By His Play

46. Kieran

46

KIERAN

I t’s safe to say that I’ve never experienced a hangover like I had this morning. Or more specifically, this afternoon, by the time I finally woke up.

I’ve been drinking since I was…thirteen, but I’ve always been good at knowing my limits. Plus, football has always been my main focus. Partying and getting drunk always came second to that. Can’t necessarily say the same about girls. But everyone has to have a vice, right?

But as much as I want to blame the alcohol for all the pain, I know it’s not completely responsible.

Today has been hell.

Everything has been hell since that morning I woke up knowing that Effie was no longer mine.

I slump lower on my couch as I continue feeling sorry for myself.

I’m too far gone to even care at this point.

I don’t mope. Generally, I’m not a sad person. The weeks that followed losing the playoff game don’t count; that was an anomaly.

Usually, I’m good at picking myself back up and getting on with shit.

But right now, getting on with my life is the last thing I want to do.

I hate that I can’t find anything within me to push myself forward, but it’s gone.

Everything has gone.

All the feelings I was smothering in St. Louis when Grams died so I could be there for Effie have risen to the surface, along with the frustration and anger over her hiding the fact she was home is dragging me under.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here staring at nothing. I don’t even have the TV on. My apartment is completely silent. There is nothing but my irritating thoughts and regrets to keep me company.

Over and over, I keep replaying last night in my head.

I should have handled it differently. I think I was aware of that at the time, but I was fueled by anger.

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a little bit of relief in there too. But it wasn’t enough to calm my temper.

I’ve been so fucking worried about her, and for four days, she’d been right here under my nose.

Fuck.

Even now, almost twenty-four hours on from finding out the truth, my hands still tremble with rage.

She lied to me.

Okay, so it was a lie by omission. But that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

What if I’d gotten bored of waiting for her and decided to drive to St. Louis?

A million and one what-ifs flicker through my head, none of them helpful and all of them building my irritation.

I should move. I should force myself into my gym to burn off some steam, but I can’t make myself do it.

So instead, I remain exactly where I have been for hours now.

I haven’t even bothered to eat.

A bitter laugh spills from my lips.

Is this what it’s like? To have your world ripped to shreds by a girl?

It’s funny, because never in a million years did I think that Effie would be the one to do it.

For years, I’ve trusted her with my heart…with my everything.

I truly thought she was one person I could always rely on.

I never even considered there could be an end for us. That I might have to be forced to live a life without her.

Pain shoots through me.

That can’t happen. It just can’t. We have to get through this.

By the time my buzzer for my apartment goes off, I’m a mess.

I really need to hit something. The healthiest option would be a treadmill, but I don’t think it’ll have the effect I’m hoping for.

It’s been years since I was in a physical fight. These days, it’s not worth losing my starting position on the team for, but fuck if I don’t want to go at it with someone right now.

If I called Kian, he’d probably be up for it. It was always the two of us that ended up settling an argument with our fists, with Kingston on the sidelines watching, having probably started the whole thing, and then smirking as the two of us got hauled away by our dad.

I might have always hated being the little one, but I loved my brothers something fierce. I still do.

They’re my rocks. Just like Effie.

My teeth grind.

There isn’t a part of my life that she’s not involved in.

I have no idea how I’m meant to eradicate her.

I don’t fucking want to eradicate her.

But what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Twice…she’s told me to leave twice now. Is there any coming back from that?

Does she hate me because of the article?

Does she regret our weekend together so much that she can barely look at me now?

Funny how two people can see things so differently.

That weekend was hands down the best weekend of my life.

For the first time in…well, ever, I was able to be myself. Authentically myself.

Effie didn’t look at me like I was weird when I showed her what I liked, the things I wanted to do to her. She didn’t expect anything from me. She embraced everything; she trusted me to look after her. And she was so fucking beautiful and addictive at the same time.

And yet…it seems that it might have been one of her worst weekends.

Lost in my depressing thoughts, I forget that my buzzer went off until it rings again, the irritating sound cutting through the silence I’ve been drowning in.

“FUCK OFF,” I bellow.

It’s pointless. No one can hear me. I live in the penthouse, just like Effie. But mine is the entire top floor of the building with balconies on three sides.

It’s my haven. Or at least it was until some motherfucker interrupted my peace.

But despite my lack of response, they clearly don’t want to give up because it buzzes again.

Sucking in a deep breath, I finally push myself from the couch and stomp over like a petulant child who doesn’t want to do what he’s told.

“What?” I snap as I jam my finger against the button. I cringe. Gavin, our long-suffering doorman, deserves better than my shitty attitude.

I’m relieved when a different voice answers.

