Page 138 of Down Bad

Best regards,

Aubrey Carson, Secretary

Office of Grant Bellamy

Bellamy Events

—28—

Diego

“Wait, they’re still doing Tumbleweeds Tuesdays??”

I’m in the break room about to clock out after a tiring day. My phone’s hanging in my grip as I stare at the calendar on the wall, feeling numb. Joel is going off after hearing where I’m headed. I’m not even here, can’t even listen to him or respond, fucking dead to the world.

“Think I’ll stop by with you,” he goes on, practically talking to himself. “Mindy won’t mind. And I’m in no hurry to get home. It’s Disney night. Again. Fuckin’ every Tuesday, man. Can only watch Frozen so many times before I’m ‘bout to let it go.”

“Fine,” I mumble, finally pocketing my phone, unable to bear one more thought today, then clock out at the computer.

“You okay?” He tucks his lunchbox under an arm. “You get a weird text or somethin’? You seem pissed. Like, more than usual.”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, heading off. He clocks out fast and hurries behind me to keep up.

He talks my ear off the whole way there, second-guessing if he should just go home, if he might be tempted to drink too much at the bar, if he should shoot his wife a text first. I couldn’t care less. All I want to do is see Wyatt’s face and have this day turn around.

Except I’m not sure Wyatt’s face alone can do that.

Awful lot of pressure to put on him.

And the last thing that guy needs is more pressure.

I don’t want to be a problem in his life. I want to be something he counts on, not something he deals with. In my short month in this town, I’ve seen him put up with too much already. And I’ll be damned to be just one more thing.

Tumbleweeds, a popular bar on Main Street that doubles as a steak-and-potatoes restaurant apparently, is already too crowded for my taste when Joel and I approach the front.

But I promised Wyatt I’d swing by, and didn’t I just get done saying I’m not gonna let him down again?

The second I step inside, it’s just noise. Laughter at the bar. Every booth and table filled with groups of friends and families shouting over the music.

And on a nothing middle-of-the-week school night?

“Two-for-Tuesday,” Joel explains, as if answering the thought in my head. “People go fuckin’ wild for any deal around here. Oh, hey, there they are. Yo, Lance! Wyatt!” He heads off ahead of me. I pull back, still unable to see them.

Then two heads move aside, and between them, Wyatt comes into view.

And suddenly I’m alright.

I see him laughing at something. Then leaning in to respond to someone. Lance, from the look of it. More laughter. He shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink, looking charming and happy. He points at Lance’s drink and asks something. He says something back. Wyatt chuckles and nods.

The longer I look, the more I see it.

The moment of blankness in his face each time he listens to whatever Lance says.

The tightness of his lips between speaking.

His empty smiles.

Something’s not right.