Slow Burn

Chapter 27

BECKS

The engine revs down the backstretch, the computer in front of me reporting all of the gauges in the car that I usually study and scrutinize religiously.

But not today.

Today the constantly fluctuating numbers don’t register at all. I see them, I record them, but where they usually reflect specific issues with the car, today they don’t trigger to life anything in my brain.

“We good?” Colton’s disembodied voice comes through my headset, and I realize I didn’t even check what I was supposed to, so I can’t answer him. I don’t have a clue.

I’d love to say, Yeah, we’re good, but this is my best friend’s life in a car that will fly close to if not over two hundred miles per hour. I can’t bullshit him, even though the thought crosses my mind.

“Sorry, Wood,” I tell him, calling him the nickname someone on the race team gave him years ago. “Got distracted with something. Wasn’t able to track the numbers.” I ignore the glances from the crew when they hear my explanation over their headsets. They saw me sitting at the computer. No distraction occurred whatsoever. “Give me a sec, and I can pull them up, make sure they’re within range.”

“Feels like they are,” Colton says, his voice strained from the force as he enters turn three. “Ass end’s not sliding anymore on the top side. Feels like the guys fixed it with that last adjustment.”

“Good,” I tell him as I scramble to study the numbers and make sure his assessment is in fact correct.

Fuck if Haddie’s not gotten to me—goddamn voodooed me—but hell if I can tell Colton that. Explain to him I’m so distracted by a woman who keeps pushing me away that I can’t focus on my fucking job. Yeah. Cuz that’s professionalism at its finest.

“Good? That’s all you’ve got for me?” The car accelerates out of turn one, his voice vibrating with the pressure against his body. “Why don’t you work on pulling your head out of your ass and doing your fucking job, huh?”

I bite the knee-jerk reaction on my tongue to tell him to go to hell. I deserve the shit he just gave me after blowing our meeting yesterday with Penzoil because I was too distracted.

“Numbers are within range.” I tell him as my eyes glance over the last gauge readings. “We’re all set.”

There’s silence on the radio, and I know he knows I’m off my game right now. He won’t ask why because hell, we’re guys and don’t get all touchy-feely, and shit, but I never fuck up with sponsors. And I fucked up with Penzoil without a doubt.

The silence hangs there, the sound of the engine all I hear on the open mic as I wait to see if he’s going to push my buttons here or if he’ll rake me over the coals in private.

It’s one or the other. Colton’s not the type of guy to let something like this go. Not because I fucked up, but because as much as he’ll never admit it, he cares. The stubborn bastard.

“Good. I’m taking her for another twenty. Balls out,” he finally says. And I know it’s his way of saying, You paying attention now?

The car’s dialed, and for him to run full throttle is something he knows I hate. Runs the risk of fucking up its perfect state. He’s goading me into reaction, and fuck him, I’ve got enough shit to deal with, I don’t need him on my back too.

“Have fun,” I tell him, noticing Smitty down the line whip his head over to look at me when my typical arguing with Colton over unnecessary risks doesn’t come.

Fuck. It must be pretty obvious, I don’t have my shit together.

Colton’s only response is a deep rev of the engine, which to me says, Fuck you. I start packing my shit up as my mind absently notes the turns one through four as he hits them from the pitch of the engine alone.

I debate sticking around for him to get out of the car and dealing with the ration of shit I know he’s gonna give me but figure it’s not worth it. I’m pissed and moody and going to blows with my best friend isn’t something I want to tempt.

Although, fuck, is it tempting.

Maybe I just want to get a reaction out of someone since it seems like I can’t get shit out of Haddie.

Zip. Zero. Zilch.

Anger, accusations, indifference … anything would be better than the silence.

It’s been five days since I went to her house and found her in the backyard. I can still see the look in her eyes, feel the desperate hunger in her touch. But riding next to that is the rejection on her tongue and the sting in her words.

And then she got me so goddamn flustered that I told her I loved her. Fucking loved her. Something I hadn’t even fully admitted to myself because thinking you feel it is one thing, but saying it aloud—putting it out into the universe—you can’t take that shit back. And then what did she do in return?

Nothing.

Not a goddamn thing.

Not a single Becks wait or Don’t go. Not a Wow this is too fast or Are you fucking crazy? She gave me nothing but guarded eyes and complete withdrawal.

