“Shit, Mouse.” I motion to her drink. “You drunk?”
“You wish.”
“What makes you think I slept with Mac?”
“Are you seriously going to try to tell me you didn’t?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I didn’t.”
“Bull. Shit.” Fire flares behind her eyes as they burn into mine.
I don’t need to justify myself to anyone. I made the decision a long time ago never to let another person define me again. This life is mine. Sometimes it’s shitty and messed up, but it’s still mine. And what if I had boned Mac? Hell, what if I nailed every girl in this bar? Why does she care?
I’m not wasting a single second on a girl that is exactly the type I’ve resolved to avoid.
I push back from the table and stand. “Whoever he is, the one that fucked you up?”
Her expression goes slack and her face pales. No comeback for that one, eh Mouse?
“Good for him for getting the fuck away from you.”
She jerks at my words. Her body looks smaller as she sinks into her seat, eyes shining with moisture, as if I knocked down her confident disguise to reveal the broken woman beneath. It’s a look I’ve seen in my mom’s expression more times than I’d like to remember.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the destruction I’ve caused. A feeling of heaviness crushes my chest. At what point did I become him?
I turn and walk away before I can throw myself at her feet, begging for her forgiveness. I don’t know why I got so pissed. Usually I can blow someone off with some off-color remark. But I had no control. Fuck, I sounded just like my dad.
Ah, shit. Disgust and self-hatred have me quickening my pace. I turned into my asshole dad… over a girl? One I don’t even want. We had a moment of fun, but the fact that I enjoyed the company of a girl when her face wasn’t buried in my crotch is proof positive that my head is fucked up.
Shoving my way out of the club and into the parking lot, I avoid the voice in my head that tells me she’s right. I didn’t sleep with Mac, but I have hooked up with most of The Blackout’s waitresses. Burning through women, sure, but only the willing ones.
I climb into my Jeep and punch out a quick text to Rex that I had to run and I’d catch him later. I can’t stand to be in the same room as Layla right now. And it has nothing to do with feeling like a complete dickhead for making her cry. No. I’ll keep telling myself it has nothing at all to do with that.
Layla
I’m a complete bitch.
What came over me? One second I was having a blast talking about music, and the next I was unleashing the psycho. I prop my elbows on the table and grab my hair at the roots with both hands.
“Layla?” Mac says from my side. “You doin’ okay?”
I’ve only known her for a couple hours, and already she’s my closest friend. How pathetic is that?
I tilt my face up, meeting her unique, caramel-colored eyes. “Can I ask you something? It’s personal.”
She drags a chair out from under the table and sits across from me. “Ask away.”
Hoping for some insta-courage, I down the rest of my drink. “Have you and Blake, um, you know?”
Her nose crunches up and she purses her lips. “No. No way.” Shaking her head, her eyes dart to the stage.
I follow her stare to Rex, who is tuning his guitar and adjusting the levels on his amp.
She’s still shaking her head when she looks back at me. “I’m not like that.”
Shit. I offended her. My first and only girlfriend in Vegas, and I dissolved the friendship in one night. That’s got to be a record.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s fine. Blake has a reputation around town. It’s normal that you’d think I’d slept with him. I am female.” Her eyes drift back to Rex. “Blake isn’t my type.”
Silence hovers in the space between us.
What is up with these two? “And Rex is.”
Her face turns back to mine, eyes wide and jaw slack. “What?”
“Mac. It’s so obvious.”
The hint of an awkward smile ticks her lips. “He’s a cool guy. And I love his music.” She folds a cocktail napkin obsessively into squares. “But I’m pretty sure he’s taken.”
I squint my eyes toward the stage. “Really? I thought he was single.”
That’s a stupid thing to say. I know nothing about Rex. But it’s in his mannerisms. He doesn’t come across as a guy who goes home to the same girl every night.
“Thanks for coming out…” The deep timbre of Rex’s voice fills the room, followed by skilled picking of an electric guitar. “We’re Ataxia, and we’ll be making love to your senses tonight.” The crowd erupts in cheers. The deep thumping of the bass drum joins the guitar, and the bass follows suit. “So sit back and enjoy the foreplay.”
Mac leans in. “I better get back to work.” She yells to be heard over the music. With one last look at Rex, she swings her gaze to mine. There’s a softness in her eyes, sympathy or sadness maybe. It disappears before I can decide which. She mouths I’ll check on you later. I nod and she walks away, her midnight curls bouncing with each step.
The band explodes into a song. Club patrons jump to their feet to scream and sing along. The music is amazing. The energy infuses the air on a molecular level.
But I’m fixated on the empty seat at my side.
Talking about Metallica with genuine smiles and interest, he wasn’t the cocky jerk he was before. He seemed more real. I made the ultimate mistake by letting my guard down. Allowed myself to be myself for a minute. And then I got freaked out. It’s not his fault. He’s a playboy, and he makes no promises about being otherwise. He called Mac “babe”, and he became the old Blake in my eyes.
So I chased him away.
Backed him into a corner with my accusations. And he retaliated. Figured me out, exposed my weakness, and made me vulnerable. Then he delivered the punishing blow.
He’s probably right. I’m a little crazy, broken, and a mess. But who wouldn’t be after what I’ve been through.
Don’t act like you didn’t want it.
My stomach pitches as the voice fights to bust into my thoughts. I bite the inside of my mouth and try to push the voice of the past back.
You’ll never get rid of me.
That may be true. But I’ll sure as hell try.
With a toss of my cocktail straw, I throw back the rest of my double vodka and soda. Drinking until I pass out should shut the fucker up. Or at the very least, make me forget. Even if only for one night.
Six
Blake
“Doc Z?” I stick my head into the small office located inside the locker room. He’s only here a few days a week, and I want to catch him before my back gets worse.
He looks up and slicks a wave of thick, gray hair off his forehead. “Blake, come on in.”
I weave around a few random boxes on the floor. The walls are bare where the last doctor’s framed medical degrees and sports medicine certifications once hung. I guess he hasn’t unpacked yet. His desk is empty except for a computer and a few short stacks of paperwork.
“Sorry to bother you.” I take a seat on the other side of his desk. “My back still hurts like a motherfucker.”