Whiskey and a Gun (5 page)

"Show's over, everyone," I yell, and the crowd disperses.
 

Mascara runs down Tawny’s face.
 

"I'm so sorry–” I begin.

"This was supposed to be our perfect day!" she yells, bolting down the courthouse steps, her dress floating behind her like a fleeing ghost from prying eyes.

"Maybe you should let her cool down," Grayson suggests.

"Cool down?" I turn to him. "This would have never happened if you hadn't called him. What the fuck were you thinking?" I inch closer to him, my fists clenched.
 

Courtney steps back and whimpers. "Carter, please, let's not do this here, okay? He was just trying to help."

I turn toward her, my anger skyrocketing to unfamiliar levels. "Helping? How was calling my good-for-nothing, scumbag father going to help anything?"

Grayson shakes his head, "I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd show up like that. I ran into your mom at the grocery store a couple weeks ago. I mentioned the plans, thinking maybe she'd reconnect with you or something. I didn't mean for things to get out of control."

It would be so easy to break his nose with my fist. To knock out whatever brain cells told him it'd be a good idea to fuck with my family. Courtney's swollen stomach catches my eye, and though my fist aches for relief, I drop it to my side.

"Fuck you very much for ruining my wedding day," I say, backing away from him. It's the last time I plan to see his pathetic face ever again.
 

#

The Mexican sun beats down on us. I can't keep my beer cold to save my life. The ocean air is salty and humid, but every so often, a breeze ripples over my skin, a welcome relief from the heat.

"You want another drink?" I ask my brand new wife.
 

Shaded by a giant beach umbrella, Tawny sits with a book open on her lap, her face flushed with yesterday’s sunburn. She holds up two empty hands. "I think I could deal with a couple more," she says, laughing.

"Someone's had one too many already, I think."
 

She slaps my arm. "Shut up! Actually, just bring me a beer."
 

I kiss her forehead and then work my way to the bar. I'm tempted to order Tawny a pink mai-tai or frozen margarita, but my feet stop when I look at the spot we commandeered in the sand and see a shirtless man standing over her, sunlight bouncing off his skin.
 

"What can I get you, señor?" The waiter’s lilting Spanish accent draws my attention.

"Oh. Uh. Never mind," I stutter, and stalk toward my wife and the shirtless man. I reach them just as she's standing up and laughing at something he says.
 

It must be so fucking funny. She doesn't laugh for just anyone.
 

"What's going on here?" I ask.

Tawny turns toward me and places her hand on my arm. "This is Rafael. He was playing Frisbee and my big head got in the way."

Rafael's grin showcases a set of perfect, white teeth that contrast with his brown skin. "That’s not true. Johnson over there
‒
"he points to another shirtless guy on the beach,"
‒
doesn’t know how to properly throw a Frisbee."

"Are you okay?" I ask Tawny, but I'm eyeing Shirtless Man. He's got an inch or two on me, and he looks like the kind of douchebag who hangs out on beaches, throwing Frisbees at women to get their attention.
 

"It's okay, I'm fine. No worries." She hands the Frisbee back to the guy. "He was just asking if I wanted to play a few rounds with them."

I step between him and my wife. "Really? You're going to ask a woman on her honeymoon if she wants to play Frisbee with two shirtless dickwads like you? Do you want your asses beat?"

The guy steps back a bit and puts up his hands. "Dude, I didn't know, okay? Sorry."
 

He runs off to join his buddy and as I yell after him, "Watch where you're throwing that thing next time."

It's a good thing he doesn't stick around any longer; I've had the urge to hit something—or someone—since seeing my father at our wedding.
 

"Whoa. What was that about?" Tawny says, pulling on my arm.
 

I shake her off and sit in the beach chair.

"That Frisbee must have hit you hard enough to make you forget you were just married," I spit.
 

She flinches like I've slapped her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I grasp her arm and pull her to me, even though she's tensed and trying to step away. "Oh, please. It wasn't an accident the Frisbee hit you. They did it on purpose. And you were falling all over yourself for him. 'It's okay. No worries', " I mock her. "If you wanted someone like that, why'd you waste your time marrying me? For fun? Is that it?"

