Solitude (Artistic Pricks Ink #3) (4 page)

“Mitchell!” Ma shouts, slamming her free hand down on the table. “That’s enough.”

“It’s okay, Hannah,” William says, soothingly. “Why when I lost my Sharon I was poor company for a long time.” Turning his eyes to me, he smiles sadly. “I know your pain, son. I’ve felt that loss. You can’t let it swallow you whole. You’re young and have so much life left. There are places you can go, people you can talk to about what has happened. I mean, taking a life couldn’t have been easy on you either.”

The fuck?

“Death isn’t picky. It doesn’t see age, social status, or any of the political bullshit that we do, William. It sure as hell won’t sit around and wait to come take us until we’re warm and snug in our beds at the ripe old age of one-hundred-and-five,” I argue, coolly. “It sees blood and a body count. Leaving devastation for those of us who are allowed to see another day.”

Pushing my plate away, I stand to my feet. My blood boils at the audacity of this smug asshole who thinks he knows everything about me, just from listening to my mother ramble. How dare he insert himself into my life and take a side on something he knows nothing about. I look from him to Ma and back again, unable to comprehend how she could be so open with private parts of my life to a stranger. It hurts and it pisses me off to know that she is able to discuss my most painful moments so easily.

‘Hi, I’m Hannah Taylor. My son is a wreck over watching his fiancé die and then shooting some lunatic a year later, could you pass the creamer?’

Who the hell does this shit?

“Sorry that I can’t stay for the dinner and intervention you’ve planned, but I’ve gotta head back.” Walking over, I lean down and press a kiss to her cheek.

“I apologize. I can tell that I’ve said something that’s upset you,” William says, but I don’t acknowledge him. “I’m afraid we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here and that’s the last thing I wanted to do the first time we met. I care about your mother and know how badly she hurts because you do. I just wanted to help.”

“No,” my mother argues, waving him off. “This has been coming and isn’t your fault, sweetheart. Truth be told, I’ve held my tongue long enough.” She looks up at me and shakes her head. “How long are you going to hide behind losing Becky, Mitch? You’re using her death as an excuse to keep from living.” Her accusation slams into me, stealing my breath.

“Ma,” I warn, trying to keep from losing my temper. Becky is a hot button topic for me and she knows it. Why the fuck is she doing this to me and in front of this guy?

“I’m not finished, Mitchell Aaron Taylor,” she interrupts, holding up her hand. “You’ve shut me out, your own mother. Do you know that her grandfather, Frank, calls me to make sure you’re still alive and has to relay that to everyone else in Fallon, because you’re too much of a coward to go back and visit, or even answer your phone when they call you? No one knows what to do with you anymore. Not me, and especially not Luke.” Standing to her feet, she slaps me in the chest. “You’re not the only one who lost someone here, baby. Becky’s death broke my heart, but I lose you over and over again every day.”

“Sorry, Ma, I gotta go.” Turning away, I head for the door, wanting more than anything to get the hell out of here and feel fresh air on my face.

“The only thing worse than burying the person you love most, is watching your only son die inside, more and more, each day and be helpless to stop it.” My fingers grip the doorknob so hard my knuckles go numb. I need her to stop, I can’t listen to this. Every word is like a knife to my soul, the sadness in her voice only adding to the guilt I already feel.

Does she think I like this? That I want to feel this way or hurt the people I care about? Doesn’t she know this isn’t my fault? How do you begin to fill a void you didn’t create?

Jerking open the door, the last words I hear before I slam it behind me rip what is left of my heart to shreds. “I loved Becky, William,” she cries, “but I want my son back.”

I want to go back in there and comfort her, but I don’t. I wish I could smile and tell her that I am going to be okay, but that’s a lie I couldn’t pull off with anyone, especially not Ma.

Climbing into the truck, I speed out of the parking lot and head back into the city. I have no desire to think about anything that happened back there. My eyes burn from fighting back tears and exhaustion, but I ignore it. Anger and hurt race through my veins and I can’t begin to process everything I am feeling. The guilt and regret that weighs me down stacks higher and higher, becoming nearly impossible to bear.

All I want is to be numb from it all.

