Braxton stopped in front of the fridge. After reaching in, he grabbed himself several bottles of beer. As he walked toward the living room, he opened a bottle, raised it to his lips and drank, placing the other three on the end table beside him.
He sat and began to twirl the bottle cap over his fingers. It slowly moved from his pointer finger to his middle, then to his ring finger and back again. Magicians did it with coins, but years ago he’d learned to do it with bottle caps. He recalled the night he, Alissa, and the twins had celebrated the signing of Jefferson Peterson—an A-lister whose debut film about a magician who was also a mass murderer had been breaking box office records.
Show me some magic, Alissa had said to him, her voice slurring.
He recalled he’d do that later that night when she’d be spread out before him, and he’d make his dick disappear inside her. He hadn’t realized the twins had been listening until Paxton cracked up, laughing at his joke, and he’d caught Paisley shaking her head at him, not finding the humor in his words.
Alissa had been so drunk; she wasn’t aware that anyone had heard him so when she asked him again to show her some magic like Jefferson was demonstrating, Paxton piped up, begging for Braxton to show her the magic right there and now.
Alissa had glanced at Paxton with a disoriented look on her face. She'd then raised her hand, pointing across the room. Everyone’s eyes had followed her hand. There stood Jefferson, a coin rolling over his fingers as he’d entertained his model conquests of the night. It wasn’t long before Braxton had a bottle cap in his hand, and after a few attempts, he had mastered the magic Alissa had wanted to see.
Braxton downed the other half of the bottle in one swig. Not because he was thirsty, but because he wanted to drown out the memory; it was his solution to his current predicament. He was bound and determined to get piss-faced drunk and pass out.
His phone pinged with an incoming text. He didn’t move. The last thing he wanted was to talk to anyone right now.
He tipped back another bottle and guzzled the contents in yet another single swig. When it was gone, he reached for another. Only this time, he decided to nurse the drink for a little longer than the last two. His phone pinged again but instead of grabbing it, he gripped the empty bottle beside him and threw it against the wall where it shattered into pieces.
Fuck it. He downed the final bottle. He was angry at God, angry at the world, and most of all, angry at Alissa. He blamed all of them for what had happened. He had to place blame somewhere, or the anger would subside and the sorrow would take over. And he wasn’t ready to cry again.
PING. PING. PING.
“Christ, just leave me alone,” he screamed into the emptiness of his home as his phone received text message after text message. He glared at the three empty bottles on the table in front of him and the pieces of the one he’d smashed against the wall. His head rested against the back of the sofa, and he was ready to surrender to the oblivion and forget about the day when a pounding resonated from the front door.
“GO AWAY!” Braxton yelled. But the thumping didn’t stop; it only grew louder. He raised his hands to cover his ears, trying to drown out the noise, but the ringing of the doorbell only joined the knocking.
“I’M FUCKING COMING!” Braxton yelled as he stood on wobbly legs and stumbled toward the front door. He wrenched it open to find a disheveled Paisley standing before him.
“Jesus, Brax. I’ve been messaging you. What the hell?” Her shoulder brushed against his as she forced her way into his home. Just the slight touch of her body to his had him stumbling backward.
Braxton was angry at Paisley for keeping him from slipping into the darkness. He wanted to forget everything. “I fucking heard them, but I have no interest in reading any of them right now. Just leave me alone, will you?”
Paisley stopped dead in her tracks, and he followed her gaze to the empty bottles on the table. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, a disgusted look etched on her face. “You’re drunk.”
Braxton stepped around her petite body, finding his way back to the comfortable spot he’d just vacated. “Yep, I think I am.”
With one hand, Paisley swiped the bottles from the table. “It wasn’t a question, you idiot. What I don’t understand is why you would do that.”
Paisley stood in front of him incessantly rambling. His voice was cold when he responded, “Why, you ask? Do you not remember today at all, or are you just stupid?”
Her eyes squinted in irritation at him. And he was so focused on her distorted face that he didn’t see her move her right arm, but he felt it when her palm landed against his head.
“I haven’t forgotten, Brax. I know this is hard for you, but what if that was the hospital trying to reach you? What if something was wrong and they needed you? It’s not just you that you need to think about anymore. Yes, you’ve been dealt a shitty hand. And under normal circumstances I’d say you have all rights to get piss-faced. But not this time. No, not when you have a child you need to think about. Everything from here on out is on your shoulders. Grow up, Braxton. You’ve had your moment of mourning, now sober up.”
Braxton brushed his hands through his hair. she was right. This
