by Amy Sumida
I’d managed to sneak off without the guys noticing over the past few days and have shown up at a couple of AA meetings. Sitting through one of those and seeing how much alcohol has affected their lives is enough for me to stop drinking as heavily as I have been recently. Not just that, but I don’t want to end up like my father. I owe it to myself, to the guys, and to Arlia if she ever gets into contact with us again.
Things have been tense between Morgan and me. We’re not fighting, but only because that's hard to do when neither of us stay in the room longer than five seconds together. Shayne, bless him, spends the little amount of time he has at home acting like a buffer between us. He even goes so far as to cook breakfast, hoping it'll get us in the same room long enough to work things out. I just don't know what I'm expected to do. I should at least say I’m sorry for punching Morgan, but I didn't like the shit he spouted about Arlia. It deserved a punch at the very least. Although, I don't think I'd have hit him half as hard if I’d stayed sober.
Finishing the job at Mr. Stuart’s house didn't take as long as expected once we got all the changes out of the way. It only took us two weeks from start to finish to wrap everything up. Not bad considering all the shitty weather we had dropped on us recently.
Once I leave the job site on the final day, I resist the urge to go to the club to check if Arlia’s at work. While I should go home and figure things out with Morgan, I decided to sit at my new, local bar instead.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I choose to ignore it. I know it'll likely be the guys, but I can’t face them. I don't want to face them. Guilt eats me up inside for punching Morgan, for blaming him for this huge mess, for even going through with this stupid plan in the first place. We should never have all fallen for the same girl, which is exactly what all three of us did: Fell.
If we had different plans and went somewhere else instead of to Jason’s club, we would never have met Arlia or needed to save her. Everything from then on wouldn't have spiralled out of control. My life, my friendship with the guys, now stands in tatters because of one slip of a girl, and I can’t even say it’s her fault. She had nothing to do with it. Which is fucked up, because we should’ve known better.
With a sigh, I take a swig of my drink to distract myself from my phone. I can sense the thing against my leg, like it’s burning a hole in my pocket. Huffing in annoyance, I take my phone out my jeans. Still unwilling to check the message, I place it on the bar top and idly spin it with my index finger.
I glance up when the barman passes by, caught off guard when I catch my reflection staring back at me from the mirror behind the liquor bottles on the back shelf. The bruises around my neck look better, now more yellow than the purple of a couple days ago. My eyes stand out the most, blood shot from little sleep. Even without booze, my appearance reminds me of how my father looked when we went to Maggie’s.
Frustrated with myself, I decide to get it over with, pick up my phone, and drag my finger across the screen. A message from Shayne pops up, the two little words making me groan.
Shayne: Home Now.
I'm half tempted to stew over it and not go home, but my annoyance at being summoned to the house wins out. Shoving the phone into my pocket, I drop a small tip on the bar for the bartender, who left me alone once I told him I didn't want to make small talk.
On the drive back to the house, a sense of impending doom hovers over me. It gets worse and worse as the distance becomes smaller between myself and the house. It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't feel like this, and I hate it. I live there, I should be happy to go home… But I’m not.
What will happen once Arlia gives us her decision to not continue our friendship? That's if she even contacts us at all. I can’t say I’d be shocked if she blocks all our numbers, deciding she’s better off not getting involved in this cluster fuck. Hell, given the chance to take it all back, I’d like to escape this fuckin’ nightmare as well.
I'm annoyed and all out pissed by the time I finally manage to find a spot to park the car, eight houses down from where I actually live, which is beyond stupid because I don't recognise the car that parked in my spot. It’s not one of my neighbour’s cars. Some inconsiderate asshole likely parked in my spot and fucked off into town or something.
Stomping up the steps, it takes two attempts to get my key in the lock. I slam the door open. I’d be surprised the glass in the door didn't shatter when it bounced off the inside wall if I wasn’t in such a foul mood. Instead, I rip my keys out the door, barely managing not to snap them, and throw them forcefully onto the side table. I don't bother taking off my shoes, because honestly, as petty as it is, I know it'll piss Morgan off if I walk dirt through the house.
