WAKE

By Sammy Ball

Jo Barton, an author, has drinks at the Stick. Joe Heath is the barman and a friendly person. Jo leaves her credit card behind, and Joe walks to hand it back to her. As he gets to her apartment door, Joe catches Jo as she passes out. This is their story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885056779

Book preview

1

It’s over, plain and simple. It ended.

Okay, smart girl, what do you do with it? We had an affair; he is married, and I knew that going into this mess. I miss him, but he has cut me out, off and down. He says he doesn’t love me, and I wonder if he ever did.

I am Jo Baron, writer and real chick. I am almost thirty and trying to have fun with my life. My best friend Teri helps with that.

I believe my married ex may become a character in one of my books. Hmm. I can write pages and save them, tell about things and fill in pages with the lies he told. I have finished my latest that I have been struggling with for the past three months, but I think it’s pretty good. The married ex became priority instead of my writing, and I got behind. It was a killer to finish on time.

My publisher likes me to put out two books a year, which has been a good setup for me. I can write a book in three months then have a bit of time off, write a second book, and have a bit of time off. Do you see a pattern here? If I use the affair as a base for a book, I can have several months off. Hmmm. I write when I can, and I have files on my computer with snippets of stories.

For the moment, I am headed to the Sticks, which is the local watering hole, to meet up with Teri. She is my absolute best friend, and she knew about my affair. At one point, she told me it would end badly, and she was right. We never say, I told you so; we simply support each other no matter the mess.

I check my hair in my bathroom mirror, putting a ponytail and braid in. Good Lord, it has gotten long, but I like it. I put the last clip into place and walk out to my kitchen, grabbing my keys, cell, and credit card. I lock my door and head down the stairway.

I live on the third floor of an ancient apartment building. I own it and I love it. The insides are brand-new, but the outside looks circa 1942, after the bombs went off. I have been here for four years, after a heart attack took my dad. My mum died of cancer when I was three. It was Dad and me forever, but now it’s just me. I have an aunt in Kansas and a cousin on the West Coast, neither of whom I want in my life. Aunt Bess is my mum’s older sister, and she always implied that Dad was doing a bad job of raising me.

I can drive a stick shift, shoot a gun, throw a punch, and take one. Tomboy was mentioned more than once. Aunt Bess decided that Dad should not teach me anything and it should have been her job. My cousin is a girly girl, nails painted, hair done perfectly, dresses that cost more than a car. That is not me—I wear jeans, T-shirts, and Converse Chucks. I swear like a trucker when it’s needed, and I don’t lie. No Lies No Bullshit is my tattoo. That is simply me.

As I get to the bottom of the stairs, I notice that Riley, the sixty-five-year-old doorman, is not at his usual spot, his desk. Huh, weird, I mumble to myself as I walk toward the front doors.

Help me, I hear the familiar voice whisper.

I look down past the desk and see feet. Riley is moaning, bleeding, and swollen. I squat down and take his hand as I call 911 and explain the situation to the dispatch. She is asking many questions, none of which I know the answers to as I hear the ambulance sirens getting closer. I don’t know. He is my doorman, I say as the ambulance pulls up. They are here, I say, and I put my phone in my back pocket as the EMTs come through the door. They take vitals, ask more questions that I don’t know answers to, and start an IV.

I do know he is sixty-five and married, with three grown children and a few grandchildren, along with his last name, O’Malley. The three EMTs finish getting him set up to go, and they wheel him out of the building. Riley is a mess, but he is alive. One of the EMTs thanks me for the info, and they are gone.

I get my cell out and call Teri, telling her I will be late and I will explain when I see her. She is still asking questions when I shut my phone off. I look down and see blood on my jeans and T-shirt, so I head back up the three flights of stairs to change.

By the time I arrive at the Sticks, I am thirty minutes late—no harm, no foul. Teri is always late, and she looks as if she has just arrived when I locate her at the bar.

Okay, chick, what the fuck? she greets me.

Hello to you too, I say, giggling, as we air kiss and I sit next to her. She orders a French red wine that I cannot pronounce and I get a screwdriver. I love me some vodka.

I tell her about Riley, and she is not happy with this situation as the barkeep drops off our drinks. Teri seems to suck down all her wine. What the holy fuck? she starts. I thought your building was secure and one of the safest in the city. Are you safe there? Who will watch the door? You must come home with me. I don’t like you being there alone.

