CHAPTER FOUR: LIQUID COURAGE

"Why did I let him talk me into this?" Taylor muttered to himself, watching his phone light up as Marty’s name flashed across the screen for what seemed like the twentieth time that day.

He wasn’t supposed to take personal calls unless he was on a break, which he wasn’t, but Taylor was too worried about his best friend burning his house down or getting in some sort of unfixable crisis to follow the rules. He ducked behind the counter, cupping his hand over the receiver to muffle Marty’s voice, which tended to be loud at all times.

"Chocolate or red velvet?" Marty asked obnoxiously.

"What?"

"Cake, you fool. What kind of birthday cake do you want?"

"I don’t want a cake," Taylor hissed, upset that he was possibly risking losing his brand new job over dessert of all things.

"Well, I’m getting you one anyway, and you’re just going to have to deal with that," he said. "So you can either choose, or I’ll choose for you."

Taylor rolled his eyes, but figured that he’d better make a decision before Marty picked out the most horrifyingly disgusting cake he could find just to spite him.

"Fine. Red velvet," he said. "But I thought this party was in honor of St. Patrick’s Day, not my birthday..."

"Oh, believe me, Tay. This party is going to have a little bit of everything."

Taylor swore silently as the dial tone filled his ear. He had a feeling that allowing Marty to organize this party might have been the worst mistake he’d made in quite some time. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood up, cursing out loud when he found himself face-to-face with Jackie. She pursed her lips and stared at him, her hands on her hips as she eyed him disapprovingly.

"You scared the living shit out of me," he mumbled.

"Just be glad it was me and not Ted who found you huddled behind the bar, talking on your phone when you should be working," she said, clicking her tongue at him. "I don’t think our boss would appreciate you ignoring all of your customers."

"Jesus Christ," Taylor groaned. "I don’t think it’s a crime to make that group of middle-aged women wait a few minutes before handing them another pitcher of mimosas. They’ve been drinking for two hours straight and are drunk as hell already. It would probably be good for them to lay off the booze for awhile."

"Wow, someone’s in a lovely mood today," Jackie remarked. "And what’s with all of the swearing? Did your girlfriend deny you sex last night or something?"

Taylor froze. He hated that even despite all of the time that had passed, questions like that still hit him like a punch to the gut, still hurt him.

"I don’t have a girlfriend," he said softly, his injured tone revealing more than he’d meant to.

He tried to blink through the pain but Jackie had already seen his involuntary reaction. Her typically harsh attitude evaporated, her eyes transforming into two dark pools of concern as she reached out to touch his arm.

"Taylor, I’m sorry. I--,"

"Don’t worry about it," he cut her off before she could say anything more.

He turned away from her quickly and busied himself with mixing yet another pitcher of orange juice and champagne. He knew she hadn’t meant to upset him, but he wasn’t ready to reveal his depressing life story. He was uncomfortable enough discussing what had happened with members of his own family, let alone someone he’d practically just met.

"Whoever she was, she was a damn fool for letting you go," Jackie decided, casting a surprisingly warm smile in his direction that was supposed to lift his spirits but really just heightened his desire to disappear beneath the floorboards.

She walked away from him then, and he stopped pretending to care about the drinks he was making and rested his elbows against the bar with a sigh. No matter where he was, or what he did, or who he met, his past had a way of following him. Would he ever be able to truly free himself from its confines, or would he spend the rest of his life trying to run away, knowing all the while that his demons were always right behind him?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Here, try this." Jackie slid a frosted glass half-filled with murky purple liquid across the bar toward him.

It was several hours since their uncomfortable conversation, and Taylor was ready to erase the awkwardness. So he picked up the glass and frowned into the dark, thick, sweet-smelling substance before lifting his eyebrows at her.

"What is that?"

She shrugged. "Fuck if I know - I just made it up. Let’s call it...the Fruit Loop."

"No. I mean, what’s in it?"

"Blue Curacao, amaretto, some grenadine, and a splash of milk," she said.

Taylor wrinkled his nose, the description of the concoction only adding to his suspicion. Its unusual coloring made it seem like something that wasn’t meant to be consumed, reminding him of how he felt about people adding green food dye to their beer (which he’d been forced to do multiple times that day already in honor of the holiday).

But if he knew Jackie at all, then he wouldn’t be allowed to get away without fulfilling her request, so he took a deep breath and dumped a large mouthful of the cold drink down his throat.

"It’s fine," he said honestly, handing the glass back to her. It was much too sweet for his tastes, but he knew that many people preferred their drinks behind a saccharine mask, so that they tasted like anything but alcohol.

She beamed at his words and filled a clean glass with more of the purple mixture.

"If it has Pretty Boy’s stamp of approval, then it must be good enough for my best friend," Jackie said, setting the drink in front of a cute redhead seated at the bar.