I should go home and sleep, but I don't want to be alone. I still haven't gotten used to reaching out in the night and feeling nothing but the cold sheets where she should be, which has me sleeping on the couch or at the shop most nights. It was different when I was deployed, because I knew Becky was there waiting for me. Her love kept me warm no matter how many miles separated us as if she were right beside me. The frigid cold of non-existence is all that I feel now when I'm alone and I can't take it.

Turning the truck into the parking lot, I shut off the engine and stare up at the neon sign that welcomes me. The vivid colors and endless alcohol at my disposal have become a friend of mine over the last year and a half. No, I'm not an alcoholic. I don't need to drink to function. I also know when to sober up and handle my responsibilities. I drink to numb the hurt, finding peace in the dark, bottomless void of a dreamless sleep.

It's a choice I make in order to survive without the love of the only woman, other than my mother, to ever give a damn about the broken piece of shit that I am.

The minute I step inside the bar, I yank out some bills and slap them on the bar. "Stoli. Doubles. Don't stop until the cash is gone," I say to the bartender and climb up onto the bar stool, ready to dissolve into the blissful void that the vodka gives me.

"Oh come on!" I shout, rolling my eyes at Kionna. “I’m a genius, admit it.”

Settling back against the dining room chair, she pretends to study the cards in her hand. "Are you crazy? No one wants to learn to be an exotic dancer, Shelby. It's not like piano lessons; you don't flip through the phone book for an instructor."

"You’re really gonna sit there and say this isn't a hell of an idea? Do you know how many bored housewives would pay you fuckin' bank just to learn how to shake their asses like a professional?" I ask, arching a brow as I roll my hips in my seat and grin. "Not every woman is able to work it like we can, Ki. Besides, it's exercise." Tossing away two cards, I shrug. “Guaranteed their husbands will pony up the bills for it. You’re cutting out the strip club middle man and keeping the bedrooms sizzlin’ with pornographic monogamy.”

Leah giggles, dealing out cards to each of us. "It's sexy exercise."

"Sexercise! Hell, we even have a tag line." I laugh, upping my bet. "This is a way to turn that old upstairs apartment into something good. Come on, Ki, Luke and the rest of the pricks will eat this shit up on a silver serving platter."

She matches my bet, studying me carefully. I smirk and toss down my cards. "Full house!" I laugh, leaning back in my chair. "Aces over queens, baby."

"Dammit, you have to be cheating!" Ki complains, looking to Leah who just shakes her head.

Tossing down her cards into a pile, she crosses her arms over her chest and sighs loudly. "Do you really think it could be a good thing, Shel? I mean, people will pay for that?"

"I'd pay your ass for lessons," Leah says with a giggle.

"Leah!" Ki laughs.

Ki and I both immediately look at her, both of us going wide eyed. Leah blushes, then shrugs. "What?
Baby making should be memorable. At this point, the sex is just so… mechanical."

"Any luck on making us aunties anytime soon?" Ki asks while Leah shuffles the cards.

"We are lucky to even have sex. It's gets a bit repetitive after a while. Tuesday and Thursday are prime fertility days," she rambles. "Missionary and doggie style are the best positions for us, so we rarely mix it up. After, I lay there for thirty minutes with my pelvis propped up by a wedge pillow and my legs in the air so Charlie's swimmers have a better chance of getting where they need to be."

"For fuck's sake," I laugh. "Sweets, you two gotta relax. Just get drunk and fuck each other stupid in every way possible until neither of you can walk right. I can get a chair and sit in the corner. If you’re not doing it right, I’ll just step in with my laser pointer and give you a play-by-play plan to the end zone." Leaning over, I wink at her. “Or, as I like to call it, the ‘Oooooh-zone’.”

"Shelby Winston," Ki says, pointing to me like one of those bitches on the Price is Right. "Cock connoisseur and expert on all things fuck."

"The Pricktator!" I laugh, slapping the table.

"Hell yes!" they say in unison. Holding up their soda cans, they toast before clinking theirs with mine.

"Alright," Ki says blowing out a breath. "I'll run our idea by Luke tonight and see what he thinks."

My phone vibrates inside my bra making me roll my eyes. Yanking it free, I jab the button and hold it to my ear. "Hello, this is Shelby with Artistic Pricks Ink," I say politely since, if the guys are busy, the office phones forward to my cell to avoid missed bookings and emergencies.

