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[sub][b][color=#75779c]Location[/color][/b]: Husker's Bar > Pines Holler Fairgrounds         [b][color=#75779c]Interacting with[/color][/b]: N/A[/sub]


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His first day out of uniform started off at Huskers, glass of whiskey in hand with a full bottle within arm’s reach. While it wasn’t standard practice for staff to allow patrons an entire bottle, the bartenders knew him well enough to save themselves a headache. He didn’t intend to drink the whole thing—but he’d said as much before.

Still, he wasn’t about to prove Dallas’ fears correct. He knew his drinking was a problem, but frankly, not in the sense that she thought. Alcohol may have been what brought his demons out, but it didn’t create them. He and Dallas were good together—he firmly believed that—but the relationship had ultimately unearthed a darker side to himself he’d never seen before, and it was one he would fight like hell to never show again. After having months to reflect on his unforgivable behavior, he knew it was his buried past that was the cause more than the alcohol.

It was a broken heart that duct-tape and desperation weren’t enough to actually heal. Yet Valen didn’t believe in shrinks any more than he believed in meds. Apparently, time didn’t do a damn thing either, so he wasn’t sure what the hell kind of fix was left. At least not one that wouldn’t have a stranger trying to refer him [i]right back[/i] to a shrink or meds. 

He’d known since the start she was too good for him, and certainly much too young—though the last part seemed irrelevant now that she’d moved onto someone even older than he was. He took another swig, staring blankly at his now half-empty bottle. [i]Clive Evermore…[/i] He let out a derisive scoff. Of course she’d get taken in by a man who was absolutely wrong for her. The more word spread that the two were becoming involved, the more he’d found himself fixating. Despite the man's shady history, the townsfolk didn’t seem to harbor any ill will towards him—which left Valen wondering what they knew that he didn’t.

He could have asked someone like Ettie, who seemed to have an open ear for every conversation in town, but he didn't actually keep close enough ties to ask. Besides, he didn’t actually care to know. He needed to hold onto the belief that Clive was a lowlife. It left him with a last shred of hope that maybe there was still a space for him to redeem himself. Though sitting at the bar, downing the last of his glass, was probably not the best way to go about that. 

Ten minutes later, his tab was paid and Valen was standing in the parking lot, scraping the paint off his Explorer with the key—not that he cared. The number of scratches surrounding the keyhole were enough that he’d stopped being annoyed about it years ago. Once he’d slumped into the driver’s seat, it was a short drive to the Fairgrounds. He’d been going back and forth all morning on whether to even bother showing up. He had never been one to enjoy celebrating holidays, let alone crowds—his job had sufficiently snuffed that out of him back in his twenties—but it was better than spending the entire day at Huskers. He’d made it out of the bar before he’d gotten truly drunk, at any rate, which should count for something. He was tipsy, at best. Almost drunk, at worst—but still a far cry from the black-out state that Dallas would be devastated to see.

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