Nothing Like Him

by Jessica Roe

  Though I'd been all for the two of them finally getting their shit together and admitting they were in love, I have to admit I'd been kinda worried their coupling off would shift the dynamics of our friendship. Hell, I'd been worried things would change completely and they wouldn't have place for a single guy like me in their group anymore, that I'd become the annoying third (and sometimes fifth, when Blair and Silver are around) wheel, but I shouldn't have even thought it. My friends are too damned awesome for that shit. It didn't happen, and things stayed pretty much as they'd always been, except now at the end of the day Nash and Ivy go home and boink. And I'm never one to begrudge someone a good boinkfest. Nathan Alders is all about the pros when it comes to boinkfests.

  And yeah, I may have lost a wingman in Nash, but to be honest I haven't needed a wingman in a real long time. I can pull that shit all by myself. I've had enough practice.

  “What about you?” Nash wants to know, a devilish grin tugging up one corner of his mouth. “Don't you think it's about time you found yourself a woman to settle down with instead of sleeping your way through the female population of New York? We're twenty seven now, bro. We ain't dumb ass kids no more and we sure as hell ain't getting any younger. You not starting to feel like you're missing out on somethin'?”

  This only goes to show what being in a relationship has done to my whipped best bud, because before he and Ivy hooked up he used to go through almost as many women as me.

  Laughing loudly at his words, I tip my head back as I bellow. “You kidding?” I want to know when I'm calm enough to actually form words again. “My life is awesome, and who the hell am I to mess with awesome, right? Why ruin a perfectly good thing when it is clearly working for me?”

  Nash just guffaws at that, and I have to work just a little to keep the grin pasted onto my face. The same cheesy grin that everyone always expects from me, because I'm just that guy. The guy who's always ready for a laugh and a good time. The guy who never lets anything get him down. That's what people expect from me, and I rarely fail to deliver.

  But privately, and this isn't even something I'd share with Nash and I'm closer with him than almost anyone, a small part of me can't help but mull over his question and think. . .what's the point? What the hell is the point in finding someone to settle down with when I went and lost the only woman I've ever loved almost ten years ago?

  “Hellooo?” a cheerful voice yells from the hallway as Ivy lets herself in, home from wherever it is she's been all afternoon. “Nash? Bamboo? My two boys home?”

  “In here, baby,” Nash calls back, an involuntary smile appearing on his face at the prospect of seeing her again, like he didn't just see her three hours ago. I roll my eyes in amusement – love turns even the toughest of guys like Nash into little bitches at times.

  She practically dances in, tossing her purse and coat over the back of Nash's armchair before leaning down to give him a long, lingering kiss. Like, seriously fucking long. To the point where it's just indecent. I mean, come on guys. . .

  Tutting impatiently at them like one of the judgy old broads who gather outside church to gossip every Sunday, I clear my throat to remind them they have an audience, and Ivy immediately straightens up with a flush. Nash just pulls a wide, shit eating grin.

  Ivy blinks when she looks over at me; once, twice. It's like she's been frozen in surprise by the very sight of me and she doesn't know what to do with it. Surely she's not that embarrassed to be caught making out with her man? I've seen them in way more compromising positions than that before.

  “Nathan!” she exclaims finally, way too brightly to come off as natural. “Hey! I didn't know you were here.”

  I salute her with my beer bottle, raising an eyebrow in question at her odd behavior. This isn't the first time she's acted peculiarly around me recently. In fact, she's been goddamned shady every time we've hung out. I'm pretty sure she's been avoiding seeing me alone too.

  Deciding not to dwell on it, I shrug it off, putting it down to woman shit. Because as much as Ivy's always been one of the guys to us, she still is in fact a woman, and no matter how many of 'em I've slept with over the years, I will never understand how their fucking minds work.

  “Where've you been, babe?” Nash asks her, his hand resting comfortably on her hip when she perches on the armrest of his chair, like when she's near he needs to be touching her in some way. “I was still asleep when you left.”

