CHAPTER TWO: WHAT KIND OF LIVING

Taylor Hanson slid into an empty booth by the bar and ran his hand along the back of his aching neck. He was exhausted in every sense of the word and being on his feet for the last five hours hadn't helped. He took a long drink from the oversized cup of Starbucks iced coffee he'd bought hours ago. The coffee was watery and tasteless now, but Taylor continued to sip it robotically, willing it to lend him the energy to make it through the rest of his shift.

He was approaching the end of the second week at his new job as a bartender at Roundhouse. Having never bartended before, he initially embraced it as a welcome challenge. After all, he'd always been able to succeed at whatever he set his mind and heart on. He figured it would be a relatively easy way to earn money while hopefully allowing him to make some new friends along the way. But what he didn't realize was that the job entailed a lot of actual work - grunt work that was much less pleasant than making small talk with the locals and refilling endless mugs of beer.

The real problem was that his heart truly wasn't in it. Unlike the only other real job he'd ever had, bartending wasn't his life's calling. He didn't care about it, and he could certainly live without it. But financial obligations made the job necessary to Taylor, for at least the time being. He and his brother Zac used to split the cost of renting their house down the middle, but Zac had moved out and Taylor lived alone now. They definitely hadn't parted on friendly terms, and his brother's absence left a mark on him in more ways than one.

But that was something he didn't want to think about, so he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in an attempt to push the thoughts away.

"Way to leave me alone with all of your customers," a voice called from above him. Taylor opened his eyes and saw his coworker Jackie glaring at him from beneath her black baseball cap.

"Sorry. I just really needed to take a break," he said, twirling his straw through the melted ice swimming at the bottom of the cup.

"I'll forgive you," she said, suddenly grabbing his coffee cup from his hands and taking a drink, causing Taylor to frown. "But only because it's your birthday."

Taylor groaned and rested his head on the table dramatically. His 27th birthday was something he didn't even want to acknowledge, much less celebrate. One of the reasons he'd agreed to work that day was so his birthday could get lost in the monotony of daily life and be swiftly forgotten.

"Am I missing something here?" Jackie set the cup back down on the table, close enough to brush his cheek with mild dewy condensation. "Aren't birthdays supposed to be happy occasions?"

"This one sure as hell isn't," Taylor mumbled into the crook of his arm without looking up.

"Oh, would you quit being such a pathetic little diva and get back to work already?" Jackie's words were harsh but Taylor knew better than to take them to heart. Sarcasm and callousness were in her bones, it seemed. "I seriously doubt your life is as terrible as you're making it out to be."

"You don't know the half of it," he said softly.

Taylor lifted his head and was surprised to see flecks of actual concern inside her dark eyes. But as soon as the look had flashed across her face, it was gone, replaced by the usual smirk that accompanied her reputation of being an insufferable hard-ass.

"Well, if you need someone to talk to, I'm sure one of them would be more than willing to listen." Jackie cocked her head toward the bar, where a group of women who looked to be in their early to mid-twenties sat in a row, their eyes darting in Taylor's direction every now and then. "You know that you're the only reason they come here, right? As soon as you took your break, they couldn't stop talking about you. You're apparently quite the chick magnet."

The blush that burned into Taylor's flesh was unavoidable, and he inwardly cursed his overly sensitive skin as he felt the redness spreading across his face and neck.

"Look, he's bashful, too. How cute," she said.

Taylor rolled his eyes and flipped his middle finger at her.

"Come on. Back to work," Jackie prodded, shedding her black baseball cap and arranging it carefully over Taylor's blonde hair.

"Happy birthday to me," Taylor muttered under his breath as he threw his coffee cup into a nearby trash can and resumed his spot behind the bar. He forced a bright smile onto his face as he approached his customers, reminding himself that if he could make it through the utterly painful and unbearable last two months of his life, then he could survive anything.

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

When his shift at work was finally over, Taylor carried his fake smile to his parents' house, where they insisted on throwing him a birthday party. He knew there was no use in trying to talk them out of it; his family had certain traditions that they just didn't break, and birthday celebrations were ranked highly among them. Normally, Taylor milked his birthday for all it was worth. It was impossible to expect all of the attention to constantly be on him while growing up in a house with six siblings, so having the spotlight focused entirely on him one day each year was something he usually enjoyed.

But things felt soured and strained this year. He figured that Zac wouldn't show up at his birthday party, and he was right. Upon entering his childhood home, his brother was nowhere to be found. Taylor knew he was naive in hoping that Zac would want to see him; he was even more foolish for entertaining the idea that he might actually want to apologize. Through Taylor's artificial smile was a sharp pain that cut deep into his core.

"Tay's here!" his sister Avery announced loudly, seeing him walk through the front door.

