From the time Dillon had left the church, he’d told himself that one drink was all he needed. But as he’d gotten closer to Porsha’s, he’d decided that maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. Then, just as quickly as he’d made up his mind to forgo it, he’d driven past a bar that was no more than ten miles from Porsha’s house. Still, he’d kept going, but the more he thought about his father and the stressful day he’d had, he found himself making a U-turn in the middle of the street and heading back in the direction he’d come from.
Now he sat in the parking lot of Benny’s Tavern, debating whether he was doing the right thing. If he went in, it would only be for a few minutes and just to have one drink. He’d told himself those same words over and over, so he wasn’t sure why he still hadn’t gotten out of his car. Maybe it was because a small part of him did worry that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. But at the same time, he did believe he was cured. If he hadn’t been, he never could have gone two years without drinking at all. He also hadn’t attended more than ten AA meetings before leaving Atlanta, and that was only because his inpatient treatment counselor had insisted on it. His counselor had told him that the most successful alcoholics joined AA and attended meetings regularly. He’d also stressed that meetings needed to be a part of Dillon’s life from now on. Dillon had heard him, but it hadn’t been long before he’d realized he didn’t need them. He’d discovered that he could stay sober on his own, and then when he’d become a minister, he’d decided that if he ever got weak, he would simply pray about it. But when he’d moved back to Mitchell and founded New Faith, he’d known for sure he wouldn’t be attending any AA meetings—ever again. For one, he didn’t want his family to know he’d once had a drinking problem, and secondly, he didn’t want his parishioners to know that their pastor had been labeled an alcoholic. There was no way members of any congregation could respect a leader such as that, and it was the reason he’d also never as much as told Raven about it.
Dillon breathed deeply and stepped out of his vehicle. He walked past three rows of cars, and while it was a Thursday night, the parking lot wasn’t full. This was likely because it was only six in the evening, because Thursdays at a bar tended to be just as busy as the weekends. His hope had been to leave the church early so he could head over to Porsha’s a lot sooner, but Brenda had reminded him about a meeting he had with the president of a local organization. Dillon had wanted to cancel it, but because he had a huge place in his heart for all nonprofits that helped underprivileged children, he’d kept the meeting on his schedule. He hadn’t known what he was going to tell Raven, because there was no way he’d be home from Porsha’s before ten or eleven o’clock. But to his surprise, Raven had called him, saying that if he didn’t mind, she and Dana were running by a couple of shoe stores. After that, they were going to dinner and a movie. Her call had been too good to be true, but she’d mentioned something about Dana having to work the entire holiday weekend, so they were having a girls’ night out this evening. Dillon hadn’t cared what the reason was and had just been relieved he could still go be with Porsha.
As he pulled open the glass door and walked inside the bar, he glanced at his watch. It was a quarter after six, so if he was in and out of there within the next half hour, he could be at Porsha’s by seven. He could spend time with her for a couple of hours, take a shower, and be home by eleven. From the way it had sounded, Raven and Dana were going to the movie theater last, which meant whatever they were seeing probably wouldn’t start before nine. If for some reason she got home even a few minutes before him, though, she still might question where he’d been, so he pulled out his phone and texted Vincent the following: “I should be home by eleven.”
This was code for I’ll be home by eleven, but if Raven calls you before then tell her I just left your house and I’m stopping by the store on the way home.
From the time Dillon had begun seeing Porsha, he’d set up that particular text arrangement with Vincent, just in case he needed an alibi. Whenever he got together with Porsha, he sent Vincent that same message, and the only thing that ever changed was the time. He always entered the approximate hour he was planning to arrive home. Then, once he hit Send, he deleted it.
Dillon strutted farther inside the bar and looked around. It was a nice establishment, but he hadn’t been to a place like this in a long time. Not once since he’d left Atlanta, and he hadn’t wanted to. He’d had his moments of wanting to drink, but even then he’d only wanted to buy something from a store.
He walked past a few tables, unbuttoned his classic gray suit jacket, and sat at the bar. ESPN aired on two flat-screen TVs behind it, and there were multiple rows of liquor bottles. Vodka tonic had always been Dillon’s go-to cocktail, and tonight would be no different.
A gentleman with a thick salt-and-pepper beard stepped in front of him. “What can I do you for?”
“Vodka tonic.”
“You got it.”
Dillon glanced around the place, which wasn’t huge but wasn’t small, either. There were patrons of all ages, and they were mostly men. That is, with the exception of the two thirtysomething-looking women in the corner. One of them smiled at him, and Dillon returned the gesture.
“Here you go,” the bartender said. “Enjoy.”
Dillon pulled money from his wallet and set it on the counter. “Thanks.”
Back in the day, he would start a running tab because he knew he’d be drinking for a while, but tonight the drink in front of him would be his only one.
He sat there with his hands clasped together on the bar, staring at his glass. Did he really want to do this? After going this long without taking one sip of alcohol? Maybe he should just leave and head over to Porsha’s the way he’d planned and call it a day. He had so many reservations, but already just the smell of the vodka that the bartender had prepared for him was drawing him in. The smell was so intoxicating that he could almost taste it.
Still, was it truly worth it? Especially since his out-of-control drinking was the reason he’d lost job after job and lost his aunt Susan’s home? He hadn’t lost it because of lack of payment, but he’d sold it to get the money and then squandered every dime of it away. She would have been so disappointed in him. But this was all a result of the way his father had rejected him. Curtis had pretended to accept and love him, but he’d never shown it in the right way. He’d never made Dillon a priority over his other children, and for whatever reason, that had been the one thing that had bothered him most. His father had owed him that, and after all this time, he still wouldn’t give him the love and respect he deserved…and then today, he’d talked about him on national radio as though it were nothing.
Dillon’s body heated up with anger, and his heart began to race. It was then that he loosened his tie, lifted the glass to his lips, and took his first drink. He hissed and frowned from the bitter taste and loved it at the same time. He took another gulp of it, and then another…until the glass was empty. He hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, so it didn’t take long for the liquor to calm his nerves. This was the reason he’d wanted a good, strong drink in the first place. Being calm was what he needed, and this vodka tonic had done the trick.
He was fine now and ready to leave for Porsha’s. Until the woman who’d smiled at him walked over. Dillon turned and looked at her long, flowing black hair and deep-cappuccino skin, and there was an immediate attraction.
“Want some company?” she said.
“Actually, I was just on my way out.”
“So soon? You just got here.”
“I know, but I have someplace to be.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” she said, eyeing him up and down.
“Oh yeah? Why is that?”
“I was planning to sit down and keep you company.”
Dillon looked over at her table. “It looks like you already have some.”
“That’s just my sister. She and I decided to meet after work for a drink, but she has to get home to her husband. I, on the other hand, don’t have one,” she said, looking down at his wedding band.
“I think I’d better go.”
“Couldn’t you just stay a little while? You know, just to have another drink, maybe.”
Dillon wouldn’t tell her this, but the more he felt the liquor taking effect, the more he thought about maybe having a second one.
“Come on,” she said, touching the top of his hand. “One drink together, and you can leave.”
Dillon thought about Porsha and how she was surely wondering why he hadn’t arrived at her house yet, but he’d be on his way as soon as he finished his final drink. This one would definitely be his last. He was sure of it.