Rein
"Kay… Moof—move outta the way. Outta the way. S’my turn now.
" I nudge/shove Beau aside with my hip and flip through the song selection for something, anything, other than heavy metal or country.
I swear, for a gay dude his taste in music is super bad.
"Karaoke was a brilliant idea, BTW. Just sayin'," I tell him before squinting at the song titles.
Why are they all so blurry? And why aren't they in English?
"Karaoke was your idea," Beau says, smiling as he flips the song menu the right way up. "Better?"
"Ah. Yeah."
Slightly.
The server shows up with another tray of shots. Our fourth? Seventh? Beau eyes them and lets out a low yikes.
"Do we need more alcohol?" he asks in a way that suggests he thinks the answer to that is hell no.
Ignoring him, I thumb through the song menu until… "Ooh. I've got it. Spice Girl's Wannabe."
"Yep. More alcohol will definitely be needed." He answers his own question and tips the server a twenty even though I've already told him everything is on the house since my family owns this resort and casino, and my sister runs the entire operation.
I didn't say that last part out loud since he already knows that, and the less we talk about our families, the better. That was a winning formula for our friendship back in the day, so why mess with it now?
We down two shots. Each.
"Any chance I can get you to reconsider the song selection?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"No way," I reply, the tequila burning its way down my esophagus. "You chose three Luke Combs songs in a row. That's traumatizing. Tell you what…"
"Yeah?"
"I'll give you the first pick of which Spice Girl you wanna…be. Get it? Wannabe?"
He shakes his head and groans, dropping onto the plush leather sofa in our private VIP booth.
I cue up the song on the machine because he is not getting out of it that easy—also, I'm drunk so I'll likely forget if I don't—and stumble over to join him.
As I do, I trip over my own feet and unceremoniously dump all two hundred twenty pounds of myself onto him.
"Shit. Sorry," I mutter, trying to push off the sofa—and off his lap—but my upper body strength has turned to jelly. I wriggle around like a worm but don't succeed in either the first or second part of getting up.
"Here. Let me help you."
Two firm hands plant themselves on my shoulders, get a proper hold, then raise me up to a seated position.
"Thanks," I mumble, looking around for that tray of drinks because I’m not drunk enough to not be embarrassed by what just happened.
"Think you've had enough, buddy," Beau says, as if reading my mind. Or maybe I'm not being as discreet as I think I am.
Great. Now I'm embarrassed, and I look like an idiot. Guess it's the perfect moment to say something stupid, too.
"Buddy? You haven't called me that in years."
Beau squeezes his eyes shut, cutting off my ability to read what he's thinking. Although, so much time has passed, I've probably lost the ability to read him right anyway.
"What do you want me to say, Rein?" he asks, opening his eyes and casting a weary glance in my direction. "Life's a bitch."
I scoff. "Really? That's the best you've got."
His posture tightens. "What would you prefer me to say?"
"How about sorry?"
"Sorry?" He spits the word back at me. "Why should I apologize to you? I know I suffered a head injury, but what the fuck?"
"You ghosted me," I cry out, and thank God for soundproof walls.
"You betrayed me."
"I did not."
"You did fucking so."
I try to sit up a bit taller, but my feet slide from under me, and I accidentally end up nudging Beau's shin instead.
"Did you just kick me?"
"No." I pull back defensively. "I barely grazed your leg."
He shakes his head in a way that makes me feel his disappointment in me even though I have no clue what he’s disappointed about. I've done nothing but treat him like a brother.
An avalanche of guilt crushed me after the accident, and when the doctors told Beau that was it for his football career, I could have died.
The days and weeks that followed were horrendous, the worst of my life.
And I couldn't be with him. My team moved on to Kansas City and then the next rounds after that.
I went because I had to, not because I wanted to.
I called and messaged Beau constantly, which was the only thing I could do.
Until one day, without warning, the lines of communication stopped. Completely. He ghosted me before ghosting was even a thing.
Was he angry about the accident? Did he blame me for it? Was he jealous that I could carry on with my dream while his had been destroyed?
All questions that remain unanswered to this day. Thank God I had my family to fall back on for support because I was devastated.
"This was a mistake," he grumbles, getting up.
I try and do the same and even manage to succeed. Mostly. Just a slight wobble on my feet, nothing major. He's looking around for something, probably his phone and wallet.
"Don't go," I plead.
"Why not?" He stops and stares me right in the eye. It's like a punch in the gut, familiar but distant, heated but cold, all at the same time.
"Because I…" I huff out a breath, a dull throb forming behind my left eye again. "Because I miss you, Beau. I miss you and me. Being best friends. I miss what we had."
He abandons his search and steps over to me until we're close, like we're waiting for the snap count. "I miss you, too, Rein. But things have happened."
What things? What on earth is he talking about? Why did he shut me out of his life without so much as a word of an explanation?
As tempted as I am to ask them, I keep the questions buried. It's not worth risking getting into a fight over. As stupid as it sounds, I just want him to stay and be around for a while longer.
"I know," I say defeatedly, the weight of our broken relationship sinking into my chest.
"I should go."
"No. Stay."
He frowns, and I'd bet all the money I have that the next word out of his mouth is going to be why. So to avoid the path that would lead us down, I do the only thing my drunken brain can think of to keep him here.
I stumble closer, cup his surprised face between my hands, and I kiss him.
On the lips.
Hard.