Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Christian
Taylor's birthday party is already in full swing by the time I walk through the door. Shame Shame by Foo Fighters thumps over the bass as laughter and the scent of roasted meat fill the air. Everyone's already here.
Shutting the door, I lean against it and give myself a moment to take in the old townhouse.
It looks exactly like it did the last time I was here almost four years ago—living room behind the hardwood stairs, small kitchen to the right.
A banner hangs above me, reading “Happy Birthday Taylor” in big sparkly letters.
That was probably Salem’s idea. Or Owen's.
They were both here last time too, when this place belonged to Matty and Xed.
That was the night I started dating Arya.
I can still remember how cute she looked in her tight little skirt, blonde hair all curled and shiny.
That was also about the same time Taylor and Huck started dating.
The memory replays through my head as I close my eyes.
“Taaaaaylor-uh!”
Arya slams into Tay, wrapping her legs around his waist. She presses her gorgeous tits into his chest and tries to kiss him, but he turns his head at the last second and sets her on the floor.
The sight of them together makes my dick twitch, like always, but any hopes of a threesome are quickly squashed when Tay spots Huckslee and Owen talking in the kitchen.
I can't help it. My chest pinches pathetically.
Arya tosses her bleach-blonde hair over her shoulder and pouts at him. “I was happy to hear about your win today, but I can’t believe you didn’t invite me, Tay.”
“Yeah, it was close friends only.”
I snort and brush by them to throw my pack of beer into the fridge. Taylor follows close behind. I open my mouth, about to ask my best friend if he's ready to kick ass at beer pong, but stop short when I see him eyeing his stepbrother.
“Hi,” Huckslee says, raking his eyes over Taylor's body. I try to keep my face neutral, but every instinct inside of me wants to glare at the man.
I had him first, motherfucker.
That thought catches me off guard, and I shove it down. Way, way down.
“Do you know Huckslee?” Owen asks, glancing between them.
Taylor licks his lips. “Yeah, I know him. Know him pretty well.”
Despite my shitass feelings, I can't help the way my cock plumps slightly at the memory of overhearing those two phone-fucking last week.
I'm human, okay? Our apartment walls are thin as hell.
Tay's sounds of pleasure automatically activate my own, like some sleeper cell agent. I'm conditioned or some shit.
“Oh, gosh, hi.” Arya inserts herself between them, and I wish I could kiss her for that. “We arrived only a few seconds before Taytay, so I don’t think we’ve met. You must be the stepbrother I’ve heard so much about.”
Huck’s brows rise in amusement as he takes her in. “Oh? And what exactly have you heard?”
She giggles, all cute as fuck. “Just how amazing you are at football. It was pretty annoying how obsessed he was with your games.”
“Arya, shut the fuck up,” Taylor mutters, nudging her aside.
I snicker, popping open a can of beer. Seriously, I'm gonna kiss that girl. Tay's fixation on Huckslee's games constantly cuts into our bike time, and it irritates me.
“Well, I don’t know about amazing,” Huckslee says slowly. “And how do you know Taytay?”
Arya rolls her eyes. “We used to date a few years ago.”
More like fuck. Taylor was never interested in Arya beyond sharing her with me.
“Date is a strong word,” my best friend mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.
They all get to chatting, but I sip my beer and tune out the conversation.
Huck’s still on my shitlist for punching Taylor when he first moved back.
Yeah, maybe Tay egged him on, but nobody fucks with my best friend except for me.
Especially not some big football star who skipped town and broke his heart.
Which… Yeah, okay, Taylor kinda caused that, too.
Look, he's a dick, but he's mine. We've been partners in crime since we were five.
“You were a bartender?” Taylor frowns, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“For a few summers, yeah.” Huck shrugs, lifting a red cup to his lips. Taylor looks visibly upset, which is my cue—bestie for the restie to the rescue.
“Come on, carino.” I grab the back of his tank top and haul him toward the living room. “You’re my pong partner. If you choose someone else, I’ll scream.”
A soundless laugh bubbles up from my throat as I open my eyes.
He did, in fact, choose someone else. The fact that Huck has made him ten times happier than I ever could still irks me sometimes.
Look, I'm not fucking naive. Messing around with Devon last year made me realize that my feelings for Taylor were maybe more than what a friend should feel. It's exactly why I started dating Arya in the first place—a distraction.