I put my hands up in a defensive motion and reply, I am a big girl, and I can handle anything tossed at me. I’m good. I very much do not want to stay with her because I am a neat freak and she is 100 percent slob. I love her to bits and pieces, but good Lord, she is messy.

She shoots me a look over her now empty wine glass as I pick up my screwdriver to have a sip. I swear your middle name is stubborn, Teri says, getting the barkeep’s attention for a refill.

Stop. Thank you for the offer, but fuck no, and you know my middle name is Linnea, I say with a giggle and have another sip of my screwdriver. I am sure the management company will have someone at the door tomorrow to replace Riley as he recovers. Please let this go. I have finished my drink and gesture at the barkeep for another, who nods.

Teri knows better than to keep arguing with me; she won’t win. When I was a child, people used to tell me to become a lawyer because I can argue points well. Writing was a better choice for me because school and I weren’t much friends, and lawyers seem to go to school forever.

Our drinks arrive, and Teri is telling me about her latest man—tall, dark, handsome, smart, funny, and rich. He sounds wonderful, I say, sipping my screwdriver.

She looks at me and knows something isn’t right. When? What happened? That fucker broke your heart, didn’t he? I mentioned that getting involved with a married man was a bad idea. Teri isn’t being mean or saying I told you so. She is telling truths.

A couple of weeks ago, but it’s been ending for a while. It’s over, we are done. I have cried until I couldn’t breathe, and the ache in my chest is almost unbearable at times. I knew it would end badly, and it did. I told him to stay with her. He said he would fight for me, and it was all words, no follow-through. Totally my fault for believing the bullshit, I say, and I finish my drink. Teri has finished another wine.

Teri reaches around and hugs me as I wipe a tear. I hug her, and we order two more drinks before we head out. I stop at four. That is my limit. If there are five drinks, there are issues, and it’s not pretty. Yuck.

Okay, I am done. How about you? I say, getting the barkeep’s attention. I think his name is Jerry; he is the new guy. The barkeep that we know and who knows us is Joe. We are here often enough so he sets us up as we walk in, but he is busy at the bar tonight, and the new guy has been serving us.

I hand Jerry my credit card, and he disappears with it. I am checking my phone when he returns with it, and I set it onto the bar top. No word from my married ex, which is good. I am feeling a little whooshy, and I can’t figure out why. Four drinks and I am always still okay to walk, but my feet aren’t agreeing with me this time. I am stubborn, so I make them work.

Joe offers us an Uber; Teri takes it, as she lives across the city, and I will walk the three blocks home. I would offer Teri to stay with me, but we both have work tomorrow, and I simply cannot deal with the mess she will leave me. My bathroom would never forgive me. I giggle at this thought.

Okay, what the fuck, chick? she asks me as we leave the Sticks to wait for her Uber.

I am giggling at how messy you are. I love you, but holy shitballs, you are a slob, I reply, and we both laugh.

It’s part of my charm. She giggles to me as Uber drives up.

She gets into the SUV and waves as she drives away. I start the three-block walk. I am careful as I still feel off, but I get my rhythm. I stumble a bit but don’t fall. After walking this for four years, I know every crack and dip in this sidewalk.

I hear something behind me, so I step a little faster, and so does what I hear. I am being followed. I rush to my front door and enter my building, running to the staircase. I bolt as well as I can, upward to the third floor. I get to my front door and find my keys as someone puts a hand on my shoulder. I turn and almost scream.

It’s Joe, the barkeep. You scared the crap out of me. Why didn’t you speak? I ask.

He smiles at me. Ms. Barons, you forgot your credit card. You were almost running on the sidewalk, and I didn’t want you to fall. Once you got inside, you sprinted, and again I didn’t want you to fall as you were almost falling forward, he says with a chuckle.

I yam perf-ectly f-f-in-ne, th-than— I say, and my vision goes a bit fuzzy. I stumble, and that’s all I recall.

2

Great, I say as I catch before she face-plants. She is passed out, and I knew she had enough after three, but she and Teri do as they please; they both have told me that enough over the years.