I shove the hurt back down. Push away the unanswered phone calls and unread texts, the numerous times I’ve driven past her house to see if she’s home, and the time I spent pounding on her door last night because her car was in the driveway. My pleas for her to open up, to talk to me, tell me she’s okay, that she hates me, really chooses Dante. Something. Anything. This suspended state of limbo fucking sucks.

The woman’s reduced me to a needy son of a bitch, and I hate it.

My thoughts are racing faster than Colton around the track right now, and I just need to quiet my head for a bit. I shove up out of my seat, ignoring the looks I get from the rest of the guys in the view box, and grab my keys. I glance down at my cell and pretend I’m reading a text as I make my way to the door. “Tell Wood something came up, and I have to bail. I’ll call him later.”

I don’t wait for a response because I need to pull a Haddie.

Lose myself for a bit so that I feel a whole lot less. Fuck.

Listening to what my damn heart is saying is new for me. And it’s a goddamn muscle, so why am I hoping that it can give me some answers?

Muscles may not be able to make sense of something, but hell if they can’t ache with pain when they’re used and abused.

And she sure as fuck did just that.

So why do I still want her?

Fucking love.

* * *

The music is bluesy, the lighting on the dark side, and the beer ice-cold as it slides down my throat. The best part about being in my favorite pub besides being left the fuck alone is that all I have to do is raise my chin to Vivian, and she brings me another round without a single word.

It may be her first week on the job and we’ve just met, but Viv’s my new best friend for that alone.

The texts have finally stopped after two hours of constant pestering. But not a single one is from the person I want.

I’m enjoying feeling sorry for myself, wallowing in a damn ocean of barley and hops with a few odd shots thrown in here and there. My lips are numb, my head is quiet—spinning but still quiet—and I still don’t have a fucking clue how she could choose him over me.

“More her type, my ass,” I mutter to myself, thinking of the last thing she said to me. Sweet fuck. I can blame my drunk mind on why I don’t understand, but the haze isn’t strong enough to forget that I’m drinking because I can’t make sense of it sober, either.

I raise my chin to Vivian again. Might as well add to the clutter of glasses lined up on my table.

I lean back in the booth I’ve commandeered at the back of Sully’s Pub and cross my legs, which are stretched out on the bench. I run through the possible scenarios in my head, trying to figure how we went from sleepless nights and that look in her eyes when I left her after the trip to Ojai to here.

I mean, fuck, it was hard not to go to the last Scandalous event a few nights back. Took everything I had to not go sit in a dark corner of the club and watch her, make sure she’s okay. Just see her—because damn, I miss her—but then that would be stalkerish.

I refrained by drinking a six-pack and watching the game.

I thank Vivian when the bottle slides onto the table in front of me and consider calling Rylee. It’s a stupid fucking move on my part, but what other choices do I have at this point? It’s gotta be the alcohol pussifying my thoughts.

But damn, the alcohol just might have a point.

Then I realize that as much as I want to know what the hell Haddie is thinking, I also want to ask Rylee if she’s gotten the test results back yet. I know it’s nothing, but there’s that tiny bit of worry that’s still unsettling. And since Haddie won’t communicate with me in any way, shape, or form, I decide to ask Rylee.

My God, that’s pathetic.

Wait. I can’t ask Rylee about test results because she doesn’t even know about Haddie’s damn biopsy in the first place. There goes that plan.

I close my eyes, welcoming the off-kilter spin of my world right now because if life’s not going to make sense, you might as well do it drunk, right?

“Gonna drink yourself into a good mood or what?”

I snap my head forward at the sound of Colton’s voice and immediately look over to where Vivian stands. She scrunches up her face and mouths the words I’m sorry as she points the blame at Miller, the bartender who knows Colton and me as frequent customers.

Fuck. When did he get on shift? I thought I had lucked out with a new waitress and old Earl, who couldn’t care less what I was doing over here by myself.

I ignore Colton and close my eyes again, putting my head back to the same position against the back of the booth.

I hear Colton chuckle and then plop down across from me in the booth. It takes only seconds before I hear the clink of another bottle on the table and a polite thank-you as he’s served.

And I wait for it—the ration of shit—but he doesn’t say a word. So I sit with my eyes closed until the suspense of what in the hell he’s doing is so consuming that I have to look. I crack my eyes open and angle my head over to find him sitting there the same as me but he’s staring at his beer bottle, peeling the label.