He was welcomed by a chorus of birthday greetings from the rest of his siblings scattered around the living room. The only two missing from the group were Isaac, his older brother who lived in L.A. with his wife and son, and Zac, whom he hadn't seen or spoken to in almost two months.

Taylor sank down into an unoccupied easy chair, eager to be off of his feet. Within moments, he felt a familiar pair of hands come to rest on the back of the chair.

"Happy birthday, sweetie," his mother said, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. "It's so good to see you."

"Hey, mom." Taylor craned his neck around and flashed her a grin, hoping that she wouldn't see through it. But her eyes gave her away. His mom had never been good at hiding her emotions, and it was clear she was affected by the fallout taking place between two of her oldest sons.

"I hope you're hungry," she said, directing the statement to everyone in the room. "I think your father and I made enough food to feed an actual army."

Oddly enough, the sorry state of Taylor's spirits didn't interfere with his appetite. He was starving. He stood up and followed the enticing aromas into the dining room.

But the heaping plates of food that were passed around the table weren't enough to fill him. Throughout his birthday meal, Taylor couldn't help but stare at the empty space to his left, the seat that remained vacant as if even the chair itself was holding onto the frail but unwavering hope that Zac would come around.

Despite how much his brother hurt him, Taylor missed him. And with each passing day of silence, he wondered if they were making it all the more impossible to mend what was broken. To ever be okay again.

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

"Where's the party at?" The loud voice of Taylor's best friend Marty came through the front door of his house before he pushed it open, a twelve-pack of beer in one hand and a large paper bag in the other.

"Not here, that's for sure," Taylor said from his reclined position on the couch, eyeing his empty house with just a hint of self-pity.

As Marty carried the alcohol into the kitchen and made himself at home, Taylor stifled a yawn and sat up, stretching. Following his birthday celebration with his family, he had returned home with every intention of passing out and sleeping for at least twelve consecutive hours. But he should have known that Marty would eventually stop by. His best friend wasn't one to pass up an opportunity to drink himself into oblivion.

"Man, come on. You weren't seriously thinking about going to sleep yet, were you? I'm pretty sure it's a crime not to drink on your birthday." Marty brought two bottles of beer into the living room, handing one to Taylor and taking a generous swig from the one still in his hand.

Taylor played with the label on the side of the bottle for a few moments, studying his friend in silence. He really wasn't in the mood to drink - in fact, he wasn't in the mood to do much of anything at all. If he had his way, he'd be buried beneath the covers of his bed where he could hide from the rest of the world until morning. But he knew that Marty would give him hell if he didn't have a beer with him, so he finally caved and took a sip. It tasted surprisingly refreshing. Before he knew it, he'd downed half of the bottle's contents.

Marty laughed from his position beside him on the couch, giving Taylor a look that said, That wasn't so bad, now was it?

"Thanks," Taylor said, raising the bottle to his lips and taking yet another drink. "Sorry for being lame tonight. I'm just not really feeling the whole birthday thing this year, you know?"

"Yeah, that's understandable," Marty nodded. "You've been through a hell of a lot lately. But maybe you should look at it this way - now you have an excuse to get completely shit-faced and not answer to anyone."

"True," he replied, although that knowledge didn't make him feel any better.

"Well, since you're obviously not into the idea of a birthday party, then how about we throw a St. Patty's Day party instead?" Marty's tone became suddenly serious as he turned to face Taylor.

"We?" Taylor raised an eyebrow at his friend warily.

"Yeah! Well, we'll have it at your house, of course. I mean, I'd love to have a party at my place, but it's so small and the bathroom still doesn't really work so that's kind of out of the question." Marty tipped the remaining drops of beer into his mouth before continuing to ramble on. "Anyway, I'll provide the booze and the hot chicks. All you'll need to do is stand there and look pretty. Which shouldn't be a problem for you, because let's face it - that's all you ever do anyway."

Taylor frowned and shoved Marty's chest, jostling the bottle in his hand; his friend just laughed.

"Seriously, let's do this!" Marty urged. "It'll be awesome. We can even make green beer!"

Taylor rolled his eyes. He didn't understand why people were so amazed by the fact that beer in fact turned green when a few drops of food coloring were added to it.

"I don't think I can," he said. "St. Patrick's Day is on Wednesday, right? I have to work that day."

"So what? We'll throw the party at night. I can come over early and set everything up. You'll barely have to lift a finger - I promise."

Taylor finished his own beer and stared at Marty with tired eyes. His friend's stubborn and persistent nature never failed to amaze (and exhaust) him. He reminded him of Zac in more ways than one. Sighing, he set his empty bottle on the table and ran a hand through his hair.

"Okay, fine, whatever," he relented, second-guessing his decision the moment he voiced it but knowing that it was too late to change his mind. A look of excitement crossed with sheer victory was already swimming in Marty's brown eyes.