I get her key out of her hand and open her door as I hold her against my chest so she doesn’t fall. I flip on a switch, which is the foyer light, and step us inside the doorway. I shut the door with my foot and carry her to the couch. I lay her down but prop her head up, and she tips over. She is out of it. I laugh and look around for her bedroom. I lift her off the couch; she is lightweight as I carry her to her room. I sit her down and remove her jacket and sneakers then I lay her down. I kiss her forehead and wish her a good sleep. Her cell has fallen out of her pocket. Nice ass, I say with a chuckle, and I leave her to sleep, hopefully not to wake with a horrible hangover.

I leave her cell, credit card, and keys on the counter, shut off the foyer light, lock the door from the inside, and pull the door closed, quietly. I walk down the three flights of stairs and wonder how the doorman, Riley, is doing. I heard a bit as I was working the bar that he had gotten beaten up, and my guess was it has something to do with gambling. I have seen Riley at the bar with questionable people—debt collectors, loan sharks, and their associates. They are all bastards.

I walk past the desk and hope that this has taught him a lesson or two. He is an elderly man, not a weak man, but he shouldn’t be doing this bullshit. He is old enough to know better, but not my issue. I start the three-block walk back to the Sticks.

We close at 2:00 a.m., and I have a few more hours to go. I like my job; people can be interesting with their stories. Funny, sad, dramatic, but never boring. I guess when they need an ear, I am their go-to barkeep. I listen and feel like their priest as I get told all sorts of things from illegal to immoral, but I never repeat what I hear. None of it is my news to tell.

I am Joe Heath, thirty, single and trying to have fun. Never married and no kids, but I am getting a dog. A Boston terrier named Betty—she is a rescue, a year old, and house-trained. I think she will fit well into my life; the web page says she is lovable and affectionate. I can’t wait to meet her tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. My grand had a BT named Champ.

My grand was a wonderful man. He raised me after my parents died in a car crash when I was four. Grand stepped right into it and took over. The courts tried to get between us with legal bullshit and my dad’s family members, but Grand wouldn’t hear of it. He was keeping me no matter what they said.

My nana passed away before I was born. Grand explained all to the courts, saying that he would take care of me and I would take care of him. My dad’s family members had their own children and lives to live. My mother was his only daughter, and she would have wanted this. I sat through the court meeting, not quite understanding most of it, but Grand prevailed. My uncles all said that if I got to be too much, they would step in, but Grand said, I have this. He did. He took excellent care of me, and I did the same as the Alzheimer’s took him from me.

He thought I was his buddy, Jimmy, and I played along. I learned a lot about the man and the things he did while in the war. I believe he and Jimmy fucked their way through Germany, England, and France. I never judged him for anything he did, as I have done some of the same things. Grand has been gone for two years, and I miss him daily.

3

I wake with a hellacious headache. I never get badly drunk and am in control most of the time. Teri and I watch each other about this stuff. I am trying to recall how I got into bed, home, up the stairs. The last thing I remember we were waiting for an Uber. Everything else is a blank. Someone was chasing me. I think I recall Joe, the barkeep. Was he chasing me? Damn, my head hurts. I need Advil, lots of water, and Advil.

I swing my feet off the bed and almost fall out. Damn, I do not feel well. The clock says 8:30 a.m. I never sleep this late, as I am a 5:00 a.m. girl. Oh well, I will return to the Sticks and ask Joe what he knows.

I get my Advil and head to the kitchen to make coffee. I find my cell, credit card, and keys on the counter and have no memory of doing that. Did Joe help me? I make coffee, and four cups later, along with a cup of Cheerios, I feel better as the Advil has kicked in. I shower, dress, and head to the bar at noon time to find Joe.

4

At 10:00 a.m., I walk into the rescue and meet with the people about Betty. They bring her to me fifteen minutes later. I am in love. She is beautiful, funny, and sweet. She was rescued from a puppy mill situation in Kansas. I was told she would have either been a breeder or sold to a pet store. They are telling me more information about her background, but I am simply paying attention to my new girl. I pay their fee, and Betty leaves with me, sleeping in my arms as I walk to the truck by 11:00 a.m.

I drive my girl home, set her into her new bed, turn on the radio, and leave for the Sticks. She is snoring and seems very content. The Sticks opens at noon and closes at 2:00 a.m. every night. I have done this since the place opened four years ago. I worked opening night and have been here ever since. The Suttons, who own the place, liked me from the first meeting. I remember what people order, and my drinks skills are amazing. I have been head barkeep since the second day, and we have gone through a lot of help because I expect perfection, as do the Suttons.

