Chapter 23
brANDON
Iswirl the last dregs of my beer, watching the amber liquid coat the sides of the glass before settling again. Bradd’s is packed tonight—standing room only with bodies pressed together on the dance floor, and the air thick with perfume, sweat, and cheap liquor.
“Are you going to drink that beer or nurse it all night?” Jace asks beside me, arching a brow when I blink over at him, like I forgot he was there.
“I’m drinking it,” I mutter, taking a tiny sip, only for my stomach to revolt.
Nothing is the same without Tatum.
Not football.
Or school.
Fuck, even beer sucks without her.
Chris snorts, then tips my glass into his empty one. “Sure ya are.”
“Dude, he just took your beer and you’re not even going to say anything?” Damon asks, eyeing my now-empty glass.
I shrug, not giving a shit. In fact, I wouldn’t even be here if West hadn’t practically dragged my ass out of the apartment.
“Be smart,” Jace says. “If you’re going to waste our bye week by wallowing, at least drown yourself in a pint of beer.”
“I’m just not feeling it.” I shrug.
The guys exchange a knowing look, and I sense a lecture coming on, so I pick up my phone and begin scrolling social media before they have a chance to lay into me about moving on and letting her go, and all the other bullshit expressions I’ve heard a thousand times before.
“Come on man, you’ve gotta move on,” Damon says.
Here we go . . .
“You can’t keep holding out for a girl who’s made it very clear she wants a life with someone else.”
“Like you moved on from Avery all those years ago?” I snap.
“That was different.”
“Oh, really. How exactly was that different?”
Damon’s mouth pinches, and the table falls silent as I return my attention back to my phone in search of Tatum’s latest viral post, excited to see how many views she’s gotten.
Last I checked, it was at over a million views, and I don’t even care if stalking her stats makes me a sad motherfucker. I’m too proud of her not to.
But when I navigate to her page, the post is nowhere to be found.
I frown and exit the app, then re-enter it, thinking there must be a glitch, only to find it’s still absent from her profile.
I glance up from the screen, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would a post on TikTok just disappear?”
“Since when are you on TikTok?” Jace arches a brow, eyeing me over the rim of his beer.
“Not me—Tate.”
Chris leans back in his seat. “You’re stalking her social media now?”
“It’s not like that. I’ve been following her for years,” I grumble. “And right now, it’s the only way I have to check on her and make sure she’s okay.”
“And is she okay?” West asks.
“Hell if I know. She seems okay in her posts.” I frown. “It’s not like she’s going to break down on camera and admit her boyfriend is a controlling handsy ass.”
Damon snorts. “Good point.”
“But what’s that have to do with a missing post?” Jace asks. “And should we be worried you’ve memorized them to the point of knowing when one’s gone missing?”
I cut him a glare and flip him the bird. “I don’t memorize them.” At least, not all of them. “But I get notified when she has a new post, and her most recent video went viral. I’ve been watching her views steadily climb since last night.”
“So?” Jace shrugs.
“So, she had over a million fucking views, but now it’s just gone. Poof! Disappeared into thin air.”
The Tate I know would die rather than take down a video with that many views.
“Maybe it violated some kind of guideline or something,” Damon suggests.
“Maybe,” I mutter, but I’m not buying it. I watched her video. Several times, if I’m being honest, and there was nothing about it that would’ve gotten flagged.
We should be out right now celebrating. Better yet, we should be in, celebrating at my apartment. Sharing a drink and ordering our favorite junk food, laughing and reading the comments roll in, then plotting her next move and how to capitalize on her newfound success.
Hell, it took everything inside of me not to rush over to her dorm this afternoon, like I was a knight storming a castle, and sweep her up into my arms after I saw it.
The truth is, I’m not just depressed without Tatum.
I’m a fucking wasteland. A barren desert, desperate for water.
I miss her so much, I can’t fucking breathe.