I trudge down the hallway, heading to the living room, and barge in only to stop in my tracks when I see them both pacing the room. Their agitation deflates my anger instantly, like someone threw cold water over me. "What’s going on?"
Shayne sighs when he takes in the muddy footprints left by my shoes, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, he only says one word, "Arlia."
I frown in confusion and throw myself onto the sofa, mindful to keep my distance from Morgan. "What about her?"
Morgan stands in front of the TV. "She sent me a text. Asking for the three of us to come over to her house tonight for food."
"Why would she want that?" I glance up, staring at one of the two people I call my best friend, unable to stop my wince at the bruise around his nose and under his eyes. It makes the guilt and shame well up even more. I lost it so catastrophically with him.
"Doesn't explain why. Just that she’s doing dinner for the three of us, and to be there no later than seven tonight." Morgan's eyes soften when he notices my cringe, and I hate he’d hardened them against me to begin with. I don't like being at loggerheads with them.
Inspecting the clock, I realise it's already five. I must've been at the bar longer than I assumed because I finished work at three. I turn my attention to Shayne. "Shouldn't you still be in the office?"
He's been there all week until well past nine, working on some project the evil boss lady set him up with.
"I would've been there longer if Morgan didn't text me to come back to the house," Shayne explains before disappearing out the room.
I glance at Morgan, bitter he’d not involved me in the text he sent to Shayne. Does he even want me here anymore? I’m unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. "So, you couldn’t include me in the text? Why?"
Morgan sighs and drops his ass onto the coffee table. "I was going to, but I assumed if you got a message from me, you'd likely ignore it. I needed Shayne to text you instead, because I knew you'd be less likely to ignore him."
Groaning, I slam my head on the back of the sofa, utterly miserable. I don’t want a rift between the two of us, and hate that I caused it in the first place by being utterly fuckin' stupid. "I'm sorry."
"I am, too. I shouldn't have hurt you." The regret that fills Morgan’s voice matches my own.
"Finally! Now you should both kiss and make up, get yourselves cleaned, and wear something smart. We need to be on the road by six-thirty. We're finally going to find out what our girl has decided to do." Shayne holds a glass filled with an amber liquid to me, and I turn my nose up at it, which causes Shayne to frown at me.
Not wanting to hurt his feelings for not taking the glass, I quickly explain. “I’ve um… stopped drinking. And I’ve been attending meetings over the past week. I need to get myself cleaned up. I’ve been a mess and the last thing I want is to turn into my father.”
Shayne doesn’t say anything to me. Instead, he leaves the room with the glass and quickly returns with a glass of water instead. Gratitude fills me that they’re not turning this into something bigger than it really is, or patronising me for admitting I have a problem to begin with.
Digging the toes of each boot into each heel, I kick my shoes off, finally allowing my feet to breathe.
Morgan frowns at me, then goes to check down the
hall. "Dude! Tell me you didn't walk those filth-covered boots through the whole fuckin' house again, Benji!"
I smirk, knowing there’s definitely no hard feelings between us if he’s giving me shit over my shoes. "Chill. Let me drink this and then I'll run the hoover round. It's cool."
Taking a gulp of water, I sigh in appreciation when the cold liquid soothes my sore throat. Happy, I nestle farther into the sofa. Now this is what I'm talking about. A house no longer filled with dread every time I step through the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Blowjobs & Panic Attacks
A dark cloud hangs over all of us as we make our way over to Arlia's. None of us know what awaits us at hers, other than a good meal. I hope things will turn out better than they have been recently. She wouldn't offer to feed us if she didn’t want to go ahead with the relationship, right?
Groaning, I push my head against the cold window of Shayne's car. Lost in my thoughts, we pull into Arlia's street before I know it. Shayne turns the car off, but no one removes their seatbelts or attempts to open the doors.
