by Amali Rose
Ethan’s eyes cloud over at my words and my grin slips in confusion. This cannot possibly be news to him.
“Come and help me get the next round.” He motions toward the bar with a slight incline of his head.
“Coke for me, please, and a water for him,” Mia points to Seth. “I plan on getting laid tonight, so no whiskey dick, thank you very much.”
“Fuck, yeah.” Seth raises his hand to high five her.
“No.” Mia’s eyes narrow as she shuts him down.
“Right.” He lowers his hand. “Don’t want to risk spraining this bad boy. I get it.” Mia’s expression has me giggling as we climb out of the booth.
Making our way across the bar, Ethan positions himself protectively in front of me, blocking the hectic movement of bodies, and taking my hand.
Warmth spreads through me, his touch reminding me of home and filling me with that same feeling of comfort and familiarity. I have to work hard not to lose myself in it.
Ordering our drinks takes longer than I expected, and we are left standing side by side while we wait. I’m grateful things aren’t as awkward as they were this morning, allowing me to just enjoy the feel of him without overthinking.
“You know, I never thought that.” His voice is low, slightly harsh and he is looking intently at his hands clasped tightly to the bar, rather than at me.
“What?”
“I never thought you were a loser.” His eyes meet mine and I’m surprised by the vulnerability I can see. “I only ever thought you were exceptional.”
I try to take a moment to process what he said, but he rushes on before I can put any real thought into it.
“Leaving you like that was a huge mistake, such a dick thing to do and I’ll probably always regret that. But I need you to know it had nothing to do with you, and I’m sorry. So sorry.”
A sigh escapes me, and I feel the harsh bite of the bar in my back as I consider how to respond. Ultimately there’s no question. I need to be honest.
“It sucked. I won’t tell you it didn’t, but it’s not like I fought that hard for our friendship. I was too busy being angry to actually do anything that could have fixed the situation.”
We are interrupted by the arrival of our drinks and Ethan goes straight for his beer, taking a long pull. I can see his mind working a mile a minute over my admission, and the need to know what is going on in there is overwhelming.
He turns to me slowly, and his eyes search mine. I desperately wish I knew what he was looking for, because in this moment, I would do anything to give it to him.
“How about we start over? Our friendship meant everything to me, Bug.” He offers me a small shake of his head. “But we’re different people now; older. We’ve both changed a lot over the past four years. Maybe it’s time our relationship did too.”
I feel my brow furrow in confusion as I process what he’s saying. Until realization dawns and my face heats with embarrassment. Of course. Having a female best friend would get in the way of the female kitty parade.
“Definitely, yep, of course.” My words sound forced and while I am making every effort to sound nonchalant, I only succeed in sounding flustered.
Ethan always had a long line of girls wanting to date him, but in high school, he was exceedingly picky. I guess he doesn’t have that problem anymore and I give myself a mental shake at my stupidity. I’m not sure how ready I am to see him screwing around with girls that I could never compete with; my chest pinches with pain at the simple thought.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“What? Nothing, why?”
His hand closes around my own and I see the small crescent indentations from my thumbnail on my fingertips. An unfortunate habit when I feel anxious.
“Did I say something wron—” His words are cut off and our attention is diverted to the entrance where a small group of the football team has just arrived, noise and fanfare greeting them.
I spot Michael leading the pack, his eyes bouncing around the bar, searching for something. Or someone, as it turns out. Because when his gaze lands on me, a smile of satisfaction crosses his face and he lifts his hand in a wave.
I feel Ethan stiffen beside me and I wonder again, what he has against Michael. Their run-in this morning made it blatantly obvious he didn’t care for him.
Before I can dwell on it, Michael is heading our way, a heated look in his eyes. A week ago, I would have paid good money to see Michael Bradshaw look at me like that. Now, the closer he gets, determination pulsing in every step, all I can think is how very wrong it feels.
Ethan
The next three hours drag by interminably as I’m forced to watch Bradshaw all over Layla. She looks uncomfortable with all his attention, as well as his horde of loser friends, causing my body to tense relentlessly with frustration.
It’s moments like this that I hate her need to people-please. Hate that instead of pushing the asshole away, she forces a smile and tolerates his less-than-subtle touches. Hides the small flinch when his lips graze against her ear and he whispers something that sets her face aflame.
And most of all, I detest the way she ducks her head to disguise her embarrassment when the dickwad draws attention to the beautiful blush of her cheeks and makes a joke at her expense.
I’m grateful that Evie hasn’t left her side, that she has been a constant touchstone for Layla. I’ve watched, completely intrigued, as they communicated effortlessly, wordlessly. A gentle squeeze of a hand and Evie would pipe up with a ridiculous story or ask a question that would feed Michael’s ego and put his attention right back where he preferred it. On himself.
A seemingly casual glance, where a furrowed brow that went unnoticed by the rest of the table, had Evie dragging Layla away for a brief respite.
I watch all of this, my gut churning with a reckless combination of gratitude and regret, and I, unfairly, wonder how long it took her to replace me. How easily she found a new safe place, and if she ever mourned my loss the way I did her.
