Pretty Instinct (12 page)

Now that the preliminaries are over, we’ve hit a block of silence, but the alcohol’s already spreading warmth through my body and loosening my jaw, so I shatter that shit. “Good show tonight, guys. Thanks for making it, Cannon.”

“Here we go!” Vanessa’s back with a full tray. “We like these or something different next time?” she asks, setting a shot and beer in front of each of us.

“I think we’re good?” Jarrett gauges the rest of us, all agreeing. “Yep, keep ‘em coming. So, Vanessa…” We all stiffen in preparation for Jarrett to snare his fly.
This I gotta see
. “What do you do besides work here?”

Holy shit. That was a totally normal question.

“Why?” she retorts.
Atta girl.

“Just curious.” He shrugs, tipping his shot down the hatch.

“I go to school part-time for graphic design. Sometimes I run, read, stuff like that.”

“And spend time with your boyfriend, of course.”
Oh please!
Surely he knows that line was smooth as sandpaper.

“No boyfriend.” She smiles at him and scoots closer! A-maz-ing!

“You should join us.” He places a hand on her hip. “That doable?”

She smirks. “It is if the band insists on it to the blond-haired manager in the blue shirt at the north end of the bar.”

“Be right back,” he says to us and pops up, grabbing her hand and disappearing in a blaze.

“Did I not say five questions?” I ask them, still shocked how seamless that transaction was. “At most, being overly generous, that was three, tops.”

“Not my sister, not my problem,” Rhett blows it off, bringing his shot to the center. “To the three of us and clearing the air.”

By saying so, you actually do the opposite, filling the air with awkwardness. Or so I thought.

“Amen,” Cannon chimes in, turning to me for the last word.

“That’d be great,” I manage, barely thinking before pouring the fiery cure down my gullet, grabbing my beer and guzzling immediately after. “Ahhhhh,” I hiss out when quenched. “So now what? Surely there’s more to this ‘let go’ thing than just getting plastered as fast as you can.”

“Usually, people talk way too much and say shit they’d never voice sober. I’ll go first,” Rhett grins. “Hey, Whistle Britches, I’m sorry I jumped you earlier. I’m glad you’re here, you’re a helluva musician and pretty good guy. That shit earlier was me being an insecure asshole. I hope you’ll overlook it and stay.”

I smile at Rhett, full of admiration and pride, knowing how hard that was for him.

“I appreciate that, man, I do. No hard feelings.” They tap beers, the shots long gone, and drink to seal the deal. “And I’m sorry about bailing for a while. I figured everyone could use some space, without me in it, like they’re used to. I’d never quit without telling you,” he says directly to me now.

I kill rest of my drink, giving him a quick jerk of my head letting him know I appreciate that. “Where’d you go?” I blurt out, forgiving myself of bluntness in the name of alcohol.

“Funny you should ask, cause there’s stuff I probably need to mention, in case—”

Cannon’s interrupted by the boisterous return of Jarrett, who slams down a bucket filled with ice and beers in the middle of the table “This is what’s up!” he shouts. Vanessa, right behind him, unloads more shots than I can count, placing them in front of us too. “This should last us a while.” He sits down and pulls her on his lap.

“Thank you, Vanessa.” I smile, then turn to Cannon. “Continue.”

“Well,” he reaches back and does his neck rub thing, boring holes through the table with his eyes, “I went to an internet café, sent the family emails letting them know where I was, checked my inbox.”

And?
Surely there’s more story coming, ‘cause even nearing inebriation, that news was boring as hell and far from worthy of dramatic neck rubbing buildup.

“Let him finish,” Jarrett nudges me with a snort.

Obviously we need to review the rules. First of all, no nudging me. I’m having balance issues and may very well fall right the fuck out this chair. Secondly,
self
, quit saying shit out loud! Crazy, I know, but people tend to
hear
you when you do that.

So can’t hold my alcohol.
Like, almost not even in my hand either, without spilling it.

“I guess people posted shots of our show on Facebook and tagged me?” Cannon says with a hint of question, clearly unfamiliar with the workings of Erbody’sBusinessBook.

“How’d they know your last name?” Rhett tilts forward, placing his chair back on all four legs, leaning his elbows on the table. “And
why
do you have a Facebook?” he goads jovially…like his ass doesn’t have one. Uh huh.