“Hey,” he says with a lift of his chin, and then goes back to his label without even meeting my eyes.

“Hey,” I respond, trying to accept his nonchalance when he’s usually a get-straight-to-the-point kind of guy.

“Watcha drinking?” he asks after a bit, pointing to the empty glasses gathered in the middle of the table. “Scotch.”

“Scotch?”

“Macallan,” I add.

“Good shit,” he says with an appreciative hum.

“That it is,” I sigh out, paying attention to the label on my own beer now. “Tastes like Heaven—smooth, addictive—but hell if it doesn’t pack a punch.”

“Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about alcohol here?”

My eyes lift to meet the intensity in his. I see concern and compassion there and want to talk about it at the same time as I want to avoid discussing it.

About Haddie.

And even stronger than my need to spew my guts is my wanting to ask him about her. Chicks talk about shit like this—guys don’t—so maybe Haddie talked to Rylee. Told her about why she’s pushing me away, that I confessed my love like a jackass.

God, this is so fucking frustrating.

“Sorry about Penzoil.”

Colton’s head startles with the whiplash of switching gears. “It happens,” he says, and I know I’ve had a lot to drink, but I’m not processing this laid-back guy responding to me very well. I feel like he’s holding back, walking on eggshells, and avoiding pushing me when that’s usually the norm.

Might as well just add a bit more discord to the eddy of confusion already whirling on the broken merry-go-round in my head.

“Nah. I fucked up. It’s on me. Got a lot on my plate.”

“You okay? Your parents and Walk okay?”

“Yeah, they’re cool…. Sorry. All’s good in the hood.” His genuine concern for my family has me immediately apologizing for the second time in mere seconds. I tilt the bottle to my lips, the flavor not even registering anymore because the potent taste of rejection is stronger. We sit there in comfortable silence before I finally confess, “It’s the goddamn Macallan.”

It’s all I give him, yet he nods his head before taking a swallow of his beer. “You don’t brown-bag Macallan, Daniels.”

“I’m aware of that,” I tell him, glad he caught the correlation between Haddie and the Scotch. “Can’t enjoy it—brown bag or not—if someone else is swigging from your bottle.”

He blows out a breath and slouches back in his seat with a shake of his head. “Dude, that’s rough.” His eyes glance up to read mine. “She blew you off?”

“In so many words.”

“I’d ask if you understand why, but by the empty bottles on the table and the mere fact that she’s a chick, I’d say the answer is a big, fat, fucking no.” I don’t fight the smile that pulls at my lips. “I told you dude, estrogen vortex. No use in even trying to figure it out.”

“Truth.” I tip my beer toward him and fall silent for a minute, the bottle in my hand easier to look at than Colton as the confession forms on my tongue. “It’s all your fault, you know.”

He chokes out a laugh, his face scrunched up as he tries to figure out just what in the hell I’m talking about. “This is gonna be good,” he says, clapping his hands together and rubbing them back and forth. “Lay it on me, brother. Can’t wait to hear your fucked-up logic.”

I glare at him. “You started all this shit. We—you and I—were perfectly fine—single and ready to mingle—and then you had to go and get struck by the almighty voodoo.”

His laugh is loud and draws attention from other patrons beginning to fill up the bar. “Struck? More like knocked me on my ass. Dude … I’m sorry…. Wait. No, I’m not.” He slaps his hand on the table. “I’m not going to apologize because when it happens to you, you’ll get it. All of it. The barebacking, being okay with someone holding your balls in their hands, the …” Colton’s head snaps up to mine as the puzzle pieces fall into place. His eyes widen as the smirk starts to play at the corners of his mouth. “No fucking way …”

“Viv?” I look away from him immediately and search for my new best friend and her constant supply of mind-numbing gifts.

“For the love of all things holy … you didn’t … you’re not … you fucking are, aren’t you?” he finally sputters out. And just what I need: Now Donavan knows I’ve been voodooed.

Let the shit storm begin.

I refuse to look up at him, don’t want him to see the misery in my eyes now that it’s unofficially out on the table. Fuck. Here comes the ribbing I deserve but sure as hell don’t need. Viv might as well double up the next round because I think I’m gonna need it.