By the time Layla’s attempt to sneak away with a quiet goodbye is thwarted by Bradshaw’s dramatic pleas for her to stay, my already frayed temper, fueled by more alcohol than was possibly a good idea, snaps.
“Jesus Christ, just let her go! Can’t you see she’s tired of your annoying ass and is trying to escape!” Hours of pent-up frustration lace my words with a venom I hadn’t intended.
While the crowd around us continues to throb with the noises you expect to hear in a bar, our table is completely silent as my outburst settles.
My eyes remain fixated on my beer while I feel the weight of silent stares suffocating me from every angle.
Finally, I look up, daring anyone to contradict me, before I seek out Layla. She is in a half-standing half-crouching limbo and she looks absolutely horrified.
Regret immediately slams into me, tightening my chest painfully as I drag my gaze away, returning it to the beer in front of me.
“Well, on that cheery note, we’ll be off.” Evie successfully manages to diffuse the tension and draws a round of low chuckles from the group followed by a chorus of goodbyes.
A gentle hand on my arm gains my attention and I look up to see Layla looking at me with an expression I don’t recognize. This only pisses me off further. I used to know all her expressions. Every. Single. Fucking. One.
“Bye, Ethan.” Her voice is soft, and I want to hear it again. I want to hear her say my name again. But I’m too wound up, so I sullenly refuse to answer.
The hand on my arm tightens, nails digging in, and I flinch slightly, my eyes snapping to hers. This expression I know, and despite the inappropriateness, I feel a grin slide across my face.
“Don’t be a jerk, Ethan. Say goodbye.” She is glaring at me, frustration and annoyance playing on her beautiful face, and I wish I could stare at her for hours. Days. Weeks.
“Bye, Bug.” She nods once, satisfied. Then, with no further preamble, she walks away.
Dragging my attention away from the
graceful sway of Layla’s ass, I turn to find Michael smirking at me from across the table and notice that there is a prevailing sense of tension lingering over the group.
Refusing to give him what he wants, I push away from the table, determined to head to the bar for another drink.
Seth grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Since when did you become Mister Fucking Responsible, Parker?” I bark.
He raises his hands in surrender, but I don’t miss the look of worry he exchanges with Mia. I choose to ignore it, instead pushing my way through the crowd to get to the bar and find a refuge.
Making myself comfortable, I settle in along the bar, determined to stay here until Mia decides it’s time for us to leave. Which, considering her expression a few minutes ago, shouldn’t be long.
I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder and I turn expecting to see Seth. Instead, I come face to face with fucking Bradshaw.
Ignoring him, I turn away to watch the crowd around us, and my eyes are immediately drawn to a couple holed up in a dark corner. Their bodies are pressed up against each other, their attention locked on each other, oblivious to the madness of the crowd around them. There’s an intensity there, a palpable ferocity, and I realize how acutely I wish that was Layla and me.
The guy reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear before slowly tracing a finger along her bottom lip, and it’s that intimate gesture that has me shaking my head and realizing what a fucking creeper I’m being.
Turning back, I can’t help the sigh of frustration that escapes when I see the asswipe still standing there, a look of fierce antagonism clouding his features.
“So, that Layla’s a nice piece of ass. I should probably buy you a drink to thank you for bringing her around, Miller. I think the team is going to enjoy making her acquaintance.” I squeeze my eyes tight in an effort to control myself.
“You will stay the fuck away from her.” I force the words out through gritted teeth, my clenched fists making it perfectly clear how serious I am.
Taking a pull on his beer, he waves me off with his other hand.
“I know what you’re thinking. I know.”
For a second I think he’s going to have the nerve to try and convince me that his intentions are honorable.
I was wrong.
“She’s fatter than the girls I normally fuck. And you’re right. She is. But that mouth, dude. That fucking mouth. I’ll put up with a little extra junk in the trunk to see that mouth wrapped around my cock, sucking down all my cum. I’ll even—”
My fist cuts him off as it slams into his jaw and I hear the satisfying crunch of bone against bone before he slumps to the ground, caught off guard.
I’m about to drag him back up so I can throw a second punch when I’m pulled backward, arms aggressively wrapping around me, preventing me from attacking.
I respond viscerally, struggling against the force holding me back, desperate to make him bleed some more.
“Nope, you’re done. We’re getting you out of here.” Seth’s harsh voice sounds behind me, but I continue to fight to get back to Bradshaw, his words ringing in my ears.
Mia suddenly steps in front of me and a wave of awareness crashes into me.
“We’re going home now, Ethan.” There is a resoluteness to her tone that is mirrored in her expression. “So, calm the fuck down.”
My body sags as the adrenaline dissipates and I allow myself to be led away. One last glance back shows me Bradshaw standing tall, blood dripping down his chin and a vicious glint in his eye.
And when I see him mouth the words, “This is going to be fun” it takes all of Seth’s strength to hold me back.
My jaw clenches at my father’s low muttered curses. He’s directing them at the fumbled football on the television, but we both know it’s his disappointment in me that has him so on edge.
I take a drink of my cola in an effort to calm the tension that has me wound so tightly, and I wonder, not for the first time, how old I’ll have to be before the idea of failing him stops tearing me up.
