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Chapter Six
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He'd said eight, but, just like yesterday, he walked into the bar a
half an hour later, when he'd finally gotten the courge to go inside.
He stood near the entrance, his eyes scanning over the crowd. And he
hoped, just like yesterday, Dave hadn't thought he'd been stood up.

Apparently, he hadn't. At least, he was still there. He was sitting at
a booth, eating a burger and fries and drinking what looked like soda.
He was watching the televisions near the bar, which one John didn't
know. There was a hockey game on one, news on another, and the last
had the latest episode of "Friends."

John came up to him, and this time Dave spotted him before he reached
the table. He smiled, kept doing so even as John sat down, and it
must've been a some kind of infectious disease because John found
himself smiling as well.

"I found the place," he stated, still grinning.

"I can see that," John replied.

"You want a drink or something to eat, or something?" he asked,
indicating his own food. "It'll be on me."

"Yeah, sure," John said, and Dave called the waitress over. "I'll just
have what he's having."

"You want a soda too?" she asked.

"Uh.. no, get me a beer," he replied. "Corona." She left, and they
were alone again in the booth, in their private corner of the world.
John's eyes drifted to the television for a moment, but he could only
see the hockey game from here. That had never interested him much, so
he turned back to Dave, trying to think of something to say. "You,
uh.. you don't want a beer or something?

Dave shook his head. "No. I don't drink." John must've looked
surprised, remembering Dave and him partying alone at the mansion,
because he continued awkwardly. "I, uh.. " He pursed his lips for a
moment, and then rolled his eyes, presumably at himself. Finally, he
said, "I got addicted to drugs."

"Drugs?" John asked, startled.

"Yeah," he replied, almost sheepishly. "You know.. coke, mostly. I
dropped some acid once in a while, but that was.. " He shook his head;
he obviously hadn't liked it. He glanced up at John with a small
smile. "I got pretty fucked up after.. you know.. "

"Sorry," John said, mostly because he couldn't think of anything else
to say.

"No, no, it's cool," he stated, brushing off John's apology. "It was
my fault. I just.. got too much into the scene, I guess."

"But you got off them," John said.

"Yeah, I'm clean now," Dave assured him. "For like.. four years."

"I'm glad they have programs like that in Grenada."

"They don't," Dave replied, and suddenly he began to fidget. "I, uh..
I mean, I just.. I.. I -- "

"Bacon cheeseburger?" It was the waitress, interrupting their moment.
She seemed to recognize it and quickly ducked out. "Here's the check,
boys, you just give it to me when you're ready."

"Thanks," John said, smiling politely. He looked back to Dave. "What
were you going to -- "

"I have a son."

It felt like a physical blow. The breath had been stolen from him, and
now all John could do was sit there, frozen, eyes wide. He blinked
once, twice. But it still took him a few moments to find his voice.
"What?"

"His name is Matthew," Dave continued quietly. "He lives with his
mother in Grenada. I stopped.. for him."

"A son?" John repeated, still fazed. Dave nodded. "How.. how old is he?"

His supposed friend looked away. "Four."

"Three months??" John nearly yelled, drawing the attention from nearly
everyone around them. He lowered his voice, hissing with anger.
"That's how long it was, give or take, right?? Three months, Dave? It
took you three months to get over me??"

"I was fucked up!" Dave protested, leaning foward and holding out his
hands pleadingly. "John, when his mother told me she was pregnant with
my kid, I didn't believe her. You know why? Because I'd never seen her
before."

"Go plead your case to someone else, Dave," he spat, sliding out of
his seat.

"John!" he called, but he didn't stop, he headed for the door and out
of it. Dave followed him, because he could never do what he was
fucking supposed to. "John, please, wait!"

"Shut up, Dave," he called back over his shoulder.

Dave grabbed his arm, John's own forward momentum swinging him around.
"John, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry isn't good enough!!" John yelled, and then stepped back,
calming.. defeated. "Three years, Dave. Three fucking years. That's
how long it took me to get over you. And here you can just start
having a great time fucking around three *months* after the fact??"

"John, I said I was sorry," he said, his voice laced with desperation.
"I made a mistake! I was fucked up, what do you want me to do?? I
can't take it back now!"

"That's right," John spat. "You're going to have to live with it."

And so was he.

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To be continued..
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