Comin' Home to You Read Free

he persisted. But how would she answer was the question. He and Grace had quite the virulent history. Their relationship was off and on, mainly because she wanted more in terms of a relationship, while he was content with how the way things were. This had went on for about two years, until a few weeks ago, when she decidedly had enough and broke it off. In that time frame, she was seen out and about with a couple of different men. A week ago however, she came over to his home unexpectedly, fucked him in such a splendid way that he could recall each second from the first kiss to climax. Then, she promptly left when he decided to go grab a beer instead of holding her. After that encounter, her anger toward him increased almost exponentially.
    As he was thinking about her, Grace answered the phone in her typical southern belle accent. “What the fuck you want, Owen?”
    “Just seeing what you were doing.”
    I'm in the middle of my shift.”
    “Sounds like you aren't that busy if you are talking to me, babe.”
    “I am not your babe, Owen. Not anymore.”
    “Baby, come on-”
    A peculiar silence caused Owen to look at the screen of his phone. He chuckled dismally after seeing that she hung up on him. It was just how she was, but he loved that temperamental side of her. He'd see her when he got to Louie's, whether she wanted to see him or not. He was sure that if he talked to her in person, she'd be wooed by his charm and would have no choice but to go home with him.
    Pulling into Louie's, a place just outside the main town area, he parked his truck in the gravel lot that constituted parking space. From the outside, the bar and grill was nothing special to look at. It was just a fairly large building made of metal siding, with a large neon sign above the door that stated the name of the establishment. Fortunately, the inside had a lot more allure to the modern patron. Entering the building and taking his usual seat at the bar, his eyes scoured the area for Grace. The bar itself had two large flat screen televisions for the sports crowd. He had watched many games there in the past, mainly Dallas Cowboys games. The restaurant as a whole was dimly lit, with lacquered wooden tables strategically placed on the painted concrete floor. Owen raised a hand at the bartender, signifying that he wanted a drink. Bubba, a bald, burly man with a plethora of tattoos placed the usual dark stout in front of Owen.
    “Man, Grace saw your truck pull up. As soon as she saw it, she went and hid in the fuckin' kitchen,” said a smirking Bubba.
    Owen took a sip of the beverage. “She'll have to come out at some point.”
    “She looked fuckin' mad, dude. How'd you piss her off now?”
    “Hell if I know. I called her on the way here just to see what she was doing later. Not sure why she got mad.”
    “Well, try not to piss her off any more, man. She's been a real bitch since she dumped you.” Bubba trailed off toward the end of the sentence, just in case someone else was listening.
    “Any idea why?”
    Bubba shook his head as he went to attend to another customer, leaving Owen alone with his thoughts. The bartender was a solid person to talk to, though he had difficulty saying a sentence without including at least one curse word. While taking another drink, he was stunned by a sharp, but fleeting pain in his chest. These pains were yet another result from the cirrhosis, and while Owen understood the reasoning of why he was in pain, he was almost at peace with it. With every drink of beer, I bet I get closer and closer to dying. But every drink also makes me happier. I can't deny making myself happy...
    While he drank almost every night, he never considered himself to be an alcoholic. What person would bestow himself with such a negative title? Owen never had symptoms of withdrawal whenever deprived of alcohol, though on retrospect, there were no extended periods of time in his adult life without a drink. He had been called an alcoholic by his