“Nah,” he said, pulling his cap off his head and turning it forward. He adjusted it a few times as he mulled over my suggestion, as if he had never considered it until that moment.
Just then, three college kids stumbled in, loud, obnoxious, and giggling. Even if they weren’t drunk, it was easy for us locals to spot the transplants. Two guys, probably freshmen, approached the counter, and the girl, wearing a pink sundress and thigh-high boots, followed behind. Trenton immediately caught her eye, and she began smoothing out her hair.
“Jeremy lost a bet,” one of the kids said. “He’s going to need a Justin Bieber tat.”
Jeremy let his head fall to the counter. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“We’re closed,” I said.
“We have money,” the kid said, opening his wallet. “I’m prepared to give everyone in here a tip that will blow your mind.”
“We’re closed,” I said. “Sorry.”
“She doesn’t want your money, Clay,” the girl said with a smirk.
“She wants my money,” Clay said, leaning in. “You work at the Red, don’t you?”
I just stared at him.
“Working more than one job . . .” Clay said, thinking.
Jeremy cringed. “Come on, Clay. Let’s just go.”
“I have a proposition for you to earn some extra cash. You’d make in one night what you probably make in a month here.”
“Tempting . . . but no,” I said, but before I could finish the sentence, Trenton had Clay’s collar in both fists.
“Does she look like a whore to you?” Trenton seethed. I’d seen that look in his eyes before—right before he beat the shit out of someone.
“Whoa!” I said, rushing around the counter. Clay’s eyes were wide. Jeremy put his arm on Trenton. Trenton looked down at Jeremy’s hand. “Do you want to die tonight?”
Jeremy shook his head quickly.
“Then don’t f**kin’ touch me, bro.”
Hazel jogged to the vestibule, but she didn’t seem afraid. She just wanted to see the show.
Trenton kicked open the door and then shoved Clay out backward. Clay landed on his backside, and then scrambled up. The girl with them walked slowly outside, watching Trenton, twirling a small piece of her long, golden locks.
“Don’t be too impressed, Kylie. He’s that psycho that got that girl killed a couple of years ago.”
Trenton rushed the door, but I stood between him and the glass. Trenton immediately stopped, breathing hard, and Clay retreated quickly to his shiny black truck.
As the kids backed out of the parking lot, I kept a hand on Trenton’s chest. He was still breathing hard, and shaking from anger. He could have stared a hole through the truck as it drove away.
Hazel turned on her heels and returned to her room without saying a word.
“I didn’t kill her,” Trenton said quietly.
“I know,” I said. I patted him a couple of times, and then dug my keys out of my purse. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. His eyes lost focus, and I could see that he wasn’t. I knew exactly what it was like to get lost in a bad memory, and even over a year later, just one mention of the accident had sent Trenton down the rabbit hole.
“I’ve got a bottle of Crown at my apartment and some lunch meat. Let’s drink until we throw up ham sandwiches.”
One corner of Trenton’s mouth turned up. “That sounds pretty awesome.”
“Doesn’t it? Let’s go. See you tomorrow, Hazel!” I called.
Trenton followed me to my apartment, and I went straight to the liquor cabinet. “Crown and Coke or just Crown?” I called from the kitchen.
“Just Crown,” he said from behind me. I jumped, and then laughed. “Jesus, you scared me.”
Trenton managed a small smile. “Sorry.”
I flipped the bottle in the air with my left hand and caught it with my right, and then poured double shots into two tumblers.
Trenton’s smile got a little wider. “It’s pretty cool having a personal bartender.”
“I’m surprised I can still do it. I’ve had too many days off. By the time I get back to work on Wednesday, I’ll probably forget everything.” I handed him his shot glass and clinked my glass to his. “To Crown.”
“To f**king up,” he said, his smile fading.
“To surviving,” I said, pressing the glass against my lips and throwing my head back.
Trenton did the same. I took his empty glass, and poured us another. “Do we want teeth numb drunk, or porcelain praying drunk?”
“I’ll know when I get there.”
I handed him the glass, picked up the bottle, and led Trenton to the love seat. I held up my glass. “To second jobs.”
“To spending more time with awesome people.”
“To brothers who make life impossible.”
“I’ll drink to that shit,” Trenton said, throwing back his shot. “I love my brothers. I’d do anything for them, but sometimes I feel like the only one who gives a shit about Dad, you know?”
“Sometimes I feel like the only one that doesn’t give a shit about mine.”
Trenton looked up from his empty glass.
“He’s old school. Don’t talk back. Don’t have an opinion unless it’s his. Don’t cry when he beats the shit out of my mom.”