“What were you fucking thinking? How many times have I told you how important team unity is?” I’m not at all surprised by his outburst and when I force myself to look at him, his face is harsh, jaw tight and brows furrowed. I cringe internally. “You’re lucky as fuck I was able to pull some strings and get you on the team after this asinine decision to transfer back, and you thank me by punching your captain. I mean, fuck, Ethan.”
I don’t bother reminding him that I never asked him to pull any strings. That I don’t care about playing ball. Not the way he does, anyway, but I remind myself what a disappointment it must be for the former captain of the Giants to have his only son not want to follow in his footsteps.
“I had my reasons.” I run a hand over my jaw and consider when I last shaved.
“You had your reasons? Your reasons mean shit out on the field, son.”
“Ooooh, Daddy said a bad word!” I note the immediate change in atmosphere as my kid sister, Emmerson, comes running into the room. My father’s back straightens and a wide smile appears as she berates him the way only a seven-year-old can.
I wonder, idly, what it’s like to be loved like that. Free from the suffocation of any expectation.
“Ethan, are you staying for dinner? I got a new princess doll I wanna show you.”
“I’m not sure, Oops. Why don’t you show it to me now, just in case.”
She folds her arms across her chest and tilts her chin up at me, glowering defiantly. “Mommy said you’re not supposed to call me that!”
“Yes, she did.” My mother walks along the hallway, pausing in the doorway of the theater room, a grocery bag in each hand and a wry smile on her face. “Ethan James Miller, do not tease your sister, please. Emme, go wash your hands and we’ll make a start on that pie.”
Emme pokes her tongue out at me and rushes out of the room, a flurry of awkward limbs and long blonde hair.
“You know, you keep ribbing her about being an oops baby, and I’m going to tell her how you had the biggest head of any baby I’ve ever seen, kiddo. And you should stay for dinner.” Her smile slips slightly. “We’ve missed you.”
I nod, shortly. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good. I’m ordering pizza, so it won’t be long.” My father and I both chuckle; my mother’s legendary hatred for cooking is a long-running joke.
“Aren’t returning sons supposed to get home-cooked meals? I’m feeling ripped off here.”
“Is it not enough that I have to suffer through baking this pie? That Cassidy Jensen has a lot to answer for, telling Emme that she can eat dessert whenever she wants if she becomes a baker. Now, all she wants to do is bake constantly.” Her lips purse in mock exasperation.
The mention of Layla’s sister quickly brings my thoughts crashing back to my altercation with Bradshaw. Before I can get lost in my thoughts, my mother’s sigh draws my attention. “Okay, if you haven’t heard from me in an hour, send help. And by help, I mean run to the bakery and don’t come back empty-handed.”
My parents exchange a smile before Mom leaves the room, sighing dramatically.
‘So, what are these reasons?”
I contemplate trying to feed him some bullshit line, but in the end, I just decide on blunt honesty. “He was saying shit about Layla.”
There’s not a shred of regret in my tone and I watch my father’s face intently, ready to defend myself.
He scrubs his hands up and down his face and looks at me tiredly. “When you love someone, they become your weakness.” I feel my eyes widen at his words. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t look so surprised. You’ve loved that girl since the day you met her. The only person who doesn’t know it is her.” He shakes his head with a small laugh. “You need to understand that assholes will always use that against you, and you need to be able to walk away. Trust me, no woman of worth is going to admire you for beating the shit out of so
meone. I learned that the hard way with your mother. You need to fight this guy with your smarts. Prove to Layla who the better man is. Outwit, outplay, outlast, and you’ll get the girl.”
The room is completely silent as I consider his words. “You know that’s the Survivor tagline, right?”
“Shut up, smartass, it works here, too.”
I laugh loudly at his expression of righteous indignation.
We settle back, watching the game but I can’t keep my mind on it.
“You know, I remember when I told you I was going to Washington, you said that was an asinine decision.”
“I did, and it was.”
“If you think that, then why do you say coming home was a mistake?”
“I didn’t say it was a mistake, I said it was also an asinine decision.”
I roll my shoulders in frustration. “You’re going to have to explain that, ‘cause I don’t see the difference.”
“Coming home wasn’t a mistake, but choosing to do it now, in your final year of college was a ridiculous decision. All you had to do was wait one more year and coming home to her would have been an easy transition. Instead, you threw your entire life into chaos.”
“I couldn’t wait another year, Dad.” My voice is quiet but forceful.
“Well, maybe you should’ve considered the consequences a bit more before you ran away from your problems, instead of facing them like a man.” He sighs resignedly. “I just hope all the craziness doesn’t affect you on the field.”
I suppress the urge to groan and am about to give him shit for being worse than a stage mom, when my phone vibrates.
SETH: Bradshaw is at Hound Dog and Layla just walked in
SETH: Get your ass down here
My fingers clench the phone to the point of pain, and I turn, prepared to make up an excuse to leave.
“Go. I’ll explain to your mom and Emme.” He shoos me away.
I jump up and race for the door when Dad’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Be smarter, Ethan. Be the man she deserves, not the asshole she regrets.”
