road, easing into traffic.
We drove in silence, but I kept sneaking peeks at August, trying to figure out what was going through his head.
Why did he get drunk in a dive bar instead of meeting me at his apartment like we’d planned?
After I left the family gathering, I went home, took a shower, shaved every inch of my legs, and slathered lotion on my skin to make it silky soft. I even put on makeup and blow-dried my hair so it fell around my shoulders in waves instead of wearing it up like I did for work. All for him.
On the way to August’s apartment, I’d been filled with nervous excitement and anticipation. Only to deflate when I found out he was in a bar getting drunk instead of waiting for me.
Since August wasn’t the type to leave you hanging, I knew something had to be wrong. Sure enough, I’d been right. But I still had no idea what could have happened from when we’d texted until I’d found him drunk in that bar.
I parked in front of his building and followed him to the stairs.
He lurched forward, and instinctively my arm shot out. I grabbed his bicep as if that would prevent him from going down. Luckily, he caught himself on the banister and righted himself.
“Do you need help?”
He huffed out a breath. “How you gonna help me? Gotta do this alone.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about climbing the stairs or if it went deeper than that. But either way, my answer was the same. “You’re not alone, August. I’m here for you.”
He squinted at me as if trying to bring me into focus, then faced forward and tackled the stairs, holding onto the wooden banister for support.