“Nah …” Denial is my only option.

“Sweet Jesus, dude. I go on my honeymoon, you bang the maid of honor, and then you tie your dick in knots over her—”

“At least you acknowledge it’s long enough to tie in a knot.” I shrug, the beer sliding down so nice, and it feels like I can breathe a bit now that I’m no longer lying to my best friend.

He snorts out a laugh. “In your dreams, dude. Have another.”

“Fuck off. And thank you. I believe I will have another.” I lean my head back against the booth again and sigh, wanting to say more but not sure how much ammo I want to give him because I sure as hell don’t need to take any more shit right now from anyone.

“Good. I’m buying. That way I can get you good and drunk.”

“I believe I’m already on my way there,” I admit. He murmurs his consent, and I force my eyes open so the room stops spinning behind my eyelids. And so I don’t see that image of her standing there, mouth telling me to go but eyes begging me to stay. “I just … It doesn’t make sense…. I … Fuck!”

“That about sums it up.”

I appreciate his silence after the comment as I try to grasp the shifting thoughts in my head. “With Ry … did you … were you …”

“Confused constantly? My dick begging for more, but my head saying back the fuck up?” The quiet amusement in his voice tells me he gets it, understands where my head’s at right now.

“Basically.” I scrub my hands over my face. “This is so messed-up.”

“Yep. And if I wasn’t feeling your pain, I’d be laughing at you too.” I glare at him. “You, pussy perplexed? It’s just too fucking comical for words.”

“Fuck off.”

“Thank you. I believe I will be getting just that later tonight while you’re here crying in your beer. It’s easier all around if you just admit the Haddie Hex is in full effect.” I roll my eyes at him but stop when he clinks the neck of his beer against mine. “Voodoo, bro. Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“Ha. Now you’re all for it when a year ago you fought it every step of the way.”

“Fought it until I realized a voodoo pussy is a grown man’s Lucky Charms.”

Why the hell is he talking about cereal? “Come again?”

His flashes me a grin. “Magically delicious.”

I don’t even fight the laugh that falls from my mouth. Colton Donavan at his finest. “You are so fucked in the head.”

“And your point is …?”

“My point is … you’re right. About all of it.”

His laugh fades as his eyes meet mine over his bottle of beer. “Life hasn’t been easy for her this past year.” His statement is completely matter-of-fact, and as much as I know he’s right, it still fucking sucks. All of this.

“True”—I bob my head in agreement, synapses trying to fire through the alcohol-induced haze—“but I just don’t get it. Why tell me there’s something between us and then tell me she’d rather have someone else?”

“And you believe her about the someone else?”

I look at Colton and try to process the look he’s giving me. His eyes are apologizing, telling me something…. Vague hints of what it might be float in the far-off distance, but I can’t seem to pull them close enough to comprehend. “Her words were about as clear as fucking Crisco.”

Colton laughs at my pain and the fact that Crisco is anything but clear. Sounded good, anyway.

“Fuck! All I know is that she said she was working things out with Dante, wanted to give it another shot.”

“The roommate, the ex-boyfriend?” The startled look on his face rivals how I feel. “Well, all I know is that she’s going through a lot of shit right now and—”

“What shit?” I immediately recall the look Colton was giving me moments ago. What was he apologizing for? For the fact that Haddie is blowing me off or because he knows something I don’t? “Colton—”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t wonder boy himself.” The voice off to my right snaps my mind from Colton and ignites my temper like a blowtorch lighting a candle.

“The ex?” Colton’s voice is low and even as he asks me the question. His eyes tell me to calm the fuck down but his posture says, Fuck off, Dante. Game on.

“Dante.” I nod my head without even looking at him, knowing if I do that urge I had earlier to push someone else around will come back tenfold. I glance over to Colton and see him checking Dante out, his hand sliding up to the neck of the empty beer bottle in his hand, just in case.

Gotta love a friend who’s willing to break a longneck for you to have your back.

“Why are you over here crying in your beer? Is it cuz you fucked the fight out of our little filly?”

Now that comment has me raising my eyes to meet Dante’s. The warning I flash is met with a matching dare from him. Who the fuck does this guy think he is, and what the hell is he talking about?

Doesn’t matter. None of it matters except he just disrespected her, and that’s all I need to know.

You don’t disrespect women. Ever. Whether you’re sleeping with them or not.