Her lower lip quivers like she's fighting back tears, but then she bursts out in laughter. "Oh, Carter. Your jealousy is kind of turning me on right now. You know why I married you. If I'd wanted a guy like Fabio over there, I'd have married someone like him. Are you gonna ruin our entire honeymoon because of
this
?"

I don't know what I expected her to do. Shiver in fear like my mother used to do?
 

Maybe.

This side of her—it's like a turn on and an irritant all wrapped together. I want to slap her and kiss her all at the same time. I don't know how she does it.

I bring my mouth to her ear. "Don't talk to me like that. You know how much I hate it."

She pulls her head away from me, though I still have an ironclad grasp on her arm. "I know you do. So don't make me do it."

The tone of her voice chills me in a way I didn't expect. She knows what I'm capable of, and yet she doesn't back down. I'd only ever felt it in little moments here and there, but now, I know she thrives on it. She gets off on this back and forth line of losing control. I let the insane desire rise up through my midsection as her fingers run through my hair and she places a leg on either side of me and sits down on my lap. I dare to look at her and she brings my lips to hers. I open my mouth to apologize again, but she quiets me with her tongue. She pulls back and whispers, "Let's just forget about it."

2004

The moving truck misses our mailbox by an inch and I grimace at the thought of having to replace something before we’ve even moved in. The three college kids hustle out of the truck, commandeering the furniture out of the back at record speed. I guess that's what I get for cheap labor.
 

"I don't think they want to be here," Tawny says, sidling up next to me on the front porch.
 

"Well, if they break anything, someone's gonna pay."

She leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. "Don't be such a grump, Carter. I want to enjoy the first day in our new house without any drama, okay?"

"Yes, dear," I mock her.

She laughs and bounds down the stairs to see if the movers need any help. She's the picture of perfection in her white sundress, her hair knotted on top of her head. The Tawny I first met wouldn't have been caught dead in one of those “slinky, cheesy things,” but she changed her mind when I made her try one on at the mall. The way her curves filled the dress, I couldn't help the desire that spread through me. She must have noticed, because by the next month, her closet had three new dresses that totally weren't her. She doesn't wear any makeup, but she looks better without it. More real. She's happy right now. Not the fake happy she sometimes pretends to be for me.
 

Dammit, she
should
be happy. I worked my ass off to get us this house—two years and thirty-two weeks of overtime. All my hard work was spent in one three-hour closing deal. If Tawny wasn't so goddamn happy right now, I'd almost be pissed.
 

"Hey, where do you want us to put this?" one of the kids asks.
 

I direct him through the hallway to the living room. The entire main level has an open floor plan, making it nearly impossible to tell where one room ends and another begins. Tawny went on and on about how modern it is. How accessible the rooms are. I could give two shits, really, but I like the way it all looks together, so maybe she has a point.
 

The movers waste no time setting the couch down and racing out of the room to claim another piece of furniture. I examine the bare, white walls and the sand-and-white speckled carpet.
 

"Honey? What are you staring at?" Tawny has her arms wrapped around two lamps.
 

"Nothing," I say as I rush over and take one of the lamps from her hands. "Just feels so bare in here.” I add.
 

She glances around the room and nods. "Not for long, though,” she says. “Once we have all our stuff in here and get situated, it will feel more like home."
 

She's right: it’ll be like this for such a short period of time—and then Tawny will cover the walls with some kind of abstract art pieces and the carpet will get stained with crimson wine and various takeout dinners. This carpet wouldn't have lasted two weeks in my father's house before being marred with the muddy brown stains of someone's blood.
 

I set the lamp down and kiss her forehead on the way out of the room. As I reach the front door, an older man and woman are walking up our front steps, dressed in their Sunday finest. They stop before reaching the porch. The woman breaks out into a broad smile when she sees me.
 

"Hello there!" she says, her voice high-pitched and laced with enthusiasm.
 