She refers to me as a keeper and calls me son. I would do anything for them. They bought this place after the previous owner had a staffing issue. Theft was mentioned, and Knackered was shut down. The Suttons updated and computerized everything, and the Sticks was opened after refurbishing; it has done well ever since. The drinks are great, the food is wonderful, and the help respects my choices. I enjoyed working at Knackered, but the Sticks is simply better.

I respect the Suttons, so I run this place as if I own it. I am their go-to person for things. Questions, accountability, orders, and supplies all seem to go through me, and I like it. I deal with the hiring and firings as well. The Suttons trust me, and I trust them.

My new hire, Jerry, shows up at 12:05 p.m. Late and I am not impressed, but I don’t say anything. He is working the bar with me. There is something about him that I simply don’t trust, but his skills with mixology amazed me. He knows almost as much as I do—that’s why I hired him.

You disappeared last night, dude. Chasing a chick? Jerry asks.

Jo Barons left her credit card on the bar, so I returned it to her. Nothing more than that, I reply, and he gives a wicked grin. What’s the grin for, dude?

Nothing. She seemed pretty out of it. I hope she is okay. I saw you leave after her. Jerry walks to the breakroom to store his stuff.

Me too, I whisper to myself.

5

I arrive at the bar fifteen minutes later. When I walk in, I see Joe behind the bar, setting up glasses and wiping things down. Hiya, okay, what happened last night? I kind of remember you but not much else. Can you fill in the blanks? I ask as I sit down.

You left your credit card on the bar, I followed you home, caught you before you smacked the floor, put you to bed, and returned here, he tells me while putting the last glass in place.

Oh, well, um, thank you for the save, I say with a smile and a wicked blush. My stomach isn’t feeling very well, good grief.

He stops moving, turns, and walks to where I am seated. You are welcome. I was worried because something seemed very off last night, and I know you can handle your vodka. I was going to offer to walk you home, but then I saw your card, and I followed you. He is blushing a bit while he is speaking. I saw how busy he was last night, so how did he know something was off?

I didn’t feel well when I left, and I sort of remembered you following me. Thank you for filling in the blanks. I, um, should get home and start writing my next book. Thanks again, Joe, I say in a rushed sentence as I get off the bar stool. My stomach is feeling queasy, and I want to get home.

Would you like some lunch? he asks, and I shake my head. You know we have the best burgers in town, he adds with a smirk.

No, really, thank you. I have to go, but you may see Teri and me tonight. I hurry out the doors with him chuckling at me. I rush the three blocks toward home, climb the stairs, open my door, and rush to my bathroom. I throw up the remains of my Cheerios. I rinse my mouth and brush my teeth then call Teri. She is busy with her business, Mocha T. It is a coffee bar with pastries, and everything is made with Teri’s expertise and love; she is a genius with pastries.

Hey, chick, how are you this morning? I am highly caffeinated and full of sugar because of the cinnamon roll I devoured. I do love my cow flaps, she says without taking a breather.

Teri, put the fucking coffee pot down and switch to green tea or decaf, for God’s sake, I say without too much of a giggle, and I think I hear her put a carafe of coffee onto a counter. How did you fare last night? Did you make it home safely?

All good. The Uber dude was a funny man, and he opened the door to help me out of his SUV. I was tipsy, but not bad. How did you make out?

I tell her about Joe, my credit card, passing out, and the trip to the bar today; I leave out the part about getting sick.

Holy fuck! Are you okay? You should have called me. You know you can always call me, Jo. She is wired for sound at this moment, and her tone changes. This is my Teri, not quite bipolar but not quite normal. Weird. Hmm, maybe someone slipped something into your drink? she says, and I agree with her thinking.

The new barkeeper, Jerry, maybe? He seems a bit odd to me. There is something about him that I don’t trust. Joe hired him for his skill, as the man makes an amazing cocktail, but I get the feeling that Joe doesn’t quite trust him either.

I tell Teri we are going to the Sticks tonight, and she is very happy about this plan. We hang up, and I head to my computer after putting on a pot of coffee and grabbing a cup of dry Cheerios. I tap the On button, and as it whizzes and whines as it warms up, I see my screen saver. It is a photo of me and my married ex. I tap the Settings button, delete the photo, and replace it with the stock ocean view.