  Her eyes widen just a fraction at his question, and her gaze darts from the floor to the ceiling, pretty much anywhere but at the two of us. “Um. . .out. Just out.”

  Nash and I share a look. Unfortunately for li'l Ivy, the two of us know her way too well for that kind of bull.

  “Something's off with you,” I comment shrewdly. “Something strange. . .”

  “You're being cagey,” Nash agrees with an investigative raised brow.

  I snap my fingers when he gets it in one. “Yeah, cagey! That's the word. That's exactly the word. Cagey is what you are.”

  “I'm not being cagey!” she protests, a little too quickly and definitely too forcefully. Her head darts back and forth comically as she glances between the two of us. Seeing our disbelieving expressions, she reiterates, “I'm not!”

  Nash shrugs a shoulder at me. “Cagey as fuck,” he confirms.

  “As actual fuck,” I agree. “What's going on, Ives? Spill.”

  Her cheeks get that peachy glow about them, that telltale sign of hers that she's trying to hide something. I don't know why she bothers, because the more secretive she is, the more curious we get and the more determined to wangle the truth out of her we become. Clearly deciding to take the avoidance route, she full on ignores our demands and mumbles something incoherent as she stands and hurries into the kitchen.

  Huffing in frustration, though with a look of pure adoration of his face, Nash heaves himself up and leaves his beer bottle on the low coffee table. “Excuse me a minute while I go deal with my pain in the ass of a woman.”

  Bamboo and I share a look of bemusement as Nash follows Ivy into the kitchen. It's only seconds before the low hum of bickering begins. Those two, they love each other more than life, but even more than that they love to drive each other completely nuts.

  Attempting to at least try to give them a little privacy, I hold my open hand out to Bamboo and he immediately trots over to pass me his rabbit, only to start savagely fighting for it again a moment later. This dog is crazy as actual shit. I fucking love the hell outta him.

  I genuinely try not to listen to Nash and Ivy go at it at first, but then I hear the unmistakable sound of my name being mentioned and my ears immediately perk up, all bets off. Hell, I never claimed to have any restraint after all.

  So. . .Ivy's caginess, it has something to do with me?

  “. . .got to tell him,” I hear Nash command in a hushed voice as I shamelessly listen in. But not hushed enough, buddy. “He has a right to know, baby.”

  “But-”

  “Besides, we both know he's gonna find out anyway, one way or another. Don't you think it'd be better coming from us, rather than some gossip hungry ass hat in town?”

  “But she begged me not to. Specifically said that she doesn't want-”

  “What the hell are you guys talking about?” I demand, strolling into the kitchen after dropping any false pretenses of giving them privacy. “You're talking about me, right? What is it I have a right to know?”

  I'm cool with secrets, secrets are fine. If someone has a secret they don't want to share, then who the hell am I to question it? But not when it's a secret involving me. Secrets about me that I don't know about drive up the absolute fucking wall. It's my biggest pet peeve in life. I get like Bamboo and that damned rabbit – a rage monster with the determination of a thousand fiery suns.

  Leaning against one of the kitchen counters, Ivy folds her arms across her chest and glares at Nash. Her bright blonde hair falls over one of her shoulders like a wave of golden sunlight. “Well done, Captain
Loud Mouth.”

  He shrugs easily. “You know I didn't want to keep this from him.”

  “But Nash! I told you-”

  “Fucking spill already, you pair of jackasses,” I interrupt before they can start fighting again, beginning to get genuinely annoyed, which is rare for someone as laid back as me. It's probably why the two of them immediately grow serious.

  Ivy glances over in Nash's direction awkwardly, but he just stares back at her stubbornly. Finally, she shifts uncomfortably and turns to meet my gaze. “Okay, so. . .the reason I might've been a little weird today,” she starts, slowly and hesitantly, pointedly ignoring my bemused snort at her casual use of the word little. “is because I've just come back from having lunch. . .”

  “Gave you a shitty stomach?” I hazard a guess when she trails off and doesn't feel the need to pick it back up again. I mean, I fucking love the woman like a sister and all, but she drives me crazier than almost anyone I've ever met.