“Now, now. That’s no way to respond to one of the guys who stopped you from sleeping on a dirty bar floor last night.”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

“Let me the fuck up, Callahan. I’ve got food.”

My stomach growls on cue.

“What food?” I enquire, making him laugh.

“Knew that would get you. Tacos.”

Fuck.

“What are the chances of you sending the food up alone?”

“None. Now let me the fuck up.”

“I hate you,” I seethe.

“Fine by me, asshole.”

Unable to deny the tacos, especially if he got them from the Mexican place he’s taken me to a couple of times, I reluctantly allow Brax access before unlocking my front door.

I’m in the kitchen opening a beer when he marches through my apartment like he owns the place with a knowing smirk playing on his lips and a brown paper bag tucked under his arm.

Drinking more alcohol is the last thing my body needs right now, but for once, I don’t care about what I’m putting inside it or about being in peak condition. It’s not mid-season. I can have a few days where I say fuck it and give into temptation while I wallow in self-pity.

“Ah, I see you woke up this morning and decided to make better choices.”

“Fuck off, Whitlock. I want the tacos, not the attitude.”

“Well, unlucky for you, you get both.”

The second he lowers the bag to the counter, I snatch it and drag it closer.

Immediately, I rip it open and reach inside for a container.

Inside lie two delicious tacos, and for the first time today, I’m able to think about something other than Effie and last night.

In seconds, I have one out of the container and in my mouth.

I groan in delight before devouring it as if I haven’t eaten in weeks.

“Jesus,” Brax mutters as he takes a seat at my island and watches me in horror. “You’re a hell of a lot messier than my date tonight.”

I glance at the clock.

“If you’re here at nine o’clock after a date, I’d say you have bigger issues than how politely she eats.”

“Maybe she’s a good girl.”

“Then what the fuck is she doing with you?” I counter.

He smiles at me but doesn’t say anything else.

“I was coming to see how you were doing, but I can see that from the state of you.”

“If I want your opinion on my life, I’ll ask for it.”

“Wow, you really are full of rainbows and sunshine tonight, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

“Uh…nah. I think I’m okay here for a bit.”

I glare at him, both annoyed as hell and relieved that he’s turned up to check on me.

I don’t know if I said anything to clue him into why he had to carry me out of a bar last night, but from the knowing look in his eyes, I’d say that he’s more than aware.

“So…”

“You’re an asshole,” I scoff, reaching for the other taco.

“Takes one to know one. Now, start talking.”

“Nothing to say.”

He raises a brow.

“She’d been back for four days, Brax. Four fucking days and she didn’t tell me. And then when I confronted her about it, she told me to leave.”

“Oh shit, no wonder you’re pissed. No one tells the mighty Kieran Callahan what to do.”

“Are you trying to help or just make shit worse?” I bark.

“You need to pull your head out of your ass and talk to her like a normal person.”

I stare blankly at him.

“What?” he asks, reaching for the second beer that’s sitting on the island between us.

“It’s Effie, bro. You need to talk to her. Listen to her. She’s hurting.”

My brows shoot up.

“And how do you know that?” I snap.

“She just lost her grandmother, Kieran. She’s grieving and probably not thinking straight.”

An argument sits on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down.

Brax might be a bit of a joker, but he knows more about grief than I do. I hate that he does, but there isn’t much I can do about that.

Letting out a sigh, I stare down at the container, wishing there was another taco.

“Everything is such a mess,” I finally confess.

“Maybe so, but it’s not unfixable.”

“She lied about us being engaged, and?—”

“Then you allowed the world—and her—to believe it was true for longer than you should have.”

I shake my head before grabbing a napkin and wiping my mouth.

“I shouldn’t have fucked her,” I blurt.

“Maybe,” he muses helpfully.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“What if you were meant to fuck her? What if you should still be fucking her?”

My breath catches in my throat.

Do I want to fuck Effie again? Hell yes.

She was…she was incredible.

Do I think she’ll ever give me a chance? Not for a single second.

Knowing that hurts. Really fucking hurts.

“We had an agreement. Four days only and then we forget it.”

“And have you spoken to her about that?”

“No, she sent me back here after discovering that Kat fucked us over. And she’s ignored me ever since.” I huff. “You already know this shit,” I point out.

“I know, but I’m not entirely sure you know it all.”

Lifting my beer bottle, I down what’s left before throwing it in the trash and reaching for another.

“The fuck are you talking about?” I bark, far from understanding his cryptic bullshit.

“You want her,” he states simply.

“I don’t. I’m not interested in a relationship. I want my best friend back.”

“That might be what you think you want, but I suspect you’re lying to yourself.”

“And I suspect that you’re in interfering asshole, but what are we going to do about it?”