I can barely think. Eat. Play football. I can’t even take a piss without thinking about her and how every single part of my life feels hollow without her.
She’s the oxygen in my lungs, and I’ve been gasping for air ever since she left.
Functioning like a normal human being feels like some monumental feat, and I’d give anything right now—fucking anything—to go back to the way things were.
Because I’d rather spend forever in the friend zone with Tate than live a lifetime without her.
“Speak of the devil,” Jace murmurs, and my head jerks in his direction so fast, I almost pull a muscle. “Don’t look now,” he says, his gaze focused on something in the distance, “but Tatum just walked in. With Ethan.”
My entire body stiffens as both West and Damon stare at me like I’m a bomb waiting to go off. Focusing on my breathing, I grip my empty beer glass until my knuckles turn white.
“Stay cool,” Chris whispers, and it feels like he just asked me to scale Everest.
The noise of the bar fades into a dull roar as blood rushes to my ears. My entire body shakes with restraint, as if my heart can sense her proximity and is revving its engine, ready to see her again.
“Is she alone with him?” I ask, managing to keep my voice steady.
“No.” Damon flicks a glance over my shoulder, frowning. “Looks like he’s with a couple other guys. College friends, maybe?”
“She looks miserable,” Chris blurts, before Jace shoots him a warning glare.
“Not helping.” West shakes his head.
“What?” Chris throws his hands up. “It’s true.”
“She does look miserable,” Damon confirms, his voice dropping low like she might overhear. “She’s standing by the bar, but she keeps glancing at the door like she’s dying to leave.”
“I’m going over there,” I announce, already pushing my chair back.
“Dude, wait,” Damon hisses. “With Ethan right here, that’s a bad idea.”
I throw my hands up. “Well, I can’t just sit here.”
“And what are you gonna say when you get over there?” Chris asks, leaning forward.
“Oh, hey, Tate,” he says, in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like me.
“I know you said you wanted nothing to do with me and to leave you the fuck alone, but I just couldn’t help myself when I saw you with the prick whose nose I broke a few weeks ago. ”
I pound my fist on the table, and our glasses jump. “This is torture,” I bark, barely keeping it together.
I can’t fathom being in the same room with her and not talking to her. It’s unnatural and goes against every single one of my instincts.
I rub the center of my chest with my palm, wondering if this hollow ache behind my ribs will ever go away.
It feels like she carved out my insides with a dull spoon, yet I’d let her do it all again if it meant one more minute with her.
I’m desperate. I want to cross this stupid bar, run my fingers through her hair, and ask her how she’s doing.
I want to look into her eyes?really look?and make sure she’s okay.
Because from what the guys are saying, and from what my gut has been telling me for the past month, she’s not.
Tatum Fletcher is far from okay, and right now, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
“Wait. The guys are doing shots, but she’s leaving,” Jace says, giving me the play-by-play. “Shit, she’s headed this way.” He ducks his head, and the others follow suit while I sit a little taller.
Maybe she’s coming to see me . . .
The tiny spark of hope ignites, then instantly dies when Jace flicks a gaze in her direction and says, “She just turned toward the bathroom.”
“I’m going after her,” I say, my mind made up.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” West asks, but I’m already on my feet, crossing the room toward the little alcove where the bathrooms are situated. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her once I get there, I only know I have to talk to her.
It takes no time at all to cross the bar. The small hallway to the bathroom is dimly lit, the music fading to a dull thud as I round the corner, and there she is.
My heart slams in my chest at the sight of her. She’s in line behind two other girls, her weight shifted to one hip as she stares at her phone, and even in this shitty lighting, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I take a quick sweep of her appearance—tight jeans, sky-high boots with long, thin heels that make her legs go on for days, and a soft top that hugs her curves.
A cascade of dark hair spills down her back like fresh ink, and when she runs her hands through it, I’m instantly jealous, because I want the privilege of being able to do that for her. ”
She’s beautiful, even if she looks tired and tense, like she’ll break apart the moment she lets her guard down.
