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will find a way. Fight for what you want, you've been doing it your whole life, why stop now?" says
the wisest woman in the world.
"You re the best, you know that, right?" I smirk.
"Yes, I know," she chuckles. "I love you, darling. I'm honored to be able to call you my
grandson."
"Thank you, Grams. I don t know what I would do without you. I love you, too."
After we say goodbye and I hang up, I let out a huge sigh. Damn, that woman always has a way of
making me feel better. Determination building, I get out of my car and head into Calvin s.
Chance
Well, it s finally happened. I m doing the one thing I swore that I would never do. Drink like my
father. And where am I? In a fucking bar, drunk as a skunk.
Parker fucking Hamilton finally got the best of me. It s my fault, really. I mean, did I actually
think that he would come out of the closet for me? He has a family and friends to worry about. I have
nothing. I am nothing. Except a drunk, just like dear old dad.
With my Yankees baseball hat pulled down low on my head and the fact that I haven t shaved my
face since the day my world came crashing down, I ve pretty much been able to be incognito in this
bar. I came to this place because it s in walking distance to my studio. I knew I was going to get
blasted, so why bother going anywhere for the atmosphere. It s mostly all toothless regulars sitting
at the bar with me and a few yuppy business men around the corner at the tables enjoying their happy
hour. I haven t had a happy hour in who knows how long. I haven t seen any women yet, either. So
basically, there is nobody here to bother me or that would have reason to know who I am.
I call the bartender over, signaling to him that I need another beer. I tell him to add a few shots
into the mix. I m not numb yet, and it s taking way too long to get there. A college age kid slides in
close to me, wanting to order another round for his buddies. When did they get here? He tries to
make small talk with me, but I just offer one word answers; he s not taking the hint. He is droning on
and on about how there are no hot women here when something catches my attention on the TV
overhead.
"Rumors of the possible love affair between Parker Hamilton and Chance Steele have been
confirmed by a close relative of Hamilton..."
What the fuck? I must be really drunk. There is no way&
Hey, man, anyone ever tell you that you look just like that Chance Steele dude they re talking
about? the dumbass asks, pointing at Harvey Levin from TMZ.
Nope, is all I answer, popping the p. I immediately throw back my shot.
This has got be a joke. He keeps on trying to talk to me but I completely ignore the tool and take
another sip of beer. Then it gets worse. Much worse. Intimate pictures start appearing on the screen
of us in very compromising positions. Parker must be freaking the fuck out. My stomach drops and I
think I m going to hurl. I drag my drunk ass to the bathroom and upchuck the entire contents of my
stomach, which is mostly alcohol. My chest is burning something fierce, and it s not from all of the
alcohol that just took two trips through my body.
I make my way back to my barstool, and the douchebag is back with his friends. I didn t even
know that there are pool tables back here. Guess that s why I didn t see them before. As I approach
my stool, I see two beautiful women sitting at a table a few feet from my stool. A bottle of water and
an appletini. As I get closer, I notice that the brunette is pregnant. A wild mess of curly blond hair
comes in to view. Shitshitshitshitshit. I put my hand to my mouth to smell my breath. Son of a bitch, I
reek of alcohol. Maybe if I just walk past them nonchalantly, they won t notice me and I can&
Chance? I hear my name. Do I ignore it? Can I pretend not to hear her? Motherfucker! Of
course not, these ladies have been nothing but wonderful to me.
I turn around and pretend to be surprised to see them. That s where my exceptional acting skills
come in handy.
Hey there, Delilah& Charlie-Q& Shit, I m wasted.
Chance, what are you doing here? Delilah asks with a frown.
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