“Leave it,” the king of hot tempers warns from his place across from me in the booth.

“I’ve got this,” I tell Colton as the adrenaline begins to surge through me, my mind fixating on the asshole and how he deserves everything that’s coming to him if he keeps this shit up.

Dante’s laugh mocks me. “Apparently you don’t got this.” I’m already sliding out of the booth when he makes the comment. “You might want to brush up on your skills because when I was with Haddie the other night, she sure as hell couldn’t get enough. More I believe was her word of choice.”

My mind flashes back to Haddie on the kitchen table at the farmhouse, telling me, More, and my synapses don’t need to fire because I don’t even need to think.

I just react.

I collide with Dante, moving at full force. I don’t even bother throwing a punch, don’t even think about it because I want the fucker on the ground. And he’s solid, but so am I, when I connect. Our momentum forces us into the table behind him.

Glass breaking and shouts from afar barely register as we fall to the ground cussing at each other. He gets in the first punch as we scramble for positioning, and I feel the connection, hear the whoosh of air as it escapes my lungs from the kidney punch but don’t feel a goddamn thing. I’m so amped up from the past week that my churning emotions manifest in the impact of my fist as I gain top position.

The connection of my fist against his gut feels like a small weight is lifted from my shoulders. And fuck does it feel good.

He lands one.

I land one.

He cusses me out in between our fists flying. I don’t even hear what he’s saying because all I think is Keep opening your mouth and give me access to knock those perfect teeth of yours out.

But the feeling of impact as I land a punch is fleeting because my mind keeps fixating on the fact that he was with Haddie the other night. That she asked him for more when she hasn’t asked me for anything but to leave.

I see red. Can’t see anything else because my mind is so preoccupied with Haddie, with the idea that this asshole touched her.

It’s Colton’s harsh call of my name that breaks through my hypnotic fog of anger. It’s his hands I fight off as they try to pull me away from Dante. And I struggle against him, even when I come to my senses and realize that Dante is securely pinned beneath me, face splattered with the same blood staining my knuckles.

“Goddamn it, Becks! Get off him.” Colton’s strong enough that his arms wrapped around my shoulders prevent me from continuing. “They’re gonna call the cops if you don’t break it up.”

I grunt in agreement, my breath too labored and my head too filled with rage to answer him. I’d take the cuffs in an instant if it meant that Dante was properly put in his place.

“You sure?” he asks me, and I nod before he releases his hold on my arms.

And God strike me dead for lying to my best friend, but the minute he lets my arms go, my fist connects with Dante’s jaw again. The sound of my knuckles hitting him ricochets through my head in a satisfying crunch.

“Fuckin’ A, Becks!” Colton’s arms are back around me, and this time I struggle even harder, wanting to finish the job. He’s successful in pulling me off Dante, and even as I struggle with Colton, I can still see Dante sitting up, using his torn shirt to wipe some blood from the corner of his mouth. “Calm down.”

“Let me go!” I argue, ready to lay one on Colton too if need be to get him to release me.

“Goddamn it, quit fighting me, will ya? They’re calling the cops, dude.” He yanks me up and backward, and I struggle away from him now that I’m on my feet and Dante’s retreated. “Christ! Calm the fuck down.”

“I’m gonna kill the son of a bitch.” I’m so wrapped up inside my own head right now, so deafened by the buzzing anger, that I don’t even hear him.

“Killing him’s not going to get rid of her cancer, dude.”

But I sure as fuck hear that.

I feel like everything stops—then there’s the quick intake of air as Colton realizes what he’s just told me—but my head doesn’t want to believe it.

“What did you just say?” The quiet disbelief in my voice is no rival for the rage vibrating through me. I turn my body now to face my oldest friend. I recognize the apology in his eyes, see acknowledgment of the deceit in his body language, and I’m fucking floored. “You knew?”

“Becks.” It’s that soothing tone that I hate.

“You knew?” I ask again, my voice escalating as I take a step toward him, hands fisted, jaw clenched.

“She doesn’t want anyone to know. No one.” He emphasizes the last words so I can hear that he was torn over keeping it from me, but my rational mind isn’t listening.

My irrational side sure as fuck is, though.

“So that was a slip?” I shout at him as I take another step closer. “You only told me—let it slip—to calm me the fuck down?”

