by Mj Fields
When I get to the bar, Mitch has a drink ready for me.
“I’m driving.”
He holds out his hand. “Not tonight. I got you.”
I shake my head, because being drunk around London right now after her little show and after that fuck’s bullshit, I know better than to tip more than one or two back.
“Just one then?” Mitch asks.
I take the beer. “Yeah, thanks.”
“You wanna talk about it?” he whispers as I look down at my phone and hit the Facebook app.
“No.” I hit Ava’s name, hoping someday she will fucking post something, like a picture of my niece and nephew. Maybe even some shit that she’s hurting, or a Bible verse. Both would normally annoy the fuck out of me, but right now, with her fresh on my mind, anything would be okay. Hell, a picture of what she’s eating would suffice. Instead, there is still nothing.
I shove my phone in my pocket and watch that fucker who should be leaving walk on the stage. I also watch London and her girls come out and stand in front of him, like some sort of groupies. And it fucking hits me. This is what she’s used to. This is her thing—music.
As much as I hate the fuck, Maddox did a background check on him and said he’s fine, no threat. The fuck he’s not. Right now, he’s the closest thing to home she’s got, and I’m doing all I can to fuck it up so she stays focused on her dreams.
I can mind fuck it all day long, but I made a promise to the closest thing my niece and nephew have to Thomas, and I have to keep it, regardless of how badly I want to take what she offers every damn time I see her.
I look at Mitch, who’s watching me. “What?”
He sighs. “Need a favor.”
I shake my head. “No, no fucking way.”
“Just one?” he pleads.
I look at the guys. Half the defensive line at SU are staring at me.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I tip back my beer. “I need another.”
Mitch smirks. “Yeah, you do.”
When the fuck finishes singing, I watch him walk off stage, hoping the fucker jets. I really don’t want to ruin some fuck’s life because he wants to nail London, but I sure as fuck will. Hell, he’s made it easy.
Mitch hands me another beer, and I toss it back fast. When I set the empty bottle on the bar, Mitch hands me another.
“That’s my limit,” I tell him before taking a drink.
I stand against the bar and watch the fuck kiss her fucking hand. I want to punch him in that fucking face and dunk her hand in bleach. Then I watch him walk toward the door and give a fuck less if I’m staring him down. I watch London as she watches him walk out. She looks a little disappointed, and for some reason, that brings me no fucking joy.
I pull my arm away from Sally and look at Mitch. “We have a table.”
“Yeah, we do.” He claps his hands together and rubs them back and forth. “Let’s go.”
Halfway there, I look back to see Mitch is behind me with four beers in his hands.
“They’re under,” I remind him.
He smirks. “I’m not going without gifts.”
“Whipped, you’re fucking whipped.”
I sit down in the recently occupied chair, London’s sweater still slung over my shoulder. I pull it off and extend it out. “You need this.”
“No, I’m good, but thanks for holding it for me.” She chuckles and looks away.
Mitch sets the beers on the table and looks at me like what the fuck, because we are clearly being ignored.
“I brought gifts,” Mitch says over the music.
Lisa looks over and reaches for one. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
When Mitch nods to the stage, we set our phones on the table. Lisa, the one who I didn’t know her name, looks at me, and I mouth “Watch them?”
She nods.
“You fucking owe me,” I say as I stand up.
“I owe you what?” London asks, hand on her hip.
I take her sweater, set it over her head, and then walk away while hearing her giggle.
Damn, I like that sound.
On stage, I look at Mitch, Downs, Tank, and Schooler as I take my rightful spot in the center.
The music starts, and I realize I didn’t even ask which of the stupid songs we did last year at the fundraiser he chose for tonight.
When “Glad You Came” begins, I almost laugh.
“Please don’t remind me, man,” Mitch appeals to my good-natured side.
We turn from the audience and stare at the wall. This damn song was choreographed and shit.
As the first note starts, I turn, mic in hand, and begin.
“The sun goes down, the stars come out, and all that counts, is here and now. My universe will never be the same. I’m glad you came.”
I see London watching me. She’s shocked but smiling.
Each of the guys take a turn, one at a time, to face the crowd on their eighth count.
London, Lisa, Christy, and Jamie all hurry to the stage.
Mitch takes the next part and steps forward. He bends down and points to Jamie, who giggles and covers her face.
Looks like his plan may work.
Each of us have our moment in the fucking spotlight, and even though we haven’t rehearsed this shit in almost a year, we nail it. I mean, it’s a fucking song with probably fifty words total and repetitive as fuck; how can we mess it up?
I finish the song, and yeah, I look at London while I sing. She has her phone held up. Normally, I would be pissed—I don’t like my shit aired—but I guarantee bitch boy is long forgotten.
When we finish, the place blows up in applause, and I am the first to leave the damn stage. My boys, though, they like it.
London walks over with what I thought was her phone, but as she clips the SU cover on it and hands it to me, I realize it’s mine.
“I added it to your snap story.”
“What?” I want to yell at her, but I know damn well that’s what she wants, and I’m kind of used to not giving in to London’s demands, innuendoes, or the fact she pushes buttons like a damn switchboard operator. Then...Then I see that Ava not only saw it, but sent a message.