  “I came back from having lunch. . .with Phee.”

  Chapter 4

  Nathan

  FOR A VERY long, very tension filled moment, I just stand there, staring at her with my mouth parted in utter fucking. . .shock? Is there a word stronger than shock? Trauma? Horror? Outrage? None of them quite seem to cut it, but what I'm experiencing right now definitely feels stronger than simple shock.

  When I make no move to talk Ivy starts to babble, something about Phee's mom being sick which is why she's home – to help take care of her and her mom's old thrift store until she gets better. But most of that doesn't even compute in my brain. Ivy's voice is just a senseless sound in the background of my mind; a mind filled with nothing but a loud, jarring ringing.

  “Phee?” I stutter out eventually, finding my voice. I also find an absolute waterfall of pure fucking rage “Phee?” I repeat, stronger this time. “As in the love of my life, Phee? The only girl I've ever fucking loved, Phee? Phee? Phee is back in Norson Lake, one town over, practically within touching distance, and NO ONE THOUGHT TO FUCKING TELL ME? Neither of you two DICKBAGS thought that this might be a relevant snippet of information THAT I MIGHT LIKE TO FUCKING KNOW?!” I can feel my face heat up with the anger coursing through my veins and I know I must look like a crazy son of a bitch right now, but I'm finding it nearly impossible to care.

  Nash takes a step towards me with raised palms, a dozen apologies written all over his face. “Bud-”

  “Neither of you,” I continue, not really giving a fuck what he has to say. “the two people who claim to be my best friends, thought I might want to know that Phee is back?” I demand roughly, my breathing coming out fast and labored as I begin to pace back and forth in agitation. My hands run through my already messy blond hair, tugging at it in frustration. And fear. Yeah, there's a lot of fear and I don't even want to delve into that right now. “Of course you didn't, because obviously you're a pair of fucking morons!”

  I guess it's a good thing we've all been friends for as long as we have, because friends who weren't as close as us guys are probably would not get away with talking to them the way I am now. But while a small part of me recognizes this, recognizes that it's the news of Phee's return and not just them keeping it from me that's making me lash out this way, I mostly don't give a shit because I'm so fucking PISSED!

  “I'm so sorry, Nate. Please don't hate us,” Ivy pleads, her big, blue eyes watery with tears. Maybe later I'll feel bad at the look of torture on her face. “I didn't want to keep this from you, I swear. You're one of the most important people in my life; I hate hiding anything from you-”

  I hold my hands up to stop her talking. “But you did, Ives, and. . .you know what? I can't even deal with this shit right now.”

  Ivy chases after me and grabs my arm as I turn to storm from their house, and Nash moves around to stand in front of me. They both wear matching looks of worry on their faces, like they're terrified of what I'm going to do next. I'm not as much of a hot head as Nash can be, but I admit there've been a time or two in my life when I've fallen from the deep end when it comes to a difficult situation. Usually involving Phee.

  Realizing quickly that they care about me too much to let me out of here until I've cooled my shit, I make the herculean effort to smooth my face out into an impassive expression. Or at least into an expression that doesn't make me look like I'm about to go bat crapping crazy.

  “I'm fine,” I assure them evenly through gritted teeth, even though I'm anything but. Slowly, I add, “But I am pissed. The three of us are cool, but I need to be away from you two right now. I won't do anything stupid,” I promise. It's a blatant lie. I plan on doing something very stupid. A whole lotta stupid and then some. “I just need some space and I need you to respect that.”

  Nash sighs heavily, and Ivy reluctantly drops her hand from my arm. Victory.

  “Okay, bro,” Nash says regretfully. “Just. . . We're here when you need us, yeah? The second you need us you call us right away.”

  I give them a jerky nod, already knowing I don't plan on doing any such thing.

  They have no choice but to let me leave after that, albeit warily. But it's not like they can do anything to stop me, not unless they want to tie me down to a damned chair and keep me hostage. Though from the look on Ivy's face she might be considering just that, so I slam my way out of their house before she can get any ideas.