He laughs softly, glancing at the space between us and then back at me. “Calm is not quite the word I’d use about you right now.” He takes a step forward as I grit my teeth because being angry at him means I don’t have to process what he’s just told me.

Haddie has cancer.

“You want to take a shot at me too, Becks?” He goads me, sacrificing himself so I don’t fly off the handle and take it all out on someone else. He lifts his chin and taps at it. “Right here, fucker. Dare you. But I bet your ass it’s not going to do a goddamn thing to help Haddie.”

“Make me feel better, though.” I grumble the words at him, anger still riding high but the oh fuck aspect starting to take over.

Colton judges me for a minute as I stand there stunned, fists loosening, mind scrambling to grasp the magnitude of what he’s just told me.

Trying to understand how Had’s feeling. Why she doesn’t want me to know? The fear she’s facing alone.

My friend approaches me, defense in his posture but sympathy in his eyes. He puts a hand on my shoulder and directs me toward the booth and then pushes me to sit down. “You didn’t tell me.” I say again, the only concept I’m choosing to grasp right now.

He blows out a loud sigh as he sits across from me and motions to Viv with his hand to come near. “I know—it fucking blows—and I’m sorry, but, dude, I’m married now. I promised Ry. I was put in a fuck-all spot between you and her.”

“And she is the one sucking your dick. I get it.” I say the words, knowing they’re crass and not caring because I’m still amped up on adrenaline.

“Let me know when your mouth is done running and using up all your energy so I can kick your ass for talking about Rylee like that.” The warning is delivered loud and clear. “It seems to me you still have some fight left in you. I promise you I have a harder left than that fucker does,” he says, lifting his chin toward the other side of the bar, where Dante is nursing his bloody nose, the bouncer at his side, coaxing him out the door.

“Sorry…. This whole thing blows…. I’m just …” Colton nods his head at me in acknowledgment, forgiveness laced with the guilt that’s eating at him reflected in his eyes. And it makes me feel a tad better to see it there. Like teeny tiny. I grab my right wrist with my left hand and flex it. The fucker hurts like a bitch from punching Dante.

“Fuck.” He blows the word out, making it sound exactly how I feel.

“What can I get you, boys?” Viv’s back and in front of us, trying to act like everything is normal—like the melee never happened—and I just hang my head, drowning in my own thoughts, too occupied to be embarrassed.

“Macallan neat,” Colton says, my shoulders tensing at the significance of his request.

“One shot for each of you, handsome?”

“Two glasses, one bottle, please. And a bag of ice for his hand.”

Both Viv and I raise our heads and look at Colton, her for the tip she might be getting and me because I don’t want to sit here and drink. I want Colton to drive me to Haddie’s. Like ten fucking minutes ago.

“That’s pretty pricey for—”

“Not a problem. Thanks,” Colton says with a flash of his “public” smile as he dismisses her.

“Thanks, Wood, but I don’t want to drink anymore. I need you to bring me to see Haddie.” I start to stand, and Colton is up just as fast, his hand on my shoulder pushing me back down, before I can even get steady.

“No can do, brother.” He gives my shoulder an extra shove before he sits back down. “First off, you’re drunk. Not a smart move to show up at her house right now. Alcohol makes you say shit, man … like profess your love when the last thing she wants to hear out of your mouth now is that you love her, … She’d think it’s out of pity, …”

I keep staring at the table as Viv slides two glasses in front of us. She starts to pour, and Colton tells her thanks but takes the bottle and pours them himself so that we have privacy.

He slides the bag of ice over to me, but I just look at it. I deserve the pain in my hand. Haddie has cancer. Her hurt’s going to be a whole lot worse. I wish a simple bag of ice could fix it for her.

“… you telling her that means you’re only doing it because she’s sick. Not because you really feel that way.”

I wince at the word sick and then blow out a breath, knowing he’s right … that the last thing she needs is me drunk and blubbering all over her. But, Christ, all I want to do right now is see her, touch her, talk to her.

He pushes the glass in my hand and wraps my fingers around it when I don’t respond. But if I don’t drink, then I sober up faster, and get to see her that much sooner.

“I already told her.” The words come out in a whisper as I stare at the Macallan in my glass. I don’t even realize I’ve said the words until Colton sputters beside me.