- You still got it, Loggie. When you go viral, make sure you tell them that you want to thank me for teaching you the words and the moves...Your favorite sis.
I smile and look up. London is looking at me curiously.
“You’re safe. Ava sent a message. Not pissed at you anymore.”
She fakes annoyed.
“And how the hell did you crack my password?”
“Your dad’s jersey number and yours. It isn’t rocket science.”
1242.
When I look next to me, she’s looking at my phone.
“Well, aren’t you going to respond?”
I nod. “Got to. This is the first time in months she’s even remarked on anything I posted.”
She wraps her hand around my wrist. “I’m so sorry. I know what it’s like to have a sibling lose someone.”
I nod, acknowledging her words. Knowing she does, there isn’t much else to say.
- Kiss the kids for me. Tell them I can’t wait to see them on Thanksgiving. Oh, and I guess I wanna see you, too. Are you still huge?...Your favorite bro.
I look at London. “They aren’t even going to remember me. Sucks.”
“I’m not sure you’re that easily forgotten.” She’s looking at me, her pale blue eyes a little cloudy. “I mean, that performance was just...” She smiles a big London smile.
“Just what?” I ask, smiling back.
She doesn’t say shit. She just keeps looking at me.
I reach up to pull my hat down, and she shakes her head, still smiling.
“No hiding them now. You must feel naked.”
“I seem to be short a hat.” I mock-glare at her.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” She licks her lips, and I feel my balls tighten.
“You gonna sing aga
in?”
“Why? You want me to lose more layers?”
I feel my eyes and cock bulge a little.
“I mean, I know I’m not Toxic, but you know, I was told once I had good boobs.”
“London, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper.
“I feel tingly,” she whispers.
“What?” I now need a fucking cold shower or a phone call from my mom.
“My tongue.” She sticks it out, and I see it looks a little fucking bigger than usual. “What do you think?”
“I think I know that tongue better than anyone and...What did you eat? Are you allergic to anything?”
I grab her arm and head toward the bathroom to get better lighting. When I walk into the girls’ room, the whispers begin immediately.
“Is that Logan Links?”
“Oh man, I’d like him to drag me into the bathroom.”
“I heard his dick is huge.”
“Leave,” I groan at them all.
“They’re fine, Logan. Be nithe.” The “nice” tells me my suspicions are correct.
When I reach in her back pocket, she gasps, and so do the girls who won’t leave.
“Get the fuck out!” I yell, which finally makes them scamper.
I hand her the phone. “Call your mom and ask her what you’re allergic to.”
“No way. I’f been drinking.”
And if your tongue doesn’t stop swelling, you won’t be breathing.
“Come on, London. You call or I will.”
12
Thhhhhh
London
“Penith,” I tell him.
“Excuse me?”
“Penithsss,” I try to pronunciation peanuts. “I’m awerthic to peniths.”
“Right. Now call or I will.” He’s mad at me, pissed.
Then I realize what I am saying is coming out almost like penis, and I can’t help laughing.
“Stop fucking around and just do it.” He grabs my hand that holds my phone. “Now, dammit.”
“In my puss. Penith...”
The door swings open to one of the stalls. It’s Toxic. “You really are something, Logan Links!”
“Get the fuck out,” he snaps at her.
I try to walk around him, but he grabs my arm.
“Puth. Puth!”
“It’s not like that. She stopped over. I didn’t fucking touch her.” I realize that Logan is defending himself to me, which shocks me, but makes me smile. It also makes Toxic storm out of the bathroom. “It’s not because of you, so cut the shit. Call your mom and—”
I cover his mouth with my hand because he needs to listen to me.
“Pen-ith in the puss!” I yell in his face.
His eyes get huge, and then he closes his eyes and hisses, “I can’t with you. You’re un-fucking-touchable and—”
I groan because I’m annoyed, or is it because my tongue is swelling? I don’t know, but I push him hard and manage to get past him.
As I push through the crowd, I hear him behind me. “Dammit! Will you stop!”
I get to the table, sit down, open my cross body, grab my EpiPen, and stab myself in the leg.
When I look up, I see my friends, Logan, and Mitch looking at me with horrified expressions on their faces.
“Hothpita,” I say, standing up.
“Call an ambulance.”
“Get an Uber.”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
I hear them all and shake my head.
“Logan...”
He takes the two steps between us and swoops me up.
“I can walk.”
“We’re coming with you,” Jamie says, grabbing her coat.
“No, I got her,” Logan tells her from over his shoulder as he rushes to the door.
I wrap my arms around his neck so I don’t fall as he runs down the block to his truck. I hear my friends behind us.
“They can’t—”
“I know.” He sets me on my feet, one arm around my waist as he pulls his keys out of his pocket and hits the unlock. When he opens the door, I start to move to get in. “I got you.” Once in the truck, he then yells at them, “I got it.”
They look pissed.
I roll down the window and give them the okay sign. Jamie runs up and hands me my purse as Logan leans over and grabs the seatbelt. I smile at him, and he sighs and rolls his eyes as he buckles me in.