Focusing on her and our relationship meant I didn't have to watch Taylor with Huck. And it worked well. I even started to feel like I was in love with her… until she cheated on me with Dev and then dropped me like a pair of dirty fucking chonies. Life's a bitch, right?
“Hey, man,” Huck says from the kitchen, smiling at me in a “Kiss The Cook” apron that makes me smirk.
“Sup, hermano.” I give him a nod as I place Taylor's birthday present—a container of pozole from my mom—on the counter. “How's it feel being home for Tay's birthday?”
He grins, pushing blond curls out of his eyes. “Not gonna lie, pretty good. Haven’t gotten to spend one with him in, what, four years?”
“Yeah. Baltimore’s loss, I guess.”
Up until now, Huck spent every fall as a running back for the Ravens. Last year was his final season, and he didn't sign on again—much to my, uh… disgruntlement. I don't hate the guy by any means; I just liked having Taylor to myself for six months out of the year.
Huck starts talking about the game playing today, but I barely listen.
My eyes drift to the living room, where everyone's seated on some brand new fancy ass leather sofa.
Taylor is doubled over laughing at Salem, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
Logan has one hand on his wife's thigh and an arm around his boyfriend, looking suave as hell despite the button-up shirt and khakis.
Christ, how did that nerdy fuck end up cooler than me?
How did I end up the only one alone out of everyone?
“You good?” Huck asks, glancing at me sideways from where he's marinating ribs on the stove.
I force a grin and clap him on the shoulder. “Yep. Starving, though. You need any help?”
His dark eyes narrow, but he shakes his head before gesturing toward a sketchbook on the table. “Nah, I got it. Drew some new concepts for TOT, though, if you wanna check them out.”
My stomach drops, mind running back to Dev. It's been three fucking days since I blew five thousand dollars of company money to get him out of trouble. Didn't matter in the slightest, either, because the fucker was gone when I woke up the next morning.
Fool me once, right?
Grabbing the book, I nod my approval and silently step into the living room. Everyone halts mid conversation when they spot me, and Taylor's eyes light up.
“You're late, fucker,” he says, making room for me on the couch.
I squeeze in despite the tight fit, no stranger to being pressed against my best friend's body. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”
The surrounding walls are empty, save for a mounted flat screen TV. Boxes line the corners, as if they haven't been unpacked yet. I should probably offer to help, but… I don't really want to.
Salem leans over Taylor’s lap to study me. “Something's wrong,” she says, gray eyes searching my face. Soft red waves cascade over her shoulders like a bloody waterfall.
I try my hardest to keep my face neutral. “Nothing's wrong.”
Owen briefly glances my way, then focuses intently on his drink. Apparently, he didn't tell Logan about our little trip to Arnieville and wants to keep it a secret. Doesn't seem healthy, but I ain't no fucking snitch.
“Got shitfaced last night is all,” I shrug, opening up Huck's sketchbook. “Hungover.”
Not a total lie. I downed half a bottle of vodka after work and watched reruns of The Office because I'm boring now.
The sketches on the page blur a little—new merch designs for the monster truck rally, some branding notes. Huck’s got good ideas, I’ll give him that. But all I can think about is the money slowly dwindling from our bank account.
“What do you think?” Huck asks from the kitchen.
“Looks solid,” I say flatly, snapping the book shut.
Logan launches into numbers and a long-winded explanation about profit margins that I pay no attention to. Salem’s brows furrow in worry, and Huck says something about figuring it out. I feel like I’m watching it all with my head underwater.
To be honest, I don't want to talk about our business. Not when it feels like it's slowly going under.
Taylor nudges my shoulder and asks a question I don't hear, so my lips curl into a forced grin. “Happy birthday, carino.”
“Thanks, man.” He beams at me like it’s the easiest thing in the world to be happy.
I take a swig of beer, the bitterness sitting heavy on my tongue. “Hope you got everything you wanted.”
He glances over at Huck, who's watching him from the doorway with a soft expression. “Yeah. I did.”
My throat burns when I swallow, and I look away before he can see the hurt in my eyes.
I don't want to be like this. I don't want to feel like this, but everything's boiling to the surface. I fucking hate this shit.
Without an anchor to tether my thoughts, they're spiraling into space and I can't yank them back fast enough. There's gotta be something I can do with all of this sudden alone time. A project or something. Shit, anything other than the drinking and loneliness swallowing me whole.
