Astor Hill

Chapter 8

8

Ben

Picking up the lily Olivia left on the bar, I tuck it into the pocket of my wallet, carefully flattening it in a way that it won’t get crushed. I can’t help but recognize the tattered stem, as if she had spun it between her fingertips a hundred times.

I can only imagine what it must be like to lose a friend, especially the way Olivia did. I looked it up after the fact: the odds of someone so young having a brain aneurysm are slim but… it happens. It feels almost surreal to me, that the night I was hoping to shoot my shot with her was the last night she spent with her best friend. That she went into that night imagining a very different tomorrow than the one that occurred. That after that night, things went so awry.

Dread trickles down my spine as I think back to our conversation about Lily. She doesn’t fucking know. The thought haunts me, but I push it away, saving it for another time.

I suddenly feel Grant’s mammoth sized bicep drunkenly wrap around my neck.

“Cabot, if you don’t ask the coach to get back on the team, I’ll kick your ass myself.” I chuckle knowing Grant wouldn’t hurt a fly much less his best friend.

“So… Olivia Beckett…” he says with a smirk and a raise of his eyebrows, finally acknowledging his assumption out loud.

“Olivia is Will’s, Grant,” I sigh, feeling heat prickle up my neck.

“If there’s one thing I know about that girl, it’s that Olivia belongs to Olivia. She takes orders from no one,” Grant’s southern accent drawls.

“Granty-boy, are you talking about my girl again?” Will, also clearly intoxicated, stumbles over, half fighting, half laughing at Grant for thinking he has a shot.

“Relax Will, I brought her up,” I say, rolling my eyes at my younger brother's unfounded confidence.

“She looked good tonight, didn’t she big bro?” Will’s eyes glimmer half jokingly, half seemingly wanting my approval. He is beyond his normal levels of hammered, that much is clear; his breath reeks of a scent reminiscent of rubbing alcohol. I spot Genevieve, her eyes clouded with emotion as she looks at Will across the bar.

“Looks like someone else wants your attention too,” I nod to her, my seconds of eye contact making a deep flush overpower her entire body clearly embarrassed that I caught her gaping at Will, not for the first time in the past decade.

“Lately Gen seems more your type— thirsty, unless you’ve changed it up. Maybe Red over at the bar?” Will’s eyes swim with mischief as he pours over the red head to our left. I can tell Gen overheard because she seems to have disappeared.

I stand to my full height, two inches above Will’s frame. I dip my head just low enough for only Will to hear.

“I’m not the captain anymore, remember.” His face twitches with irritation when he recognizes I won’t take the bait. He’s clearly attempting to formulate a coherent thought despite his drunken state when a thundering voice approaches from behind us.

“Will Chapman.” Behind Will is a man who makes up in bulk what he lacks in height. Will turns to see who the voice belongs to.

With a drunken, arrogant laugh he says, “And who the fuck are you?”

I feel my shoulders tense, Will’s reckless tone like oxygen feeding the impending fire.

“ Her boyfriend,” he points to the blonde girl Olivia and I saw talking to Will, currently cowering in the right corner of the bar, her pink crop top barely covering her breasts. Black mascara drips down her face as she cries, embarrassed by the scene brought on by her jealous boyfriend. Will laughs harder.

“It’s always the short guys who get the most jealous.” Still laughing, Will slaps my chest as if to ask if I agree. I grit my teeth, not wanting to get involved in Will's latest conquest. “Don’t worry man, nothing was going to happen there. I always say hi to my fans,” he winks at the girl whose expression is the picture of embarrassment. My jaw clenches further. Apparently, Will didn’t come to fuck this girl, he came to fight her boyfriend.

The brick wall of a man in front of us clenches his fists so hard his knuckles have gone completely white. Struggling to quell his anger, we watch him attempt a calming breath. Trying to be the bigger person the guy says, “Whatever” and begins to turn.

“I was a little worried when you got back that I wouldn’t be swimming in it. Clearly, I was wrong. That girl was dying to leave here with me. Who knows, she still might.” Will directs this to me, but considering his volume it’s clearly intended for the jealous boyfriend's ears.

His face turning from a strawberry blush to a deep beet red, the stout wall manages three quick steps back in our direction. Sensing his alcohol fueled fury, I step in front of Will.

“Listen, man,” I say, shifting my face into the responsible, level-headed mask I’ve been known to wield. “He’s just?—”

One of those tightly clenched fists flies through the air, knocking into my cheek before skipping off my cheek bone. My assailant tumbles forward and catches himself on a stray bar stool. The pain instantly erupts through my cheekbone.

I feel Will before I see him as he steps toward me and the idiot who picked this fight. As if he recognizes his mistake, the dumbass puts his hands, now unclenched, palms out in the air. Will gives me a cocky smile, as if to say ‘See? This guy is a moron,’ and I shake my head. At the same time, I feel what seems to be one of the stout man’s friends grab my shoulders.

Will's smile is large now and if there’s one thing to know about how we were raised, it’s that we never back down from a fight. A small smile flits across my own features as my adrenaline spikes. This isn’t the first bar fight my brother and I have gotten into. Nothing brings on a sense of camaraderie like a common enemy. Grant steps in as a few more of the smaller man’s buddies move into what feels like a storm of fists. I feel blood trickle down my mouth and can sense that a black eye is forming as I grab a random man by his shoulders after he tackles Will. It feels like no time has passed when security finally breaks us up. But looking around, Grant and Will are almost as beat up as I am. Lucky for them, it seems their faces weren’t affected.

The red and blue flashing lights coming in through the bar’s windows snap me back to reality, enough to see Will on his knees doubled over as if this was the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Grant can’t keep himself from laughing, either, as we watch the smaller man get cuffed for starting the ‘riot,’ which is what the group of girls now flocking to Will told the police. I sigh as I extend my hand to Will, helping him up off the floor, the girls surrounding us like we’re heroes, when in reality the fight was totally our fault to begin with.

Will rubs his hands on his jeans, his knuckles bloody.

“Thanks for stepping in, but don’t make it a habit.” His tone is weary as he shakes off the remnants of adrenaline the fight left behind, and I feel a pang of sadness. It’s times like this where I miss my little brother, wish we had a closer relationship, or some semblance of a relationship in general.

“Yeah, sure. Won’t happen again.” I hear the defeat in my own voice as I watch Will leave the bar.