I open my word processor and start to type. I always start with a sentence and see where the story goes. As I type, people fill out, and I edit as I go to make sure everything flows correctly. I am fifty pages in when I hear my phone ringing. I see Teri’s name and our vacation picture of the two of us in Paris from a few years ago. Teri?

Chick, change of plans. My man has planned a wonderful night for us, and I couldn’t say no. I’m sorry for the short notice, but I know you understand, she says, and I do.

No problem, sweetie. Have a blast with your man, and you can tell me about it when I see you, okay? I reply, and I get the feeling she may have thought I would fuss at her about this. Seriously, woman, have fun and I will see you probably tomorrow. We giggle and hang up. It’s now 4:00 p.m., and I am hungry for a burger. I shut down the computer and walk to my bathroom. I sit and pee three cups of coffee, wipe, wash, and get some makeup on. Eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick are my go-to. I fuss with my hair and decide to wear it down. I am being brave, and I giggle at this thought. Me, brave?

I am ready at 4:30 p.m., so I lock up, putting my phone and keys into my inside pocket of my jacket. I place my credit card into my breast pocket, and I walk down the stairway. I see a man standing at Riley’s desk—tall, dark, handsome. No, wait, I lived that movie. I giggle as I step closer to him.

Hello, I am Jo Barons, I introduce myself, and I stick my hand out to be shaken. He turns it and kisses my knuckles. Um, okay, eww.

I am Peter Lang. I will be here for several weeks as Riley recovers. It is very nice to meet you, Ms. Barons, he says, letting go of my hand. He opens the door and asks if I need a cab. I tell him no and start to walk away, but he stops me.

Ms. Barons, I don’t want you to think I am too forward, but I would like to take you to dinner at some point in time, if that is acceptable to you, he asks me. Good Lord, he is formal.

Okay, Peter, we can do that, but you must call me Jo. Ms. Barons is too formal for my tastes. We will figure out when and where at another time. I’m out. See you later tonight. Bye, I say, and I walk the three blocks to the Sticks, giggling as I walk. That was a bit weird and way too fussy. I giggle harder. He was sounding as if he was speaking to a duchess or something, and I am laughing hard by the time I enter the Sticks.

Joe brings me a drink, but it’s not a screwdriver, and he looks at me oddly. Cape codder. Maybe it was the sugar high that messed with you last night? These are great, made with vodka, just less sweet. I take a sip, and it’s good, cranberry and vodka. I may have a new favorite.

Thank you, I reply. Had a funny moment before I left my place. It’s all good. I have another sip, and I like it. Joe walks to the other end of the bar as a few people have gathered and want to order. Jerry walks over to me and asks how I am feeling. He mentions that I didn’t look good last night when I left. Thanks, Jerry. Just what a girl wants to hear. I roll my eyes at him and laugh; he laughs too.

No offense intended, but the drinks hit you harder than usual, and I was a bit worried. Then I saw Joe leave after you, he says, and he walks to help Joe. When he is finished filling and serving a round of beer, I call him back over. Yes, what can I get for you? he asks, and I roll my eyes again.

Answers, I reply, and he shrugs. Did you notice anyone around here last night, maybe watching the drinks? Maybe he saw something but doesn’t realize it?

No, I didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. You and your friend were at one end of the bar, the college crew was at the other end, and the general mixers were in between. Why do you ask? he asks as if he knows the answer already.

I thought someone may have drugged my screwdriver last night. Joe helped me out, and it was okay, I say, looking him dead in the eye, and he flinched. I don’t believe he realized he did it, but I saw it. A slight shoulder movement and I saw it. The bastard flinched, and I know he had something to do with last night.

Sorry, I didn’t see a thing, but I will keep a better eye out from now on. Geez, that is awful, and I hope you are feeling better now, he says, and a customer calls for a beer. I have to go. He walks to the customer and refills the beer mug.

One of the waitresses stops and asks if I want anything from the kitchen. I order a bacon cheeseburger with pickles and mustard along with a side salad. She nods and goes to the POS station to tap the keys for the order.