"But don't make me regret this." Taylor eyed Marty sternly. His friend had a habit of losing control at parties, of drinking so much that he ended up puking wherever was most convenient: in the bed, in the hallway, in the bathtub, all over himself. Taylor made a mental note to stock up on Advil and extra cleaning supplies in the event that Marty's past behavior should repeat itself.

"Don't worry. You won't regret a single thing." Marty smacked Taylor's knee playfully and smiled before disappearing into the kitchen for more beer.

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

"I can't believe there's not even a TV in here anymore." Marty glanced around Taylor's mostly barren living room, adding another empty bottle of beer to the growing collection on the coffee table. It was several hours later and they were now alternating between beer and vodka shots. A dangerous combination, but Taylor was too tired (and now too drunk) to care. "I don't know how you haven't died of boredom."

Taylor followed Marty's gaze around the room, actually glad that the alcohol had made his vision a little blurry; he didn't feel like seeing the vivid picture of loneliness that his life had become. When Zac moved out, he'd taken the large flat-screen TV that had once sat proudly in center of the living room. Taylor didn't put up much of a fight when he claimed it; after all, Zac had paid for it with his hard-earned money and deserved to keep it, especially because Taylor got the house.

He frowned bitterly into his shot glass. Fighting with Zac was similar to going through a divorce; dividing up their belongings had been not unlike what he imagined took place in most property settlements. But in a way, this was worse than a divorce, because Zac was his brother, his own flesh and blood. Losing a piece of his family was like losing a piece of himself. Taylor tilted his head back and took another shot, letting the vodka burn all the way down his throat.

"Seriously, what the hell do you do in your spare time?" Marty asked, oblivious to Taylor's sad internal monologue.

"I don't know...I read, I eat, I sleep. My family gave me a Wii for my birthday, but I've been too lazy to figure out how to hook it up to the TV in my bedroom..."

"Say no more."

As Marty grabbed another beer and headed for the staircase, Taylor had no choice but to follow him. There was no telling the damage he could do when left to his own devices. Marty immediately got to work assembling the video game equipment, while Taylor stretched across his bed and buried his face into the dark blue comforter. He was starting to feel dizzy from the alcohol.

"Tay?" Marty's voice broke through his drunken haze. He struggled to bring the room into focus but found that he was seeing double. He really shouldn't have taken that last vodka shot. "Your extra Wii remote needs batteries. Do you have any?"

"Try the second drawer of the nightstand," Taylor mumbled.

He closed his eyes again and heard Marty rummaging through the drawer.

"Found 'em!" Marty's words of victory were followed by an unusually long silence. When he spoke again, he sounded more sober than he had all night, his voice low and coated with concern. "Taylor...what the hell is this?"

Taylor cracked an eyelid and found Marty hovering over him, a small velvet ring box in his hand. A flush darted fiercely across his cheeks as he lunged for the box, but it was too late. Marty had already popped it open and was staring with wide, disbelieving eyes at the diamond ring sitting in the center.

"Shit. Holy shit." Marty fell onto the bed next to Taylor, his eyes still glued to the ring that was sparkling intermittently in the dim light of the room. He held it at arm's length and seemed almost afraid of it, as if it had the ability to suddenly come alive and swallow him whole. "You were going to propose to her, weren't you? You were going to propose to Hanna..."

Taylor shut his eyes and began to slowly rub his temples. Surely this was all just a dream - no, a nightmare. But when he opened them, his friend was still there, the ring still sat between them, and his head still felt like it was about to explode, reminding him that this was all very real.

Yes, that ring was supposed to belong to Hanna Riley, the person he'd dated and loved for the last three years. The person who moved out of his house and left him mere weeks before he planned to pop the question. The person who'd managed to crush his relationship with his brother as well as his heart.

"Man, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say," he said. There were rare moments when Marty was speechless, but this was one of them. He looked as lost as Taylor felt.

"There isn't anything to say. I'm okay." But Taylor's broken voice betrayed him, revealing that he was anything but. He pried the box from Marty's hands and snapped it shut, throwing it into the drawer it had come from and slamming it with a finality that echoed through the quiet room.

"You deserve so much better than that, anyway. Once you see what else is out there, you'll realize that," Marty said, his tone an endearingly protective one that brought the faintest of smiles to Taylor's face. For all of the nonsense that Marty carried around with him all the time, he was a sweet and loyal friend at his core. Taylor knew that he was lucky to have him.

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Taylor said. "Now, how about a game of Wii boxing?"

"I hope you're ready to fight, Taylor Hanson," his friend challenged while attaching a nunchuck to his controller. "Because if not, then you're going down."

"Believe me, I am."

And he was ready. He was ready to fight with every fiber in his being for his passion, his life, his happiness. Twenty-seven was far too young an age to lose sight of those things, and he was determined to get them back.


<< Chapter Three >>