“Fuck me, dude. I think we’re going to need another bottle of this shit.” He taps his glass against mine. “Bottoms up.”

I’m on autopilot as I swallow the Scotch. It’s a shame to waste it on me right now. I don’t appreciate the taste or how damn smooth it is because all I keep thinking about is Haddie.

The neck of the bottle clinks as Colton refills our glasses. “Breathe, brother,” he tells me, my fingers gripping the glass so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter in my hand.

“What am I … how am …” I blow out a breath in frustration because I can’t process the thoughts whipping through my mind fast enough.

“Ry’s with her. She seems to be dealing, you know. She’s a tough chick, Daniels.”

“Yeah, but fuck …” I can’t even speak in complete sentences. I toss back the second pour of the Macallan. This time the burn’s a little less, and the warmth’s a little more.

“I know, Becks.” It’s all he can really say, and I appreciate the fact he’s not bullshitting me, telling me she’s going to be okay, telling me I’m a stupid fucker for going and falling for her.

My eyes burn just as much as my throat right now. So many questions I want—no need—to ask her, and the one in the forefront is like a ghost that keeps slipping through my fingers. The alcohol dims my logic enough to figure out what the hell my subconscious is trying to tell me, but my mind isn’t grasping it.

“She kicked Dante out last week.”

Well, fuck. That works. I can’t think straight enough to figure it out. The question is just out of reach.

“She’s not with him?”

“Nah … kicked him out. He either was just fucking with you because he’s jealous or he really tried to get in her pants and she gave him the boot … and if that’s the case, I should have added a fist to his face too.”

Relief rushes through me. And then confusion followed by anger again. She’s all alone? What the fuck? Shit’s being thrown at me so fast right now, I’m having a hard time coming to terms with any of it.

And then it hits me like a goddamn bulldozer. She knew. She fucking knew that night. She was pushing me away, trying to protect me, choosing for me. Just like I told her not to.

Well, fuck that.

I shove up out of the booth again. My vision goes black, and the whole room pulls me into its tumultuous tornado of darkness and stars.

“Woah. Easy. Easy.”

I hear Colton’s voice. Feel his hands on me, but I can’t focus. The seat’s beneath my knees again, and my stomach lurches into my throat momentarily until I can swallow the bile and the gallon of alcohol back down.

“I need to see her,” I plead with him. Because even though I’m so shit-faced I can’t stand, my stubborn stupidity keeps hitting me in the face over and over. How could I not have seen right through her and what she said to me? How could I have been such an idiot?

“I know you do but not till the morning. You’re sleeping with me tonight,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

“When hell freezes over.” I mutter, but just maybe it has because, holy shit, Haddie really is sick.

“I think it already has, dude.”

I snap my head up as fast as I can without making the earth tumble and fall around me again. “What?”

He clinks his glass against mine and throws back the swallow of amber liquid. “You love her? What the fuck is up with that? I got you were dipping your wick, but now you want a permanent place to burn your candle?” He shakes his head and laughs before resting it back on the booth behind him.

I can’t help the laugh that falls from my lips, grateful for his random humor right now. “Candle?”

“Mm-hmm.” He’s buzzed enough now that he doesn’t continue the train of thought. Instead we fall back in silence, our eyes closed, heads fuzzy, and glasses empty. “Got quarter of a bottle left. We finish it off, get Sammy to drive us back to my place,” he says, referring to his bodyguard and sometime driver. “We’ll sleep it off, you’ll get a clearer head, and then you go see her tomorrow and fight like fuck to prove you want to be a part of her life. Sick or not sick.”

I choke back the emotion clogging my throat, stunned by my best friend’s ability to know this is what I need to hear when he’s never been good with emotions or relationships.

And from just hearing the word sick out loud in reference to Haddie.

“Yeah.” The word is barely a sound as it passes past my lips.

“She’s gonna beat this, Daniels.”

Images of Lexi flash through my head from the pictures I’ve seen in Haddie’s house—the only way I’ll never know her. And I can’t help but acknowledge the fear creeping in that that could be all I’ll have left one day of Haddie.

I’m immediately pissed at myself for even thinking it. Furious that for one moment I thought she’s not going to fight the fight so she can walk the walk afterward. But fuck if I’m not scared, even with liquid courage flowing through my veins like it’s my own blood.

“She has to be.”