Page 45 of Ache
The bar is a dump. Dusty, ancient furnishings and a bartender older than the day.
“Two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack.” Tage slaps the bar top.
“No Jack, sonny, this is an Irish bar. You want whiskey, it’s Jameson or bust,” the bartender croaks.
“We'll have Jameson, then.”
Definitely not my first choice.
It takes the elderly man what feels like a year to get off his stool, grab the green bottle and two shot glasses, and place them in front of us. By the time he does, I’m thirstier than the fucking desert. At least Tage has the good sense to pour my shot first. It goes down like fire, but I surprisingly like the burn. I grab the bottle neck and pour another one, and then one more.
“Do you want to race? Because I can totally keep up.” He slams his second shot.
“I just want to forget.”
“Forget what?”
“This day ever fucking happened.”
“Yeah, shitty days suck.”
“Why are you here?”
“The alcohol?” He shakes his shot glass likeduh.
I’m not amused. I’m pissed, I’m miserable, and I want to punch him right in the fucking face.Again.“And to talk.”
“Right. Talk.” I pound another shot.
“You throw a pretty good right hook for a pretty boy.”
“I wasn’t always a pretty boy. I just dress the part perfectly.”
“I wasn’t always a shithead, but I dress the part perfectly, too.” Down Tage’s hatch goes another shot.
“Can we get thistalkover with, please?” I just want to go home and smoke myself stupid.
“Don’t blame Ever for what happened. I initiated it. I took advantage of our situation.”
“And what situation is that?” I question.
“She loves me.”
I nearly puke in my mouth. “Are you just here to twist the knife a little deeper? Do you get off on crushing people's emotions? I’ll admit, I can act like an asshole sometimes, but you are straight up ruthless.”
“I’ll answer those questions in order. No, I’m not here to twist the knife deeper, and yes, I do find some minor enjoyment in crushing other people’s emotions. It’s probably just because I’m a miserable bastard myself. See what I did there? A little psychoanalysis on myself.”
He sounds so delighted. “Freud would be proud.”More brown liquid in the glass, please.
“Look, mine and Everly’s past is complicated. It’s tangled, and painful, and utterly complex. I hurt her deeply when I thought I was trying to protect her. I thought I was doing the right thing. And for a long time I believed that, but lately, not so much.” Tage talks to the shot glass he is spinning in his fingers.
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“No. I’m just trying to make you understand where Everly is coming from. Where we’re both coming from.”
“Can you explain how you ‘hurt her deeply’?” I regurgitate his words.
“Yes, but I’ll need another shot first.” He grabs the bottle. Tage pours one shot and then follows right behind it with another.
