The Halo Series Boxed Set Page 5

  “I know you have Jared, but I thought that you could be like my wing-woman or something. I’m not meeting anyone here, so I wanted to see what was out there. Plus, Mike never called me.”

  “What about online dating? I’ve heard that can be good.”

  “It could also be bad. You never know who you’re going to meet. They could murder you.”

  “There is a slim chance. Plus, when you meet these guys, you should do it in public. And,” I said, dragging out the word, “you don’t know who you will meet on a cruise ship, or hell, you don’t even know who you will meet at work or at a bar. It’s all the same, really.”

  “Whatever. I also thought it would be fun to go on a cruise.”

  “It totally will be fun. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Good, so you’ll be my wing-woman, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, giving up the fight. It would be fun with a lot of people our age partying.

  After closing the bar up for the night, I walked Bethy to her car and then jumped into mine. Every Saturday that I worked, Cheyenne and I had our routine on Sunday. Even though I had been working since eight the night before and doing other things, I always drove straight to my parents’ house and started making breakfast for them and my peanut before they woke up. After breakfast, Cheyenne and I would go home, throw in a movie, and I would pass out for a few hours on the couch until I needed to make dinner for us.

  “Hello, son,” my dad said, coming up behind me as I flipped a pancake. He grabbed a mug to my left for coffee.

  “Mornin’.”

  “How was work?”

  “Good. Same ol’, same ol’. Did you do anything fun last night with Chey?”

  “Your mother took her to the mall while I watched the game.”

  I grew up in Southern California with love for the Anaheim Angels—well, I still called them that. They were renamed The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim in 2005, but I didn’t like it. Since living in New York, my buddies would rag on me for not liking the Yankees or at least the Mets. My Dad and I had stuck with our home team, especially when they played the New York teams.

  Halo was named partly for the love of the Angels, but mostly for Cheyenne. I figured that one day, she would own the bar or be a part owner in it with Avery’s kids—if he ever had any—and I always told Cheyenne that Dana was looking down on her and is her guardian angel. Halo fit perfectly.

  “I watched a little, but we were swamped at the bar. They won, right?”

  “Of course,” he said, sliding the coffee pot back into the maker.

  The Angels weren’t the best team, but they weren’t the worst either; we had one World Series win under our belts. If you asked my dad, he would tell you that they won every game—even when they didn’t. The game the night before didn’t even count. It was just a spring training game that happened to be televised, but my dad was sure that since they won, it was a sign that it would be a good season.

  I finished making the pancakes, grabbed the bacon out of the oven and started to scramble eggs while my dad sat at the dining room table, watching me. He knew how to cook, but every Sunday morning when I was there, I did all the work.

  “Hey, honey,” my mom greeted me. She grabbed a cup of coffee and watched the show.

  “Everything good last night?” I asked.

  “Of course. Cheyenne and I went to the mall. Some store there lets you make your own jewelry, so she made something for her and Courtney,” she said, sipping her coffee.

  Cheyenne met Courtney when we moved to New York. Courtney lived across the street from us and had become her best friend. Before we moved, I was worried that it would take her a while to adjust, but one day she was playing in the front yard and ran to her room with Courtney in tow. They’d been best friends ever since—almost like Avery and me.

  “You two didn’t want to stick around and watch the game?” I asked, finishing the last of the eggs. I was about to go wake up Cheyenne, but turned around to see her sleepy self, walking into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

  “Dad, we watch baseball all the time,” Sleeping Beauty said.

  “What’s wrong with that?” I asked, pointing to a chair at the table for her to sit down.

  “It’s for boys.”

  “That’s not true. A lot of girls like baseball.”

  “No, they like softball—not watching baseball on TV.”

  I made a plate of the pancakes, bacon and eggs for her, then made mine as we continued our debate.

  “Your mo …” I paused. Even though Cheyenne doesn’t really remember Dana, she remembers things about Dana. I wasn’t hiding Dana from her. As Cheyenne has gotten older, we’d talked about her. I’d shown her pictures, taken her to California to see her other grandparents and Dana’s grave, and told her stories about Dana—especially how much she loved her.

  The reason why I paused was that it was still hard for Cheyenne to be reminded that she only had one parent. Courtney’s parents were still alive and together, and I knew that Cheyenne missed Dana. Mentioning Dana was sometimes hard for me as well. While we had dealt with her death, my heart still ached for Cheyenne. I wasn’t helping matters by not looking for my next wife, but I liked doing what I wanted and how I wanted to do it. It was nice not having a nag around, and honestly, I wasn’t ready since it wasn’t part of my plan. I told Cheyenne about a year ago that her mom and I were getting divorced when Dana died. I left out the reasons why but told her that we had decided it was best to end our marriage. Cheyenne understood because she wasn’t the only one in her class with divorced parents.

  “Your mom loved baseball,” I started over. “We used to go to Angels games all the time growing up and after we got married. We even took you a few times.”

  “You were so cute in your little Angels jersey,” my mom chimed in. “I think I have a picture in an album. I’ll show you after we eat breakfast.”

  “Whatever,” Cheyenne huffed. “I would rather go to the mall, Dad.”