  I drive straight over to Corbin's Bar, the place I always end up in when I need to get completely and utterly obliterated. And I have only one intention tonight, and that is to get hundred percent hammered. Corbin's is the seediest, dirtiest dive our nice little town has, but it suits me just fine. In fact it's perfect for nights like these when all I want to do is pretend I no longer exist. Right now this shithole suits me down to a perfect T.

  Nial, the guy who can usually be found behind the bar here, takes one look at my face and grimaces. “One of those days?” he guesses, and I nod while taking a stool. He holds out a hand and I drop my car keys into it – this isn't our first rodeo. Nial may be a seedy douche who doesn't care a fuck about serving underage kids or about any of the hundred health code violations this place has, but he's pretty freaking strict when it comes to drink driving. I guess death is where he draws the line.

  “Whiskey,” I order hoarsely, resting my elbows on the sticky bar counter and cradling my head in my hands. “Neat. And keep 'em coming for as long as I can stand.”

  The first drink does nothing to take away the pain. And the second doesn't take away the hurt. Admittedly the third does somewhat lessen the sting of Ivy and Nash's betrayal, but the forth only serves to drudge up forgotten guilt and with the fifth comes back all of those fucking memories I try my hardest never to think about. Because those memories, they have a tendency to destroy me every time they cross my mind. Every. Fucking. Time.

  AT FOURTEEN YEARS old I was still basically just a kid and so in an idealistic world I should've had no idea what drugs even were, let alone their effects. But it wasn't an idealistic world, and so when I walked uninvited into my older brother's bedroom that day to catch him and his friend snorting up a line of something white and powdery, fourteen year old me had known exactly what was going on. Spencer was getting high with that boy from Norson Lake he'd taken to hanging out with a lot, Micah.

  Our parents didn't like Spencer spending so much time with Micah. They disapproved of Micah a lot, mostly because he came from Norson Lake and as a town a lot poorer than ours; they tended to disapprove of anyone who came from there. Of anyone at all who had less money than they did, to be honest. So that pretty much counted everyone. There weren't many people our parents didn't look down their noses at; they were just those kinds of rich, high society people. The kind that thought having money made them better somehow. Made them more.

  But Spencer was their golden boy; the top of his class, the school sports star, the valedictorian, the perfect son all set to follow in our father's footsteps and join the family law firm, take it over one day. To them,
Spencer could do no wrong.

  He was just going through a temporary rebellious phase, they'd told themselves. The reason he'd begun acting out so much was down to the stress of finishing high school. He was only spending time with that awful boy from Norson Lake to blow off steam.

  They'd tell themselves just about anything to avoid admitting that a member of their perfect family might actually have a real problem.

  Let him have his rebellious phase while he’s still young, they'd said airily. He'll get over it.

  But it was more than just a rebellious phase and they knew it. Even I knew and I was just a kid. Spencer was doing drugs, a lot, even if my parents wanted to bury their faces in the sand and pretend it wasn't happening. But it was happening, and I felt powerless to stop it. Spencer had gone from being the over achieving golden boy to a sullen, withdrawn, constantly angry jerk. He seemed to hate us and life and anything and everything in general. He'd turned into an unreliable, sometimes even violent, wreck.

  Even at such a young age I'd known the cause. I'd been able to see how much pressure our father had always put on him, ever since Spencer was a child. He was to always be the perfect son, to follow in Father's far too large footsteps. He'd put too much responsibility on my big brother's shoulders, too much pressure on him to live up to the family name. How was anyone supposed to live up to our father's unrealistic expectations and not cave under the pressure of it? And Spencer had caved. He'd caved bad. It had all become too much for him, too much for him to bear. So he'd found a way to escape reality. A very dangerous, very unhealthy escape, but an escape nonetheless.

  That was the conclusion fourteen year old me had come to, anyway.

  Walking in on my brother snorting a line of coke that day was an ugly image that would forever be burned upon my memory for the rest of my life. And in that moment, I couldn't have imagined anything worse than seeing Spencer that way, seeing how far he'd fallen.