Cannon lets out a long, frustrated sigh, spinning his beer in his hands.
I’ve seen that move before too.
“I guess Ruthie made the account, probably some sort of tracking device, which worked. I didn’t even know I had it until I read Sommerlyn’s email; she thought it was pretty funny, the brat.” He grumbles, but the affection for his sister is clear in his slight grin. “Anyway, Ruthie’s been emailing incessantly—she’s sorry, misses me, whatever.”

Of course she does. You’re incredible.

Seriously, if I said
that one
out loud, I
will
smash this beer bottle and use the shards to slit my wrists. I wait anxiously, ready to claim alcohol poisoning, exhaling in relief when no one laughs or checks my forehead for a fever.

“Somebody fill me in,” Vanessa chimes in, which oddly, I want to thank her for. Usually I’d hate a new girl buttinsky, but she’s more than welcome to elicit the information I don’t trust myself to ask tactfully. “What are we talking about? Who’s Ruthie, your grandma?”

LOVE. VANESSA.

“Did you tell her to say that?” Cannon smirks my way.

“Nope.” I casually take a drink of beer, hoping I look all Swayze in
Roadhouse
, ‘don’t give a damn cool.’ “Didn’t have to. I told ya, your chick’s got an old lady name.”

Sorry to any young, cool Ruthies out there. Just sayin’.

“
Ex
-chick,” he corrects me indignantly.

“Can we get the whole story, bro? Not to be in your business, but last thing we need is crazy ex drama,” Rhett, ever the voice of reason, tells Cannon. “Or worse, you thinking of splittin’ on us?”

And there it is—my concern, eating away at me since this conversation started, spoken for me. Three hours ago, I thought we had lost him. Then he’s back, singing me songs, and now he might be leaving again. I can’t keep up with the vast array of emotions and uncertainty; I thrive on consistency.

“Whoa, sailor,” Jarrett grabs my arm, stopping the shot to mouth progression. “We shoot together. Cunts,” he picks one up and directs the rest, “to Cannon’s bullshit drama and the strength to sit through this story.”

Vanessa huffs, red faced and headed out, when Jarrett starts chuckling and snags her back by the waist. “Our band, gorgeous, See You Next Tuesday? I didn’t mean anyone, especially you, was a c—”

“Don’t say it again!” she shrieks, playfully slapping him on the arm. “I hate that word. But,” she leans forward and kisses his cheek, “I get it, so you may live.”

Five tiny glasses clink and we down them through our laughter, still amused at Jarrett’s desperate explanation, then all eyes quickly fix back on Cannon. He’s squirming, visibly uncomfortable, but I want to hear the details more than I want to change the subject and save him. I’m a selfish drunk.

“Ruthie and I met in college, dated a while, got engaged. We were supposed to get married next spring. Now we’re not.”

We all wait anxiously, glancing at each other, then back at him. That can’t be it.

“You are the worst storyteller
ever
.” I definitely speak aloud this time. “I vote for open Q and A or we’ll be here all fucking night, none the wiser.”

He laughs, dark eyes alight and pinned on mine as he ushers a hand toward me. “Fire away.”

“Why did she dump you on the side of the road?” It’s out my mouth before I can stop it, unleashed at long last.

“We had a fight.”

“What was the fight about?”
Loving this
; the liquid courage coursing through me is the exact security blanket I need to ask unabashedly.

“She got her tubes tied without telling me.”

And then there’s
that
.

I had my mouth open, ready to spout off the next question…’til right about now. Vanessa’s gasp and Rhett’s “dayumm” pretty much summed up the stupefied shock of us all.

Except Jarrett.

“Wait, I don’t get it. I mean, I get it, sorta. Why’s that a big deal, though? They’re
her
tubes, right?” He looks to each of us for an answer, truly lost.

Vanessa appears disgusted and ready to knock some sense into him via her hand upside the back of his head, so
him
, I’ll save.

“Hold your fire, Vanessa, let me give it a shot. Jarrett,” I start, taming the condescension in my voice, “they were
engaged
, like, going to get married.” He nods like he understands, but I don’t see his light bulb actually come on, so I continue. “Usually, people get married with the assumption it will be forever. No one else, for the rest of your life. I mean, not anyone we grew up around,” I titter facetiously, “but other people do it all the time. So Cannon would have committed to
only
being with her, but she apparently decided he wouldn’t ever be having kids, without telling him. Kinda a big deal.”