He blushed a deep crimson, as he always did whenever his coworker felt the need to use that nickname. The girl concealed a smirk by taking a sip of her drink and then glanced up at him.

"You shouldn’t let her get away with giving you nicknames," she said to him, casting a pointed look in Jackie’s direction. "Before you know it, the name will stick and people will refuse to call you anything else."

"Oh, hush. You know you love me, Reese’s Pieces," Jackie crooned in a sugary tone that completely belied her personality as she reached across the bar to ruffle the girl’s long hair.

"See what I mean?" The girl addressed him once again, her brow furrowed in obvious annoyance, but amusement twinkled in her almond-tinted eyes nonetheless. Her gaze was easy to get lost in, and Taylor found himself staring at her for much longer than he’d meant to.

He laughed and shook his head to clear it, thankful that Jackie had been pulled away from them by the drunk old man at the other end of the bar whining for another pint of Guinness. They both watched as she gave the man his beer along with some of her attitude.

"You’re best friends with her?" he asked in mock disbelief, returning his attention to the red-haired girl.

"Sadly, yes," she said. "But in my defense, I met Jackie in high school and she was much more reserved back then. She was almost shy. I had no idea what I was getting into at the time."

"And I’m guessing your name isn’t actually Reese’s Pieces?"

She laughed, the soft sound music to his ears after a long day of listening to the loud, irritating complaints of intoxicated patrons. "No, it’s Carissa. Some people really do call me Reese, though."

"I’m Taylor," he said with a smile.

He normally didn’t interact with his customers on a personal level, most of them being regulars who seemed to have nothing better to do than drink all day. Some of them were all too willing to bare their entire lives to you in a single afternoon, then repeat it all over again the very next day if you let them. Taylor believed his own baggage was heavy enough and he didn’t feel like carrying anyone else’s.

"How long have you been working here? I sometimes visit Jackie when she’s working, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before," she said, her gaze dropping to her half-empty glass as if she suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"It’s my third week on the job," he replied.

"Oh, so you’re brand new!"

Taylor chuckled softly in response.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he said, eying Carissa’s glass. "Can I get you another drink? A real one this time?"

She laughed, sliding her cup across the bar to him. "Sure. But, all things considered, that ‘fruit loop’ shot wasn’t all that bad."

He returned the grin and leaned against the bar; it was an instinct, something he did to ease his aching limbs in the midst of an unbearably long shift. It was a casual, mindless gesture but suddenly seemed deliberate and intimate, his proximity to Carissa allowing him to catch alluring hints of soap and peppermint and admire the soft, green flecks which somehow only enhanced the beauty of her liquid-brown eyes. A blush crept across his features as he pulled himself into an upright position, once again cursing his fair-skinned genes.

"So, what’s your drink of choice?" Taylor asked to fill the silence.

"I don’t really have one, to be honest," she replied. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I make a pretty mean cosmo," he said.

"A cosmo it is, then," she decided, reaching into her purse and pulling out a thin leather wallet.

Taylor shook his head and backed away from the bar, beginning to assemble the ingredients for the mixed drink. "Don’t worry about it - it’s on the house."

"Are you sure?"

It was Carissa’s turn to blush as she toyed with the edges of the wallet in her hands.

"Positive," he replied.

"Thank you," she said warmly, reluctantly dropping her wallet back into her bag before repositioning it on the hook beneath the bar.

"Don’t even think about it, pretty boy," a female voice whispered roughly in his ear.

He spun around to find Jackie standing before him, a hand on her hip, her lips turned up into a knowing smirk.

"You just undressed my best friend with your eyes, didn’t you?" she hissed.

"I did no such thing," Taylor whispered back indignantly.

"She’s off limits, Taylor. I’m serious," she said, jabbing him in the center of his chest as if to drive home the meaning of her words. "And you’d better not try anything at your party tonight, either."

"She’s coming to the party?"

"Yeah...It’s cool that I invited her, right?"

"Of course," he replied quickly. "She seems like a really great girl."

"Oh, she’s the best," Jackie replied, sending a little wink in Carissa’s direction before walking away.

As Taylor stared down into the shaker in his hands, he realized that he was smiling, and for the first time in ages, it wasn’t forced or fake.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By the time his shift was over, Taylor was so tired that his legs could barely support his weight. Since it was a drinking holiday, business was booming, and a short conversation with Jackie and Carissa during which he’d downed a double shot of espresso was the only real break he’d been allowed all evening. He felt truly sorry for the bartenders who had to work the closing shift, as it was growing more and more crowded and raucous with each passing hour and showed no signs of slowing down.

He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. He hated how dirty he felt after slaving away behind the bar all day. His matted locks were greasy beneath the baseball cap, and his entire body crawled with germs and sweat. He’d never longed for showers before, but he grew to look forward to and cherish the simple act of feeling clean and refreshed once he started working at Roundhouse.