I see Jerry speaking to Joe, and they are looking my way. Joe starts to walk toward me but gets distracted by a very young and very blonde drunk chick. It is way too early to be that drunk; it’s only 5:15 p.m. She may have been drinking before she arrived at the Sticks. It’s not my business, but her behavior makes me think that she could be a character in a book. I giggle at this thought as I watch. Joe is calming her down; she thinks her drink is too watery, so he makes her a new one. She is flirting, hopelessly, as she is just twenty-one if she is a day, and he isn’t interested. He likes women, not girls. Joe is a man of principles.

The young chick finally settles down and returns to her table, a bit wobbly, but she didn’t injure herself. She plunks in her chair, and the table laughs as does she. She almost swallows her drink in one gulp.

Joe makes his way to me with a determined look on his face. Jerry says you think you may have been drugged last night.

Yes. I think Jerry may have been involved. He flinched when I spoke about this to him. I know body language, and he flinched, I reply, and Joe looks at me for a second, turns, and walks back toward Jerry.

What do you mean I’m fired? You can’t fire me! I don’t work for you. The Suttons own this place, not you! Dude, what the fuck? Jerry is screaming, and he heads to the breakroom. When he gets inside, he slams the door. The place goes quiet for a second then returns to full volume. I see Joe moving toward the breakroom; he looks at me and winks.

The other two barkeeps have arrived, and they are busy. Andy and Alex—great guys, those two. They both shake their heads, continue to fill beer mugs, and make drinks.

I hear yelling and things falling in the breakroom, but it’s so loud in the bar no one notices. The door opens, and Jerry storms out. He is bleeding from his nose, a lot. I slip off the barstool and walk to the breakroom, as I am concerned about Joe. I walk in and see Joe is bleeding from his mouth. Are you okay? I ask, knowing it is a dumb question. The man is bleeding; no, he is not okay. Really, Jo?

I’m okay. I gave what I got. He sucker punched me, so I punched him back, and he got worse than what I got. He wipes his mouth, and it bleeds a bit more.

You may want to get that checked. You can’t bleed into the drinks. Um, they have health laws about that shit, I say, and he chuckles then stops. His lip is split. He gets a towel from the bathroom, and I volunteer to take him to the ER.

I’ll drive, I say as he gets his keys and phone. He looks shocked. I have a license, dude, and I had a car until six months ago. I sold it to buy something for the married ex. I need something newer anyway. Mine was fifteen years old and ran like shit. Besides, you are bleeding, I say, and he hands me the key when we arrive at his truck.

I climb into the driver’s seat, and he gets in the passenger’s side as he taps keys on his phone. He calls someone named Barnes. He is an inspector for the town, and Joe tells him about Jerry and what happened. I hear half of a conversation, but it sounds as if Inspector Barnes will investigate this.

I have known Barnes for a while, and he is a good man, Joe tells me as he holds his split lip.

We arrive at the ER twenty minutes later. I park, and we walk in. Joe walks to the desk and is given paperwork to fill out. I ask him what Jerry said.

He admitted to drugging your drink. He put Rohypnol into it. I didn’t ask where he got it. Then he punched me, I punched him, yadda, yadda, yadda, he says, and I smile at him.

I always felt there was something I didn’t trust about him, but he is excellent at mixing drinks. Lesson learned, and I will trust my gut as I usually do. Joe has soaked the towel; I think he will need stitches.

I have researched up Rohypnol for one of my books. It can be nasty stuff. Thank you again for the save. I owe you, I say, and he smiles, which makes his lip bleed worse.

Fuck, he says, and I walk to the nurses’ desk.

My boyfriend needs to be seen now. Is Doc Jones around? Can you call him and tell him that Jo needs him asap? The desk nurse looks pissy, but she calls the doc. Teri is accident-prone, and Doc knows me because of that.

He will be here in five minutes. Follow me, she says, and I motion for Joe to come along. He gets up and is dripping blood onto the floor. We are taken to a room, and the nurse gets Joe a new towel before she leaves.

Boyfriend, huh? Joe asks me, all wide-eyed, and I giggle.

Well, I could have said my barkeep, but you may have waited for another hour. Doc knows me through Teri and my first night in town. I sprained my ankle, and he fixed me up. He is about a million years old, but he is kind, and I like him.

Joe is holding the bloody towel against his split lip, and I can see a smile then more blood. Fucking Jerry, he says, and then he blushes a little. Sorry about the language, but he plain sucker punched me, and I am pissed, he explains, and I nod then giggle.