  Cheyenne didn’t grow up with Dana, but she sure as shit had her attitude. It was amazing. It was like raising a mini Dana.

  We finished breakfast, and after gathering Cheyenne’s things, I drove her home. She picked Monsters University to watch, and I was just dozing off when I got a text from Avery.

  Avery: I’m coming over.

  Me: Dude, you know I worked all night and C and I just got home. I’ll just talk to you at the gym later.

  Avery: I’m 2 mins away.

  I sighed. Avery should know better; it damn well better be an emergency, or I would kill him.

  “Uncle A is on his way, Peanut. When he gets here, I’ll talk to him for a bit and then come back and watch this with you. Okay?”

  Cheyenne was on her cell phone, not watching the movie. Did she do this every Sunday? Kids these days practically had a cell phone in their hand at birth. It was crazy, but at the same time it gave me piece of mind that I could track her down and get ahold of her whenever I needed.

  “He can watch, too, you know.”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  I kissed the top of her head and went to answer the front door. Avery wasn’t two minutes out, more like thirty seconds. Fucking bastard.

  “This better be important,” I greeted him.

  “Dude, calm the fu …” Avery looked over my shoulder. I assumed Cheyenne was behind me, since he regained his response in a whisper. “Seriously, I have some fucking awesome news.”

  “If it involves me going back to sleep in the next five minutes, I’m all for it.” I grudgingly stepped aside so he could come in.

  “What up C.C.?” Avery asked, addressing Cheyenne.

  He had a thing about abbreviating names; he never called anyone by their real first name. Just a few months ago when Cheyenne started to have Dana’s attitude, Avery gave her the nickname C.C. (Cheyenne Crawford). When Dana and I got married, Avery called her D.C., and Cheyenne loved to be called C.C. by Avery since her mom was D.C. He tried to call me E.C. when we me
t in the Kindergarten. I’d punched him in the arm and told him that was stupid, so he’d resorted to E.

  Avery had been my best friend since we were in diapers and lived across the street from each other. We would terrorize the neighborhood. One time, we filled water balloons and shot them over my fence at passing cars. We never once got caught.

  Another time I stole a matchbook from my parents, went over to Avery’s house, and we started lighting the matches on fire in his driveway. We were stupid and started gathering dead leaves to catch on fire. It would have been fine, except we weren’t lighting them on the cement of the driveway; we were lighting them near the bush that the leaves fell from. The small fire from the leaves started to burn the bush, and before we knew it, the flames were huge.

  We ran inside, told his mom, and she called the fire department. That was the day I decided I didn’t want to be a fireman. That guy was an asshole and gave us a lecture. We were young —maybe twelve—and thought we knew it all. Obviously, we didn’t know how to put out fires.

  “Uncle A, want to watch this with us?” Cheyenne asked, pointing to the TV.

  “I would love to, but I need to talk to your daddy. We are going to California!”

  “We are?” Cheyenne’s eyes lit up, looking away from her phone.

  “We are.”

  “We are?” I questioned. What the fuck was he talking about?

  “We are.” He winked at Cheyenne and then went to the dining room and sat down.

  I followed, not having any other choice. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, sitting across from him.

  Cheyenne was far enough away that she couldn’t hear us talk, and now that he’d given Cheyenne hope that we were going to California and possibly getting to see her maternal grandparents, I wanted to kill Avery.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—”

  “This can’t be good,” I said, leaning back in my chair, crossing my arms.

  “All the girls that come into the bar really only want one thing.”

  “I know, I’ve told you for the past two years that you could be getting laid nightly if you would just follow my lead.”

  “You know that isn’t what I want,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

  “Dude, seriously, just have fun and look for the one that you so desperately want to find.”

  “Well, if this plan doesn’t work out, then I will. Okay?”

  “What plan?”

  “So, like I was saying,” he got up and walked into the kitchen as he spoke, “I was thinking of what I haven’t done to find the future Mrs. Scott. You know I’ve tried the online shit—that didn’t work out too well, and yeah, okay, I see hot chicks at the bar, but they just want to fuck.”

  “You think?” I laughed.

  Avery returned with a glass of orange juice. He wasn’t a guest, and even though he didn’t live with Cheyenne and me now, he had when we’d first moved to New York. Avery moved to a townhouse not far from my house and my parents’ house, so all three of us were only about a twenty to twenty-five minute drive into the city where Halo was located.

  Living in New York was very different from California. Long Beach had all the hustle and bustle, but New York was far worse. I’d traded in my truck for a BMW not long after we moved here. It was much easier driving a car into the city than my pick-up.

  “Yes, I know,” Avery stated, taking a sip of his juice.

  Since moving to New York, I knew of a few chicks Avery had met and hooked up with, but it wasn’t in our office at the bar. He was looking for his wife, so he would wine and dine these chicks. You know, buy them dinner and shit. Date them.

  Avery had shaggy, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and a lean frame. Growing up, we worked out together, played baseball, and while I had a little bulk to me, he was thinner, but all muscle. Women loved him, but he always found the crazy chicks.

