Chapter 43 - Johnny - Drunk
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Johnny. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’re allowed to feel the way you feel. I just know that I can’t settle for someone who agrees with my mother.”
We keep going around in circles and I just don’t understand what the issue is.
“You don’t want me to agree that we are on different levels?”
She huffs out a breath. “No, Johnny. That’s not what I’m saying. Look, I don’t have time to keep talking about this. I have to get going. I’m going out to see someone. We can talk another time, okay? We can still be friends.” She chokes on the words, and I can see the wetness of tears pooling in her eyes. I want nothing more than to pull her into me, to comfort her, but she’s already walking to her car.
“Becca!” I yell. “Come back, please.”
She doesn’t turn around, just waves as she gets into her car. I watch as she drives away, her tail lights disappearing at the end of Connor’s driveway, where she turns on to the main road.
She’s really gone.
What did she say? She’s going out with someone? She’s already dating again? I know our relationship was fake, but I also know I wasn’t the only one feeling something more the other night. Did she get scared? Is that what’s happening?
Fuck it. Time to get drunk.
I drive my car to the nearest liquor store and buy a couple of bottles of whiskey. I get back in the car and pull out my phone.
Me -Hey. You busy? I need to get drunk.
I wait for a few minutes, but when I still get no response, I decide to just drive over to Aiden’s and wait for him to get home.
I pull into Aiden’s driveway a few minutes later. His old Volvo still isn’t here, so I just stay in my car.
Might as well get a hard start.I open one of the bottles of whiskey and take a long drink. Not my regular drink of choice. I much prefer the craft beers I usually drink, but those remind me too much of Becca. Plus, whiskey will get me drunk faster and that is the goal tonight.
I sit back and listen to music for a while before Aiden finally pulls into the driveway. I grab both whiskey bottles and get out of my car.
“What are you doing here?” Aiden asks, looking a little irritated. He must not be having a very good night, either.
I hold up the whiskey bottles. “Thought maybe you’d want to have a drink or seven with me? Gotta warn you, though. I got a head start.” I take a few swallows, spilling some onto my shirt.
“Fuck, dude. You didn’t drive here like that, did you?”
“No. No, no, no.” I shake my head and take another drink. “I’ve been waiting here for a while. Tried to get Becca to talk to me when we were leaving Connor’s place and she was going on another date. So I figured it’s just time for me to give up, and I came over here to get drunk with you. Travis has been too busy with whatever secret shit he’s been up to lately, so I thought maybe you’d be a good surrogate brother.”
Aiden turns and walks to his front door, motioning for me to follow. “Come on in,” he says, unlocking the door. “I could use a drink or two.”
We’ve had a few drinks by the time we decide to jam in his garage turned rehearsal space. When we first started Sleeping Dogs, we would rehearse here every spare minute we had. That was well before Aiden had the place soundproofed, too. I’m sure the neighbours appreciated when he finally had the money to do it.
I walk in and grab a vintage Gretsch off the wall. Aiden is a lover of music, and he has a decent collection of instruments. He may be a drummer at heart, as proven by the many percussion instruments he has in here, but he also knows how to play guitar, bass, and piano. I wish I were half as talented as he is.
“So what are we playing?” I ask. “Start us off.”
Aiden gets a little blues shuffle started. Perfect. Some dirty blues feels appropriate for my mood tonight.
We play for a few hours, drinking the entire time, until I can’t even see straight. I know the music still sounds good, though. We are professional musicians, after all. I’m pretty sure I was dead drunk for every show of our first two tours. Aiden’s never been much of a drinker, but he’s so talented he could probably still play if he were in a coma.
We finish up and lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
“So you’re having a shit day too, huh?” I ask him. Shit. My bottle’s empty.
“Yeah, you could say that,” he says, passing me his nearly empty bottle.
“Is it because of that Rhea chick? You were looking at her with hearts in your eyes this afternoon.”