Inhaling, I move forward, hating how nervous I suddenly am.
My heart hammers in my chest, and before I can talk myself out of it, I step up behind her, my voice as soft as butter when I say, “Hey, Tate.”
She jumps at the sound, looking like a startled animal as she whirls around. On instinct, I reach a hand out, afraid she might lose her balance in those ridiculous boots, but when she doesn’t, I curl my hands into fists at my side.
Her eyes find mine, wide with surprise, before darting past me out toward the bar, and I know exactly what she’s looking for?or rather who.
“He’s not watching,” I reassure her, hating the way she flicks her gaze back to mine, uncertainty written across her features. “He’s too busy doing shots at the bar,” I add.
And flirting with the redheaded bartender with the big tits, but I keep that observation to myself because I’m desperate to see her. “And even if he weren’t, he can’t see from this angle.”
That seems to do the trick and the tension in her posture loosens. “You shouldn’t be here,” she says, her voice tight as she turns back in line.
“At Bradd’s or talking to you?” I ask, knowing damn well what she meant.
When she doesn’t answer, I clear my throat. “You look good. Your feet have to be fucking killing you, though.”
She shoots me some serious side-eye, then shakes her head, but not before I catch the slight upward curve of her lips—a ghost of the smirk I know so well.
“They are fucking killing me,” she says, and we both laugh, some of the tension in the air between us dissolving like honey in tea, leaving behind something sweeter and softer, and much more bearable.
Then, as if catching herself with her guard down, she erases the almost-smile. “You always have known me better than I know myself.”
I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans, feeling suddenly shy, like I don’t know what to say to this girl who holds my heart in the palm of her hands for fear she might crush it beneath her heel.
“I saw your post by the way. The viral one on TikTok.” I sigh and scrub a hand over the scruff on my jaw.
“Damn, Tate. It was amazing. It broke one million views when I last checked.”
“Um, thanks,” she says, playing with her hands out in front of her, and I can’t help but notice some of the stiffness returning to her shoulders.
I cock my head, trying to read her, because her response is not what I expected. The Tate I know would be ecstatic. “How high did it go?” I ask, unable to let it go.
She shrugs, her cheeks turning a dark shade of pink as she murmurs, “I don’t know. I deleted it.”
“You deleted it?” I half-shout into the tiny alcove, causing the girl in line in front of her to turn our way.
“Shhhh!” Her gaze darts over my shoulder in the direction of the bar. “Would you keep it down?”
I stare at her, saying nothing, my brow furrowed in confusion until finally she sighs and says, “It was a stupid video, anyway.”
“It wasn’t stupid. It was—”
“Can you please just let it go?” She turns to face me, her expression earnest. And for the first time in a long time, she’s looking me in the eyes, and she’s not pushing me away or telling me to leave. So I let it drop, instead asking what I really want to know most. “How have you been?”
“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” she says, almost to herself, then: “I’ve been okay. Busy. And you?”
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you,
I fucking miss you with the fire of a thousand suns.
“Good. Good,” I say, afraid she’ll shut down if I tell her what’s really on my mind. “My suspension is up soon, so I’m looking forward to getting back on the field.”
“That’s good,” she says, and I hate that we’re talking like we’re fucking strangers.
The creak of a door interrupts me, and I glance at the bathroom. Sometime in the last couple of minutes, the line disappeared.
I swallow as Tatum follows my gaze. “Wait,” I whisper. I take a step closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume, and all I want to do is drink her in. “At least tell me he’s good to you, Tate,” I say, unable to help myself.
Her eyes darken and she glances away, but not before I see the truth, confirming everything I’ve been worried about in the weeks since I sat with her in Java.
But when she simply nods in reply, something inside me breaks.
I reach out, but she’s already brushing past me, abandoning the bathroom altogether as she heads back to him, saying, “I should go.”