  There was this one chick who he tried to break up with; she locked herself in his car. Then there was another one who apparently had an iguana that watched them have sex. And he questioned why I wasn’t looking for my next wife? Case in point.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I heard from Bethy that she knows a guy who met his wife on a singles cruise.”

  “A what?”

  “A cruise that’s only for single people.”

  “I know what a singles cruise is, dipshit. It just sounds like a Friday or Saturday at Halo.” I laughed. “A lot cheaper than going on a cruise, too.”

  “I know, but this way I don’t have to buy them dinner, and there will be hundreds to choose from. And, dude, this is a cruise. We have money. Won’t that be fun?”

  “I guess, but how are we both going to go? Who’s going to manage the bar?”

  “I think Bethy would be good, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I guess she would be. How long is the cruise and where are we going?” I yawned.

  “Eight days and Mexico.”

  “Eight days? You think Bethy can manage the bar without us for eight days?”

  “We can have more than one manager or something. Look, you’re my best friend and we’re both single, and I want to go.”

  “What about Cheyenne?”

  “That’s why I told her that she was going to California. She can stay with Bill and Trish.”

  I watched Avery drink the last of his orange juice while I thought about what he was proposing. The longest vacation that I’d had in the last ten years was when I would fly Cheyenne to California in the summer to see her grandparents. I didn’t stay with her. I flew with her to Long Beach on the weekend, flew home, worked and then two weeks later, flew back to Long Beach to pick her up.

  “And when is this cruise?” I asked.

  “Second week of April—for spring break. Fucking Mexico for Spring Break! Can’t you picture all the hot pieces of ass in their bikinis?”

  “You need to get laid.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “I thought the point was to meet the one?” I mocked him.

  “I’m going to try. If it doesn’t work, I’ll take your approach. It’s been a long time since I’ve fucked.”

  It had been a long time since I’d fucked, too. Anessa and I stopped after she gave me head, and I returned to work while she went out and danced with her friends, finally letting loose and removing the stick from her ass. I didn’t see her the rest of the night. Maybe a ship full of chicks with nowhere to go and on the prowl was a good idea after all.

  “You know that it would just be cheaper to fuck a chick you met at the bar, right?”

  “Just let me try this,” he said, crossing his arms. “Also, asshole, one day some chick is going to knock you upside your head. I know you’re not looking for the one, but you can’t be single and unhappy forever.”

  “I’m not unhappy. I like my life, and I’m doing what’s best for Cheyenne.” I leaned back in my chair with my arms crossed over my chest to match him.

  “Cheyenne needs a mother figure.”

  “Dude, I can’t just bring chicks in here on rotation and hope that one’s the one.”

  “No, but you can stop being an asshole and start opening your eyes. Dana’s death has nothing to do with your happiness. She wasn’t the one for you. You were getting divorced for Christ’s sake.”

  “I know,” I murmured.

  “Just think about it. There is always a princess for every asshole. You just need to stop being one and open your heart again.”

  “Why do you sound like Dr. Phil right now?” I laughed.

  “Fuck you! I just want you to have a good time on the cruise and maybe find the one, too.”

  “Are you going to see your parents?”

  “Yeah, if we have time. Doubt we will since they live in Santa Barbara now, but I’ll see if they can meet up with us.”

  “All right, let me call Bill. What are the dates again?”

  Avery searched on his phone for the dates as I called Bill. I knew he wouldn’t care if I left
Cheyenne there for a week. He and Trish wanted to see Cheyenne more than the little they did, which was typically once a year. Cheyenne was there for a couple of weeks in the summer, and then Bill and Trish came to New York for Christmas. I really tried to let them see Cheyenne as much as possible, but it was hard with the bar.

  After speaking with Bill, I handed the phone to Cheyenne to let her speak to her grandparents. When I walked into the living room, she was still on her phone. My baby was growing up, and before long, I knew I’d have to buy a shotgun for when she started dating.

  “Daddy!” I heard Cheyenne yelling from down the hall, waking me up out of my deep sleep. “Daddy, where are you?”

  “In my bedroom!” I shouted back.

  She found me as she came running down the hall, Courtney following closely behind her. “Courtney was just telling me that …”

  “Slow down. Stop talking so fast,” I said, trying to wake up and figure out what the fuck she was saying.

  “Courtney was just telling me that she is going to play softball again this year and she wants me to play, too. Can I play, too? Can I? Huh? Can I?”

  “Cheyenne, calm down. I thought you didn’t like sports?” I asked, sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Over the years, I’d assumed she didn’t like sports since she’d never expressed an interest in anything but Barbies, riding her bike and kicking Avery’s ass at Wii bowling.

  Courtney stood in the doorway of my room, watching me. “No, I told you that I didn’t like baseball,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes.

  “You know that softball is like baseball, but just with a bigger ball right?”

  “Yes, Dad!” Cheyenne stood there, her hand on her hip with her blue eyes pleading.

  “All right, when are sign-ups?” Dana and I both played baseball growing up, so it was natural for her to follow in our footsteps. I couldn’t wait to throw the ball around with her.

  “Courtney said tomorrow,” she said, looking back at Courtney for confirmation. “She also said I need to get a glove. Can we go get a glove tonight?”