Shayne sighs, grabbing my attention, and I barely make out his face in the dark. A streetlight farther down dimly illuminates inside the car, giving it an eerie touch. "Are we staying in the car? Don’t know about you, but I'm ready to get this shit over with."
"So, you expect her to turn us down, then?" Morgan’s voice rings out from the backseat. I don’t bother to turn around. If I struggle to get a good look at Shayne, I won’t be able to see Morgan at all.
"Aren't you thinking the same thing?" I question, watching as a car drives past, the brake lights bathing the interior in blood red.
"I'd like to imagine she would've settled with ignoring us if she thought she couldn’t go ahead with it. We’d have our answer that way," Morgan responds.
"Well, I'm not building my hopes up. I’m not going in there assuming she's okay with all this bullshit. If I don’t have expectations, then I won’t come out hurt at the end of it.” I make my voice sound uninterested, to hide the fact I’m spouting bullshit. There's no way I'm about to admit I'm halfway fuckin' in love with her, and have the guys call me a pussy for it.
I get a snort in reply from the driver’s seat. Glaring at Shayne, I give up with a sigh, and he drops his adult façade to chuckle. "Dude, you're in love with her just as much as the rest of us. I don’t care if it makes me some sort of pussy. She has me by the balls already, she just doesn't know it."
Well that complicates fuckin' everything then. We're pretty much fucked. I grumble, "What the fuck are we gonna do, then, if she turns us down?"
Morgan explains, "We go in, eat the food, listen to what she needs to say. At the end of the night, we'll either be in a relationship, or we'll be drunk and at Jason's club."
"Sounds like a plan. Let’s get this shit on the road before someone reports us to the cops for either staking the place out or being perverts.” Shayne unbuckles his seatbelt and takes the keys out of the ignition. “Spending the night in the cells isn't on my list of things to do tonight."
We all exit the car and stand at the bottom of the path that leads up to Arlia's place. Morgan and Shayne take the steps two at a time with purpose, but I hold back. I feel like such a wimp, but my crazy reason for still being a dick and not following them is that this screams ‘walking the green mile’ or something. I know it’s stupid. There's definitely not an electric chair waiting at the other end for me. No wet sponge being plonked on my head. But fuck. It's make or break time, and I hate not knowing what will happen. And what a fuckin' time to admit that I'm all out in fuckin' love with her. I don’t know what's going to happen if she turns us down.
Can a guy even be friends with a girl when he's in love with her? It would be torture for all of us.
The doorbell ring, brings me out of my thoughts. I buck it up the steps to stand beside my friends before Arlia has a chance to open the door. We went into this together, now it’s time to face it together. I feel slightly better when Shayne and Morgan give me reassuring nudges to let me know in their own way that everything will be fine.
I take a calming breath to settle my nerves a little, giving myself a silent pep talk: be nice, don't be a dick. The usual bullshit.
The door opens, and just like the first time, my breath leaves me. After a week of not being able to see her, she's as gorgeous as ever. I silently beg for this not to be some fucked up way of her turning us down. Like last time, she's not wearing anything fancy, just a pink t-shirt, light blue jeans, and little toes that peek out the bottom of her jeans. Fuck! What is this girl doing to us?
I watch in morbid fascination as she nervously wrings her hands together, the shyness of the first time more obvious now. Wanting to reassure her, I speak up, "Hey, sweetheart." When I lean in to give her a hug and a kiss on her temple, the smell of food hits my nose. "Smells amazing. What you cooking?"
The mention of food takes away her anxiety, her body relaxing slightly. I'm happy I'm able to at least decrease her unease. This must be torture for her, too, not only for us. Hell, she probably feels like she's being faced by the firing squad with all three of us here. I walk inside, leaving Arlia to stand with her back to the door. Shayne steps up in front of her.
"Nothing special," she answers and quietly says, “Hi,” to the guys.