Dude, no worries about language. Because of my writing, I can swear in several languages, and it’s all okay. I am still giggling when Doc Jones walks in.

Hello, young lady. How are you? How is Teri? What’s happened here? He steps toward Joe and pulls the towel away. Okay, son, I can have that fixed with a few stitches. Doc gets an ice pack and his sewing kit as Joe tells Doc the gist of the story without the Rohypnol part. I believe Joe understands how important Doc is to me, and I simply don’t want him upset because I am fine. The bleeding has finally stopped, and Doc gives Joe a shot along with three stitches. Joe’s lip is swollen and looks very tender.

Okay, son. The shot was pain medication and an antibiotic. I am writing a script for seven days of antibiotics and a script for pain meds. Your lip will be tender, and you should be fine to eat, but I would suggest small bites. He chuckles, and Joe eye rolls. Any problems, return here, and I will take care of it. The stitches will come out in seven days. Just return, and I or someone can remove them. He and Joe shake hands, and Doc kisses my cheek. We are done within forty-five minutes. Joe takes his prescriptions, and we walk out to the truck.

I can drive, he says, and I shake my head. His lip is looking very sore.

No, I will drive. I like your truck, by the way, I say, getting into the driver’s side, and he doesn’t argue with me. We head to the drugstore and wait fifteen minutes for the prescriptions then head toward his house. He tells me his grandfather built the place in 1940, and when I see it, I am loving it. It’s a beautiful ranch.

I park, and we get out and grab the bag of meds. When we get to the front door, I hear music playing. Music for my girl, Betty. Come in and meet her, he says to me.

I am in a panic of sorts; Betty must be his girlfriend. I didn’t think to ask him about anyone at home, and I am so embarrassed. No, um, you go ahead and get inside. You need to heal up. I can get an Uber. It’s not a problem. I get my phone and start to step from the porch.

Jo, Betty is my Boston terrier. I picked her up this morning from the local rescue. Come inside, please, he says with his swollen lip, and he takes my hand. I put my phone in my pocket as he unlocks the door, and we walk inside to find Betty snoring on the couch. That is my girl, he says as Betty opens her eyes, rushes to him, and is jumping around wiggling her butt.

Aww, sweet girl, I say as he picks her up. Betty is licking his face but avoiding his lip. She is gentle with her daddy.

Joe blushes a bit as he puts her down, Okay, girl, that’s enough. Betty walks to the backside of the house. I think she may have to go out. Excuse me. Joe follows Betty, and I follow Joe into the big kitchen. There is a door which Joe opens, and Betty walks outside. Smart girl. I let her out once, and she remembered, he says, with some pride. Little Miss Betty seems to be very smart, and I smile about this.

You need to rest. Here are the meds from Doc. I still have the bag in my hand. He opens the bag and removes the bottles of medication. He takes one of each. I will get out of your hair. I get my phone and tap the Uber app.

Um, I really don’t want you to go, he says, and his eyes droop a little. I think the shot that Doc gave him is working along with the other meds. He opens the door to let Betty in, and she walks back to the couch, jumps up, and lies down. I see a dog bed near the fireplace, but Betty knows where she likes to sleep.

Doc said you will be fine, stitches out in seven days, and you need to rest, I tell him, still in amazement that he wants me to stay.

I like you, and I’m not good at saying things correctly. I’m no jerk, but my relationships are fleeting because I try not to get attached. He takes a breath and says, I’m not saying this correctly. I want you to stay, please. He yawns as he looks me in the eyes with absolute truth in his words.

Okay, let’s get you to bed before you fall down. Joe nods and points down the hallway. I wrap my arm around him for support, and he hugs on to me. We walk past three bedrooms and a large bath into another big bedroom at the end of the hallway. This room has a private bath that appears enormous. Very nice, I tell him, and he nods as he yawns.

Grand built it in 1940, and he wanted a lot of room. The shot is kicking Joe’s ass, and he sits on the bed.

Okay, big guy, let’s get you to bed, I say as he lifts his foot to remove his sneakers, and he smiles at me, crooked because of his lip.

Joe is all thumbs with his sneakers, so I slap his hands away and remove it for him. He sort of lies back and passes out. I remove his other sneaker and