"This has been the night from hell," Jackie groaned, joining Taylor in the break room to retrieve her purse and jacket. "Thank God it’s over."

"You can say that again."

"So, what now? Should we follow you to your place?"

"Sure," he replied.

"I brought a change of clothes in my car because there’s no way in hell I’d be caught dead at a party dressed like this," she said, frowning down at her work uniform still visible beneath her unbuttoned coat.

"Oh, hush. You look fine," Carissa’s voice came softly from the doorway.

Jackie rolled her eyes at her friend, who wasted no time in returning the gesture. Taylor grinned a little as he realized that their mocking, sarcastic banter reminded him a lot of his friendship with Marty.

"Shall we?" he asked after zipping up his jacket.

"We shall," Jackie replied, linking one arm through Carissa’s and the other one through Taylor’s.

Truth be told, Taylor wasn’t in the mood to go to a party, much less host one, and if it were entirely up to him, he would have just gone home and collapsed into bed. But according to the multitude of text messages he’d received from Marty over the course of the evening, he’d already set everything up and was eagerly awaiting Taylor’s return to the house so the festivities could begin. Regardless of how exhausted he was, Taylor was resigned to wear a mask of excitement, if only to humor his best friend who had been there for him during countless hours of need.

So as he walked into the crisp night beside the two girls, he tried not to think about his bleary eyes, his aching feet, or the deliciously comfortable bed that he wouldn’t get to fall into nearly as soon as he’d hoped. Tonight was going to be a much-needed release and he was determined to make the most of it. After all that he’d been through during the last several months, he deserved to finally let loose and have some fun.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"It’s party time!" Marty’s voice crashed into Taylor’s ear the moment he walked through the front door, Carissa and Jackie close behind.

The bottle of beer in his friend’s hand looked mostly full, but one glance at his glassy eyes and slightly flushed cheeks let Taylor know that he’d already had a drink or two. His assumption was confirmed when Marty hooked a thumb into the waistband of his jeans and tugged them down just enough to expose a portion of his bright green boxers, decorated with cartoon leprechauns and four-leaf clovers.

"I’m wearing these in honor of St. Paddy’s day," he announced proudly, his eyes roaming across the two girls and lingering on Jackie before giving her a little wink. "You know, just in case I get lucky tonight."

"Feel free to ignore him. It’s what I do most of the time," Taylor said as he glared at his friend, although he couldn’t stop the smile of amusement from pulling at the corners of his mouth.

As Marty resituated his pants and proceeded to introduce himself to their guests in a much more civilized fashion, Taylor quickly inspected the ground floor of the house. He had to give his best friend credit - he’d made the place look pretty damn amazing. Some of the decorations were a bit too elaborate for his tastes, like the green shamrock-shaped garlands draped just below the ceiling, but Taylor was thankful that at least Marty had stuck to his word and emphasized the Irish holiday rather than his birthday.

Once Taylor finished his little walkthrough and returned to the kitchen, he found Marty struggling to tap the large keg that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"Wow," Jackie remarked, eyeing the size of the barrel before turning to Taylor. "Just how many people are you planning on having over tonight?"

"That’s a good question," Taylor replied, staring pointedly at his best friend who remained oblivious to everything but the task at hand.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. He’d finally started warming up to the idea of having a party, but he wasn’t prepared for the massive influx of people who would likely be walking through the front door at any moment. He couldn’t be mad at Marty for going to such ridiculous extremes, though; he’d always been that way. Plus, he was so outgoing that he made friends out of strangers without even trying. Yet despite his extroverted personality, Taylor still didn’t understand how his best friend managed to stay in touch with so many different people from such a wide variety of social circles. It was hard enough for Taylor to hold onto the people in his life who were supposed to be unwavering constants - like his younger brother, for example.

But he didn’t want to think about Zac anymore. He was so tired of flipping through the unpleasant memories and trying to make sense of them to no avail. And he was sick of the lingering bitter taste in his mouth when he thought about how close they used to be compared to how distant they were now.

"Hey...is everything okay?"

Taylor’s vision snapped back into focus and he found a pair of warm eyes staring at him.

"Yeah, sorry," he said to Carissa, blushing slightly as he shook his head. "I guess I spaced out for a minute."

"You say that like it doesn’t happen a thousand times a day," Marty said, glancing up at him with a smirk before fixing his charismatic gaze on the two girls. "Tay really is such a blonde."

Taylor simply lifted his middle finger in response and grabbed Marty’s half-empty bottle of beer from the kitchen counter, taking a long, deliberate swig. The lukewarm beer was tasteless and less than refreshing, but he didn’t care. It was alcohol, and that was all that mattered. He was going to need a decent amount of liquid courage to make it through the night.


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