"Well, I'm sure the nothing special will taste amazing, either way." Shayne hugs her, and also places a kiss on her head.
"Hey, sweet." Morgan comes through the door last, and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her away from the door. With his foot, he nudges it closed.
I lead the way down the familiar hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. The smell of food grows stronger, causing my stomach to grumble, demanding to be fed. I rub it, hoping to shut it up before Arlia hears its growls.
We take the same seats around the table we’d vacated last time. It feels different from the last time we were here, though. The newness from our first visit is gone, but all the same, we take everything in like it's the first time we've ever been here. Tension thickens the air.
"Want any help?" Shayne speaks up while pouring water from the jug on the table into each glass neatly set out.
"No, thanks. I’ve got it. I prepared most of it earlier. It only needs me to dish it up." She keeps her back to us, her shoulders tense.
We remain seated. Feeling inadequate, I wish for a way to make this go easier, but until she's ready to talk to us, we’re playing the perfect guests, all while ignoring the huge fuckin' elephant in the room, and I say in the room lightly. It’s more like the elephant sits on the fuckin' table, doing a juggling act and we’re forced to ignore it.
God, this is beyond fucked up.
Arlia brings over a giant pot, the small muscles in her arms straining from the weight of the thing. We all shift in our seats, wanting to take it from her. But she'll shoot us fuckin' down for offering to help. Bloody stubborn, independent women! Pain in my ass sometimes. Shayne settles for shifting the jug of water off the table to give her extra room to place the pot down.
We go through the motions of eating dinner in silence, the tension momentarily forgotten because our bellies are being filled with Arlia's amazing cooking yet again. But the fantastic meal has my mind wandering off to death row once again. Could this be classified as the last meal before we’re all walked to our deaths? I’ve got to stop thinking about this shit!
"How has work been?" I ask, hoping it will pull my mind away from last meals and death chairs, and any other morbid shit I can conjure up.
Arlia places her spoon into the bowl and pushes it away before she responds. "Not too bad. No problems, and Jason's hired some new guys. They don’t take any shit from the customers."
She barely touched any of her food, but I don’t comment on it. She's probably nervous. Honestly, if the rest of us didn't have iron stomachs, we'd likely be too nervous to eat, too.
"So, they're stopping some of the rougher guys from coming in? Finally, the dic
khead is doing something good," Shayne grouses.
Insulting her boss brings a smile to Arlia’s face. "Having you three put him in his place... I'm not surprised he listened to it. It's fighting you do, isn’t it Morgan?"
"I do. I don’t do it for money anymore, but I used to. It made it possible for me to buy my gym. I only train the guys up now, and take part in a few sparring sessions. I'd love to have Jase in the ring, but he's too much of a chicken shit."
"C-c-could I… Never mind," she stutters and stops. Grabbing her bowl off the table, she attempts to escape without finishing her question by tidying up.
"Could you...?" Morgan prods, trying to prompt her into voicing her question.
"Could I... M-m-maybe come along or something, one day?" She stutters through her question, but it only makes her even more adorable.
Then her words register. My eyes quickly shoot to Morgan and Shayne across the table. Spotting the same shocked expression on their faces, it likely matches my own.
Morgan's eyes sparkle and he smiles widely. "Of course, if you own some workout clothes then we could get you set up for a suitable day to do it."
What does this mean for Shayne and me, though? Is she choosing Morgan over us? Does she mean as friends only? So many fuckin' questions. She wants to reach out to him at least after today. That stings.
Shayne and Morgan use the ladle to fill their bowls up with seconds, but I hold back. The food in my stomach turns heavy, making me uncomfortable and weighed down. The back of my head begins to go tingly and sweat breaks out on my palms. I need to get out of here.
"Can I use your bathroom, please?" Both guys turn to look at me with matching frowns, but I ignore them. The walls are starting to close in on me, and I need to get out of here before I make a complete spectacle out of myself.
