Chapter 4

Craig’s eyes cracked open and he winced as the sunlight crept in. His head felt like it did on so many Saturday mornings, as though the ceiling had dropped on him in the dead of night. He groaned and sat up, only for the pounding in his head to cause him to flop back onto his bed. He reached blindly for the nightstand and grabbed the aspirin he kept there. The hollow rattle reminded him that he hadn’t yet gone grocery shopping, despite constantly reminding himself to.

He popped the lone pill into his mouth, then stood, grabbed his phone, and slogged his way to the bathroom to get a cupful of water to drown it with. He’d normally resort to some hair of the dog, but that was on the same grocery list as his aspirin. Instead, he started some coffee, slumped into the living room, sat on the sofa, and cradled his head in his hands.

What had happened last night? He had blacked out on the way home and the memories before that were scattered and hazy at best. He knew Kayla had given him a ride home ... but before that, at the bar, hadn’t she been crying? He shook his head to knock out the fog. There was something about Garth and Tammy ... oh right.

The larger memory rocked him. Garth and Tammy’s stupid fucking song and the ensuing brawl replayed patchily in his mind. One by one, the aches and stings across his body seemed to become more pronounced as he recalled their origins in the bar fight. He winced as he lightly poked at his jaw and felt one of his molars wiggle. His shoulder throbbed with agony from impacting with the sidewalk. All this physical pain paled in comparison to the hit he had taken to his pride.

His heart sank as the weight of it all pressed in on him. There would be consequences for last night. He hated thinking about them in this moment, but couldn’t stop himself. He’d now lost his favorite escape, and worse still, he was continuing to prove his father right about his drinking problem. Would Garth press charges? It wouldn’t be Craig’s first strike along those lines and he might be in deep shit if Garth did. He shoved that worry to the side, especially in light of an even greater problem: potentially destroying his relationship with Kayla. The last memory he had of the evening was her disappointed face as she helped him up the stairs. He cringed. That look somehow hurt more than all the bruises combined.

He grabbed some ice for his cheek and eye and then turned on a playlist of quiet jazz music that had always been a comfort to him, and was soft enough to not irritate his pounding headache. Slumping into his armchair he closed his eyes and leaned his neck back as he was nearly lulled back to sleep. As he waited for the aspirin to kick in, his phone chimed in the tone that meant he’d just received a work email, and he wrestled the instinct to throw it out his second story window.

Fuck, he hated his job. The nature of it, the expectations tied to him like a leash. His great-great-grandfather had moved the family to Minnesota in the late 1800’s and two generations later, his grandfather had started the credit union, which his dad had inherited. Both men had been nothing if not blunt: Craig was next in line, whether he wanted it or not. It was incredibly unfortunate that he had no aptitude for this line of work, nor any desire for it. A fact for which he had butted heads with his father ever since his childhood.

Once in his early twenties, an anger management therapist he’d been assigned to had asked him what he would rather be doing instead of working at the credit union. It had shocked him at the time to realize that despite how much he despised his current situation, he had no idea what he’d want to do instead. As a kid, he’d wanted to be a singer ... but that dream had died with his mom.

After dwelling for a couple of months on the question he eventually decided that he’d be happier doing something more manual. Something where he could be on his feet, where he would sweat while he worked. Maybe something with an element of danger to it. He began dreaming about working a fishing boat on the coast. When he had finally worked up the courage to explain this to his father, the man had laughed so hard that he’d accidentally choked on a bite of steak and nearly needed the Heimlich Maneuver. Craig was informed that his ancestors hadn’t moved to this country, worked as hard as they had, nor endured generations of discrimination just so he could turn his nose up to the legacy they’d built.

His mom had always encouraged him to find his own way in life. She had always seen and sought to empower his artistic side, and had always acted as a buffer between him and his dad’s emotionally stunted family. She’d died when he was fifteen, and ever since then his dad had no push back against shoving Craig into the family business.

The coffee maker beeped and he limped into the kitchen to pour himself a cup. Right as he was about to take a sip, the doorbell rang. He was too tired to be scared, but looming dread did take root as he looked to the door. Was this the police? Had Garth already reported him? Had his father somehow learned of the previous night’s mistakes already and took it upon himself to come here and chew him out? He could see that. His father never missed an opportunity for a good lecture. The doorbell rang again followed by rapid knocking as well. Whoever it was, they were impatient; which probably ruled out his father, at least. Craig opened the door. His eyes widened as he saw Kayla, looking more excited than he had ever seen her.

“DUDE! DUDE! DUDE! COME WITH ME!” she was practically bouncing as she grabbed his hand and started pulling him outside the apartment, but then stopped and they shared an awkward moment of silence as she realized that he had answered the door without a shirt. She turned beet red and seemed to have become paralyzed. He grinned and tugged his arm out of her grasp.

“Okay, well good morning to you, too,” he greeted her, then frowned, “Why you even here? Weren’t you going to your mom’s?”

“What? Oh right,” she said distractedly, then shook her head and waved her arms dismissively, “I hit a deer last night and my car is totaled, but that’s not important. I need to show you something right now! Let’s go!” She moved to grab his arm again, but he yanked it out of her reach.

“Wait, you totaled your car?” he asked bewilderedly. A familiar ice block dropped into his stomach as the memory of a Ford Escalade barreling through a red light intrusively flashed through his memory. He took in her injuries, blanching at her black eye. “Shit, you ok?”

“Better than ok!” she replied, “I have a ... I don’t even know how to explain it. You’d never believe me. I just need to show you!”

“Look, Kayla,” Craig grimaced. She got like this from time to time. Bombastically excited, and aggressively withholding of context. In this case, though, it was downright frustrating. Her energy just didn’t match the graveness of her news at all, “Just tell me before I go out there.”

“Look, I’m telling you that you won’t believe me!” She insisted, “I mean, I barely believe it. It’s just going to be easier to show you, trust me!”

“OK, come in and explain while I finish my coffee, a’ight?” Craig replied, pushing the door open further and giving her space to enter. “I’ll get you a cup, too, if you want. I just woke up and I still be pretty sore and hungover.”

She cocked her head, as if only just taking him in, and the same look from last night flashed across her face. It looked worse with a black eye and Craig wanted to shrink under it.