Jamie starts to yell, “You call me if—”
Logan peels away from the curb then hits the control panel on the dashboard and says, “Call Emma.”
I cover my face and groan, knowing she’s going to freak out. Thankfully, Dad answers.
“Logan?”
“Yes. I have London in my truck and am a minute from University Hospital,” he begins.
“Hi, Daddio,” I jump in, knowing if he hears me, he won’t freak out.
“What’s going on?”
I giggle. “Penith.”
“What?” Brody gasps.
“Peanuts, I think she’s saying peanuts,” Logan clarifies, which makes me laugh harder. “It’s not fucking funny.”
“Not funny indeed,” Brody replies.
“She shot herself with an EpiPen,” Logan interjects.
“Mom and I are on our way.”
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“And we’re your parents.” His voice is deep and gruff.
“If they tell me I’m going to die, I’ww have them caww you. But my fwendth—”
“London,” he growls.
“Pweese,” I beg.
“Your mother—”
“Take cawwe of it, pweese.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he says on a sigh, giving in.
“We’re here,” Logan says, throwing the truck in park in front of the hospital.
“Keep me informed, Logan,” Brody barks out, and my hopes of them staying away dwindle. “And thank you.”
“Will do,” Logan replies and turns off the truck.
By time I unbuckle, my door opens and he’s picking me up...again.
“I can—” I grab my stomach, lean as far away from him as I can, and throw up. “I’m so sowwy.”
“You’re fine.” He kicks the door shut and hurries to the automatic door as I throw up again.
* * *
When I wake up, I’m in a room with an IV inserted in my arm, and Logan is pacing at the foot of the bed, running his hands through his hair while wearing a green scrub top.
“I bet you miss your hat,” I say, my words now clear and making sense.
“Jesus L. Christ,” he curses, walking quickly to my side and scowling at me.
I smile. “It’s H. Christ. And H is for Hines, or so I’ve been told.”
He sits down and sighs.
“Sorry for throwing up on you.”
“How about sorry for almost dying?” he snaps, then covers his face and shakes his head.
“Drama’s my department,” I joke. “I didn’t almost die.”
“Good,” he snarls, head still down, face still covered.
The nurse walks in. “She’s awake.”
“She is,” I answer for myself.
Logan jumps up and steps back. “She’s gonna be fine, right?”
“It was smart of her to keep an EpiPen with her.” She smiles at me as she walks toward me. “We’ll check your vitals, keep you here for a couple more hours to make sure you don’t have a secondary reaction, and then let you rest at home.”
“She’s in the dorms,” Logan tells her.
“Well, then I suppose you’re going to have an even longer night watching over her.”
“Oh no, he doesn’t have to.”
“Hell I don’t,” he grumbles.
“You have a game Saturday; you need sleep. My friends will—”
I stop talking when I hear a knock on the door and see Mom. I’m shocked when I see Tessa, too.
“What, no Dad?”
“He’s at the hotel with your
sister.” Mom walks toward me, leans down, and gives me a kiss.
“We thought he’d draw too much attention,” Tessa jokes as she leans down and kisses my other cheek.
Logan is standing next to Tessa now, and she gives him a hug and kiss on the cheek. “You did good getting her here.”
He nods. “Right place, right time. No big deal.”
The nurse tells Mom and Tessa everything that happened and that I should be watched for the next sixteen hours or so for secondary anaphylactic symptoms. Not once does Tessa mention she’s a nurse, nor does Mom.
“I’ll go get discharge papers and instructions ready for you.” The nurse nods to me. “You have a fan club.”
“She’s gonna be a star,” Logan tells the nurse, and she blushes.
As soon as she walks out the door, I groan and Logan narrows his eyes.
“What?”
“I’m not the only one with a fan club here,” I state the obvious, which makes Mom and Tessa laugh. “I mean, seriously, it’s almost as bad as having Dad and Maddox around.” I look at Tessa. “My roommates think Lucas is Jesus.” She laughs again. “And this one”—I point to Logan—“thinks he’s a direct descendent. Mom, tell Brody it’s Jesus L. Christ, as in Links, and not H for Hines.”
“Oh, he’s going to be disappointed when he finds that out.” Mom smiles and a tear falls down her cheek.
“It’s not that bad, Mom.” I wipe it away.
“I miss you, London.” She takes my hand and kisses it. “And tonight, you terrified me.”
“I miss you more. And I promise, it’ll take a lot more than a peanut to bring me down.”
Tessa laughs. “Emma, I thought you said she was allergic to penis.”
“She is. Deathly allergic.” I notice Mom side-glance at Logan. I want to die. His hand running over his hatless head gives me the impression he does, as well.
“Are you picking on me, in the condition I’m in?” I scowl at them both in jest.
“Oh, London, you should have seen Brody’s face.” Mom now laughs genuinely, and I realize how much I really miss her.
“I miss him, and Lexington, too.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know they are waiting to see you at the hotel.” Mom then places a kiss to my forehead.
“What time is it?” I ask.
