New Winslow S8E38
Noah had a better idea before he’d even turned his truck on. He didn’t call Andrew. Instead, he just took the turn out of town and drove. And now he was at a bar he’d never been to before, and that was probably for the best. Not that he’d care too much, but he knew that Olivia had gone looking for him way back in that bar in Ware he’d liked. So the staff there would know he’d quit drinking and maybe they wouldn’t serve him. Or maybe they wouldn’t give a shit since it was none of their business. But here, wherever here was, Noah was completely anonymous.
He ordered two shots of whiskey and downed them before he could talk himself out of this. Not that he was going to. Not when he’d been so close to his dad, was close to seeing him again, and then he was gone. Good for Billy and whatever, but Noah had just lost his father all over again. The thought of that was enough to bring Noah to his knees, and he never wanted to think about it again.
And if getting rid of that ruined everything else about his life, then so be it. If he wasn’t even good enough for his own dad to connect with when he was right there, then he wasn’t good enough for the rest of it either. So what if Andrew was disappointed in him? Or Liv, or Cleo? They’d be better off dealing with all of this without an emotional connection to Noah. He was ruining their lives with his shit, so he was going to cut everything that wasn’t directly involved in getting Andrew out of town forever.
And now he wasn’t going to think about the curse anymore tonight. Or Andrew. Or hopefully anything else. He ordered a drink and the bartender looked at him, a little unsure. Noah smiled at her, hoping it looked charming and not sick. But it seemed to work well enough to get him what he wanted because a few seconds later, there was a glass of whiskey in front of him, complete with ice and a stupid little orange peel garnish. He pulled the peel out and set it on the coaster. Jude would like something like that, he would do that with their seltzers at his house sometimes just for fun. But now it just made Noah even more depressed.
He didn’t down this one, not quite. But he didn’t savor it either. He didn’t care about the taste or the vintage or any of that. He just cared about the numbness. It was what he’d been craving for so long now and it didn’t matter how much work he’d put into staying sober. Not anymore. Noah wanted to be numb and then he wanted to die.
He drank whiskey silently as the bar filled up around him, cheerful shouts and conversation blurring into a dull roar. He wasn’t sure what town they were in right now, but it wasn’t like he was planning to go home tonight anyway, so it didn’t matter much. Noah thought vaguely that he should know where he was going to go after this, but that seemed less and less important as the two shots he’d taken before this glass seemed to bear down on him, clouding his brain in a way that made him feel disgusted, relieved, and then almost nothing.
“You want something to eat, hon?” the bartender, a short woman about ten years older than him, asked.
Noah shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
She nodded, and Noah wondered if she believed in ghosts. But she walked away and he went back to his drink.
When this one was done, he got another. The room was starting to get wobbly around him and he knew that things were going to get rough eventually. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he ignored it. Then it buzzed again and he considered dropping it on the floor and letting the screen shatter against the hardwood.
The bartender came around again. “Do you believe in ghosts?” Noah asked her as she poured a beer for someone down the other end of the bar.
If the question fazed her, she didn’t show it. “Sure I do,” she said. “My house is haunted.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
She smiled at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile back without his eyes stinging. So instead, he just kept drinking.
His phone kept buzzing and he kept ignoring it. He knew he shouldn’t, that his friends were worried. But if they were mad at him, then they weren’t going to worry as much. And that was good, they needed to focus on getting Andrew out of New Winslow, not on Noah.
They just needed to let him go.
Later, the bar was spinning around him when Noah tried to order another drink. The bartender shook her head, pushing the bills back toward him. “Sorry, sweetie,” she said. “I have to cut you off.”
There was a glass of water in front of him, but he didn’t touch it. “Do you have someone you can call?” she asked.
Now that Noah was thoroughly tanked, he wasn’t hurting. But he couldn’t call Andrew, not like this. Or Liv. That was the whole point. So instead, he clumsily pulled out his phone and scrolled through, moving aimlessly through names until he reached Jude’s number.