Logan’s phone goes off, interrupting my pity-party. He fumbles it out of his pocket to answer, and the blood drains from his face.
“Who is it?” Owen asks.
Logan hesitates, glancing my way. “It’s Devon.”
My stomach flips several times.
“Devon?” Taylor repeats, brows jumping high. “It's been what, a year since we've heard from him?”
“Yeah.” Logan’s voice tightens. “And he’s… calling from county.”
The room goes silent for a fraction of a second.
“Shit,” Huck mutters.
Salem tugs the phone from Logan’s hand, looking murderous as she puts it on speaker. “Yes, we'll accept the call.”
The line crackles, and then a familiar voice comes through the speaker. “Logan? I, uh… I need a favor.”
Salem scoffs, but I can’t even breathe. My hand’s frozen on my beer, halfway to my lips, pulse pounding in my ears.
Logan meets my gaze. “What happened?”
“Got picked up,” Dev mutters. “I don’t have anyone else to call. Can you… Can you bail me out? Please?”
“Absolutely not—” Salem starts, but I rip the phone from her hands.
“What the fuck did you get picked up for?”
Where did you go when you left me?
There's a heavy pause on the other end. “Nevermind. Sorry for calling.”
The line goes dead.
Salem shoots from her seat, and Logan and I just stare at each other. She's pissed, calling Dev every name under the sun, but Logan pays her no mind. His honey-gold eyes stay on mine. A silent understanding passes between us.
Not only did I have something going on with Devon last year, but so did he—until Dev disappeared on us both. I don't know how much Logan still cares for him but judging from the worry etched onto his features, I'd say it's probably a hell of a lot.
“I'll go get him,” I say, rising to my feet.
Salem halts mid-tantrum and cuts her sharp gaze my way. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Dead.”
“The guy’s a walking red flag, Christian. He made his bed—”
“Then I guess I’m an idiot for giving a shit.”
That has everyone falling quiet instantly—even Huck.
Taylor slowly stands. “You don’t even know what he did, man.”
“Don’t care.”
“Christian—”
Logan slides off the couch and grabs his keys from his pocket. “I’ll drive.”
Salem whirls on him. “You’re kidding me. You too?”
“Sal,” he says softly, almost pleading. That’s all it takes for her to look away with her jaw clenched.
Then Owen clears his throat, surprising everyone. “I’ll come, too.”
Logan frowns. “Babe, you don’t have to.”
“I know.” He tucks his hair behind his ear and sets his drink down. “But if this goes south again, you’ll both need a getaway driver, and—”
“What do you mean again?” Logan asks, brows slamming down. Owen pales, his eyes wide as saucers.
I tug Logan’s arm toward the door with a sigh. “Come on, hermano. We'll tell you on the way.”
“Christian, wait,” Taylor calls my name, and I look over my shoulder to find him chewing his lip. The sight makes my heart hurt. “We're still going riding later, right? Birthday tradition?”
Fuck. This doesn't feel right. All the vibes are off in our friendship and I feel like it's all my fault.
I swallow hard, forcing out a laugh that sounds nothing like me. “Yeah, about that… uh, bike’s out of commission right now.”
Liar, liar.
His brow creases. “Since when?”
“Since yesterday.” The lie rolls off my tongue too smoothly. “Throttle’s been sticking. Haven't gotten a chance to fix her yet.”
“Well, shit, man. I'll come over after dinner and help you tune her up—”
“No,” I interrupt, a little too harshly. Taylor's face twists in confusion, but I force myself to toss him an easy grin. “It's your birthday, carino. Relax with your man. Eat some cake. I got it.”
Tay studies me closely. “You sure?”
“Positive. I’ll catch you later.”
His lips twitch like he wants to say something, but Huck distracts him by calling his name from the kitchen.
I don’t wait for him to turn back around, choosing to slip through the door instead. Owen and Logan are waiting by the car, headlights cutting through the dark, and I take a deep breath before making my way down the steps.
“Everything good?” Logan asks, sliding behind the wheel.
“Yeah. Just peachy.”
Once we're all buckled up, we pull away from the curb, and city lights pass by in streaks of golden shadow. Somewhere in the back of my head, I hear Taylor’s voice again.
“We’re still going riding later, right?”
Yeah. Sure.
Right after I dig myself out of this fucking grave.