“Do you want kids?” Jarrett asks him matter-of-factly.

“See how easy that was? That’s what
she
should have asked him,
before
taking his ring
and
getting her tubes tied behind his back!” I have no idea why I’m screaming and banging my hand on the table. Maybe I just like making a valid point. Or, again, blame it on the al-al-al…you get it.

“Ahhhh, got it,” Jarrett drones, his face twisting. “Damn, dude, what a bitch.”

“Definitely not cool.” Rhett raises his beer to Cannon, waiting for the proverbial “bump” back.

I’m studying Cannon, zoned in for the sign that tells me what he’s thinking and feeling…an eye twitch, a turn to his mouth, maybe a sag in his broad shoulders. All I get is his brilliant smile and an absentminded jerk of his head, visibly dismissing spending an ounce of sadness on it. “Kinda what I thought, although I didn’t call her a bitch, even if I
was
thinking it. I just asked why she thought I wouldn’t want to be included on such a big decision, and I got back a screaming earful of how it was her life, her body, her being saddled down.” He chuckles softly, shaking his head to himself. “Sounded pretty fucked up coming from the person who insisted I change my degree, work for her father, and detach from my buddies. I wasn’t about to let her take away my chance of ever being a dad too.”

“But now she’s sorry and wants you back.” It comes out a whisper, meant for only me, before I can stop it. Maybe they didn’t hear me.

His head tilts my way, warm smile reaching out, sending my cheeks up in flames. “She’s
sorry
that I’m getting some attention she can’t bask in. She
wants back
the arm she can hang on, perfect couple façade, while she bosses me around under her breath. Not happening.”

“What if she agrees to get them untied?”

“Not the point. She doesn’t think in terms of ‘we.’ It’s always been her first, then ‘I’ll convince Cannon.’ Honestly, she gave me the out I’d been waiting for. I was miserable for more of our relationship than not and she just firmed up the fact that I was right. I’d been trying to hold on for the wrong reasons.”

My brows are trying to cock, so many more questions fighting to form on my tongue, but my reactions are a little lazy from the drinks, resolving me to a dumbfounded, silent stare.

Um, letting loose is depressing. I don’t feel like I’ve been missing out by not carousing now. Granted, I’d sympathize with Cannon’s story even sober, but in my current state, it’s as though I can actually feel the weight of his raw turmoil sitting on my shoulders.

“Nu-uh, no, ma’am.” Vanessa jumps off Jarrett’s lap. “Do that shot and come on, we’re dancing!” She shimmies her hips my way and smiles. “I could’ve stayed on the clock to serve a bunch of sad sacks. Down it and let’s go shake our groove things!”

I look up at her pitifully, alcohol-induced honesty spewing out. “I don’t know how to dance and I’m positive I don’t possess
a groove thing
. I might be the most boring, pathetic twenty-three year old on the planet. Except maybe Ben Stein’s kids, I bet they’re dull as fuck.” I zone out, losing total train of thought.

“She’s lying,” Rhett smirks, “she can Roger Rabbit like a mofo. Go show her, Liz.”

“What about that New Edition spinny-hop thing?” Jarrett hee-haws, slapping his own leg. “How many times did we have to watch that damn video? Go on, girl, show ‘er your moves!”

“Do those count?” I ask her, looking down at the dance floor, no one exhibiting my type of
skills
. “It appears only dry-humping is allowed down there.” I point and burp.

Right out loud.

I burp.

Not a little “scuse’ me” Southern belle hiccup-like sound. No, I “The Man Likes Beer with His Super Bowl” all-out belch.

The laughter at my table is louder than the music. Jarrett’s crying and Rhett’s practically on the freaking floor, holding his side. If I wasn’t so buzzed, I’d probably crawl under the table, and I definitely wouldn’t look Cannon’s way. But I’m halfway to plastered, which is why that’s exactly where my eyes wander.

“You’re precious.” He winks then slowly stands and offers me a hand. “Come on, Lizzie girl, show me your Running Man.”

I know that one too!

“Hot damn,” Jarrett’s slap on Vanessa’s ass echoes, “we gotta dance off, hotness. Let’s do this!”

“I’ll judge!” I turn at Rhett’s voice, my out-of-nowhere excitement dampened only by the thought of him being left out. Like a book, he reads me and smiles sincerely. “I’ll judge. Go do the damn thing, girl. Make me proud.”