"Uh, hi," I say.
 

She hands me a covered basket. "I'm Rose Williams, and this is my husband, Walter. We're so excited to have new neighbors. We just wanted to stop by and say hello."

Tawny walks up behind me "Who're you talking to, Carter?" She glances at Rose and Walter and her face flushes. She flashes them a sheepish smile.

"These are our neighbors, Rose and Walter. They brought us a housewarming gift." I hold up the basket full of various cheeses and a bottle of wine.
 

Tawny steps down and extends her hand to Rose first. "That's so kind of you. I'm Tawny, and this is Carter."

Rose's smile widens, but Walter gapes at Tawny like she's a piece of meat ready to be devoured.
 

I put my arm around Tawny and smile so big my cheeks warn me to quit pretending. "We appreciate the gesture, especially since we haven't had a chance to go to the store yet. Our movers are still taking everything off the truck."

Rose waves us off. "Oh, it was nothing. We'll let you two be so you can get situated. It's just so nice to see such a young couple moving in. You two seem really lovely."

"That's awfully sweet of you, Rose. Once we're settled in, we'd love to have you over for dinner." Tawny's slip into Stepford wife is both unsettling and sexy as hell. She can mold herself into anyone she wants to be at the drop of a hat. Me? I'm stuck with myself, unfortunately. I'm the same old Carter, no matter how hard I try to be someone else. It's just easier not to fight it.
 

"That would be wonderful. Pleasure to meet you two."

I smile and give them a little wave. "Nice to meet you as well."
 

When the Williamses are out of earshot, Tawny and I exchange looks at the same time.
 

"That's awfully sweet of you? Who are you and what did you do with my wife?"

The corners of Tawny's lips curve into a seductive smile. "Just acting the part is all. I didn't realize we moved into a neighborhood trapped in the fifties."
 

"I thought they were…lovely." I grin, trying to replicate Rose's sugared voice.

Tawny rolls her eyes and walks toward the moving truck. "C'mon, my dear husband. Let's unpack the rest of our life."
 

"Yes, dear.” I say, watching her long legs disappear into the hem of her dress as I follow her to the truck.

#

The windows are open, and the breeze rolls through the room in cycles. The sun set about forty minutes ago, and Tawny and I are sprawling on the couch in a Chinese take-out coma.
 

"It's so…quiet. Don't you think?"
 

I listen to the silence around us for a second. There are no raging brothers or fists going through walls. No whistling from the train tracks behind Tawny's trailer park. There's not even a crazy dog barking outside. "Everything here sounds quiet compared to what we're used to," I admit.

As if on cue, a series of beeps rips through the stillness. I groan and start to get off the couch, but Tawny pulls me back. "Don't answer it. Let's just have a night away from the rest of the world."

I shake her off of me and stand up. "Don't be ridiculous. What if it's my boss? You want him to regret giving me that promotion?"

She scowls. "Of course not."

The caller ID shows an unknown number, but I’m already here so I answer the phone anyway.
 

"Hello?"

Silence.
 

"Hello?"

"Carter? Is that you?"

I cover the phone. “Tawny, it’s your mom.”
 

"Carter, wait! I have a question…" I don’t want anything to do with that crazy bitch. With all the shit she’s brought us in the past year—stolen money, breaking into our apartment, showing up to my job site high as a kite—I’m ready to disconnect the phone line and get a new one.

Tawny slides her hand beneath mine and grabs the phone. "Mom?"

Shelly's voice squeaks every couple of syllables, and she sounds agitated. She's using again, and this is her official “save me" call that Tawny will undoubtedly fall for. Not tonight. Not after what I did to get us here. For all I care, her mother can rot in hell.
 

Tawny creeps out of the kitchen and down the hall. I follow until I'm at the kitchen's threshold and can only vaguely hear what she's saying. It wouldn't matter if her mother called to say she won the lottery. Or finally managed to get clean by a miracle of God. What I want to do right now is rip the phone from Tawny's hand, and throw it against the wall, and watch it shatter into a million pieces.