“Hey, you!”
“Hi.”
Wow, he sounded bad. There was silence on the other end for a second, then Jude said, “Noah? Are you alright?”
“I fucked up.”
“Are you safe?”
Jude’s voice was gentle, and now Noah was crying. He nodded and after a beat, realized Jude couldn’t see him.
“Can you come get me?”
He shouldn’t be asking Jude this. It was something you asked a close friend or family member to do, to pick your drunk ass up at the bar. But Jude said something to someone at the other end of the line, then said, “Of course. Where are you?”
“I… I…”
“Hey, Noah?” Jude interrupted. “Can you give the phone to the bartender?”
He didn’t know how Jude knew he was at a bar, but the bartender was standing across the counter from him now. Clearly she dealt with this all the time because she motioned for the phone and after a couple tries, he gave it to her. “Hey, this is Marla,” she said as Noah set his head down on the bar top. “Yeah, he’s alright. He got someone to come get him?”
He thought he heard her say something about Templeton, but it was lost in the haze and the music from the jukebox. Liv kept playing that damn fucking country song on the jukebox didn’t she? Noah had to admit that was kind of funny. He’d never suspected her, not for the four years it ruined his Friday nights.
Marla tapped him on the shoulder. “Hmm?”
“You can’t sleep here, hon,” she said. “Can you sit up?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll have to call an ambulance if you can’t stay awake. And then I’ll get in trouble and your friend is already on his way over.”
Noah sat up and tried to focus on her as she handed back his phone. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“You got a bunch of texts,” she said. “Might want to look at them.”
She walked down to the other end of the bar and Noah squinted at his phone, but the words on the messages swam out of focus. He tried to drink the water Marla had given him, but he couldn’t seem to make the connection between his brain and his hand and gave up after a few tries.
He stayed where he was, trying to stay awake and wishing for more whiskey. Maybe Jude had some at his house. Had he called Jude? Why was he thinking about Jude, Jude was with Sarabeth now. And Noah had Andrew.
He didn’t anymore, but he had.
A hand on his back made him turn around, nearly falling off his barstool. “Whoa,” Jude said, catching his wrist as Noah slammed his other elbow on the bar, pain in both places sizzling through the fog as he made contact. “Shit, Noah, what happened?”
“My dad left.”
Jude looked confused and Noah wondered what there was to be confused about. “Come on,” Jude said. “I’m going to bring you home.”
There was someone else there now, a very tall, pretty woman who was helping him off of his barstool. “Hey,” Noah said to her.
“Hi.”
“Who are you?”
“Sarabeth.”
“You’re Sarabeth?”
He heard Jude say something to Marla and he tried to thank Marla, but ended up staggering, knocking down the stool beside his. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Get home safe, hon,” Marla said behind him as Jude and Sarabeth steered him toward the door.
“You’re Sarabeth?” Noah said again, checking her out as the cool night air hit him in the face. “You’re gorgeous. Did we have a threesome?”
“No, you bailed,” Jude said with an easy laugh.
“I’m a fucking idiot.”
He meant to say it lightly, but instead, he started crying again.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Jude said as he opened the backseat and helped Noah in. “Come on, it’s okay.”
A second later, Noah was pressed against the cool glass of the window, everything hazy around him as they started driving. He was pretty sure Jude was in the back seat too. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have called.”
“No, you totally should have. I’m glad you did.”
“I’m a bad person, Jude.”
“No, you’re not.”
He nodded against the cool glass, his eyes closed.
“Noah, can you give me your phone?”
He went to reach for it, his wrist hurting even more as he tried and failed to pull it out of his pocket. But after several tries, he managed to hold on and hand it to Jude.
“What’s your passcode?”
“Hmm?”
“Your passcode?”
“I should be dead. Did I ever tell you that? Please don’t bring me home.”
He heard Jude say something else, but Noah couldn’t bring himself to answer.
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