"Name's Carl. I own the Renegade Tavern on Eleventh Street. Got a guy here, Mitch; he yours? Found the card in his wallet," the deep voice says into the phone. "He's not exactly gonna be drivin' any time soon. Honestly, not too sure he's gonna be walkin' without help."

My stomach turns. Knowing that Mitch has done this again. It makes me mad, but it also makes me sad at the same time. Yes, I hurt for him knowing that he is going through this, but I'm pissed off he is putting everyone around him through it too. We all worry about Mitch; yes, this includes me, but something has to change. This system clearly isn't getting results.

Grabbing the pad we have been using to keep score, I jot down the address. "Thanks, I can be there in twenty."

"What the hell was that about?" Leah asks, waggling her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me. "Is it that guy you went out with last night? Drew?"

"I went out with Devon last night and no that wasn’t him.”

Leaning up in her seat, she scans the notepad. Arching her brow, Leah purses her lips. “Carl, huh? Poor Drew.”

“Ugh, I’ll spare you all the horrifying details on Devon,” I correct her again, “but yeah, it was bad. Needless to say, there won’t be a second date," I mutter, quickly shoving my phone back into my bra and pushing to my feet. I don't know what it is, but I can't bring myself to tell the girls about Mitch. Honestly, there's no real reason to worry everyone when I am already taking care of it, right? "Sorry to bail on girls' night, but this is actually for work."

Both girls look at me and grin knowingly. "Sure, girl," Ki laughs. "You tell Carl we said hi."

"Mhm, I'm sure you'll take care of everything he needs handled," Leah says with a snort.

Shaking my head, I don't bother explaining that I'm not headed to bang one out with some guy named Carl. Instead, I grab my bag, jump in my car, and race across town to see how bad off Mitch is this time.

***

My eyes find him the moment I step into the old dive. Mitch sits on a bar stool, his body slumped forward, his arms covering his head as it lies on the bar. I can see the rise and fall of his breathing; thankfully, he's probably only drank himself into a damn coma.

I look around for help, because I know there is no way I'm getting his big ass into my car by myself. Neon signs older than me hang on the wooden paneled walls all around me. Some old men sit shooting the shit in the corner, completely oblivious to me.

"Hey there, can I help ya?" an older man asks, drawing my attention as he steps from behind the bar. He approaches me, wiping his hands on a towel before shoving it in his back pocket.

"Lookin' for Carl."

"Well look no further, darlin', you've found him." A grin spreads across his face causing the fine lines around his eyes to crinkle.

"We spoke on the phone." Reaching out my hand, I shake his. "I'm Shelby. I'm here to collect the intoxicated prick over there," I explain, pointing to Mitch.

Carl scrubs a hand over his face. Glancing over at Mitch, he sighs and shakes his head. "Lotta pain there."

I nod my head because what do you even say to that? Walking over, I lean against the bar and grab his arm. "Mitch," I say softly, shaking him.

His body goes rigid immediately and he leaps from the chair to his feet, spinning around to face me. His fists are balled up at his sides and he looks as if he doesn't even see me. It's like he is staring right through me. His nostrils flare angrily as he breathes and I have to remind myself that this is Mitch because he doesn’t look anything like himself right now.

"Mitch," I say again, holding up my hands, hoping to calm him down. "It's Shelby, let me take you home, okay?"

He shakes his head, blinking furiously as he attempts to focus on me. His body begins to relax and I know the moment he sees me clearly. He blows out a breath. The arrogant bastard sizes me up, that shit eating smirk spreading across his face, only slightly skewed due to the alcohol he has downed tonight. "I've got my truck, woman. Don't need your bossy ass managin' me. Don't you have invoices to file and supplies to stock or somethin’?"

Not having time, or the give a shit, to listen to anymore of his attitude, I close the distance between us and nudge him toward the door. "Let's go, smartass; I've got better things to do than argue with you over your lack of sobriety."

"Do you have a Breathalyzer and a badge, sweetness?" Mitch asks, moving toward the door. Without waiting for an answer, he chuckles. “Then don’t attempt to assess my level of drunk. I’m nowhere near where I need to be to have this conversation with you.”

"I prefer you unconscious, asshole. Although, I could always gag you." The moment the comment leaves my lips, Mitch's eyes widen before quickly masking his surprise behind annoyance again.