Chapter 13 Casey Joe
Casey Joe
“Maybe you tell me what crawled up your ass.” Lance reached for the oh-shit bar as I careened my truck around the corner. “And where the hell we’re going.”
“Fuck off,” I bit out. “Can’t a guy just pick up his best friend for a drive? You too god damned far up my kid’s ass to take a fuckin’ drive?” As the words left me, I realized what I’d said. “Don’t fuckin’ answer that.”
Lance huffed out a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to spend time with you, but you’re driving like a mad man. You clearly have something on your mind.”
“On my mind?” I gunned the gas. “Wanna know what’s on my mind? A drink and a cigarette,” I growled. “Fuck it. A six-pack and a whole fistful of smokes.”
“Shit, man.” My best friend’s words were softer, and that pissed me off more. I didn’t need no one’s damn pity. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Fuck off, help me pick up this order, and buy me a large pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni.” If I was being honest, the pizza would likely make me sick to my stomach. Bryce had me eating a lot healthier lately, and I hadn’t had anything super heavy or greasy in quite a while.
And I didn’t need the drinks or smokes. It wasn’t a physical craving like it used to be. But damn the mental and emotional cravings were often even worse.
I’d worked through a lot of shit and come to a conclusion recently—thanks to my fuckin’ smug-ass therapist.
I was an addict.
Fuck.
Still couldn’t say the words, or even think them, without feeling like I’d been punched in the gut.
Would it be a shock to the people who knew me best?
Not in the slightest.
Wasn’t like it was a shock to me.
Just hadn’t ever put a label to it.
And I was working through the fact addicts are never not addicts.
But accepting I was an addict and always would be wasn’t the worst part.
My fuckin’ know-it-all therapist—for real, she was super helpful, but damn, did she have to be an expert and right about nearly every damn thing that came out of her mouth?
Anyway, my therapist wanted me thinking about what my addiction to alcohol, along with the smokes, the piss-poor personality, the inability—or refusal—to get over Missy was helping me avoid.
Fuck that shit.
“Maybe we stop for some coffee?” Lance suggested.
Caffeine wasn’t super healthy, I knew that, but it was something I could wean myself from down the road once I finally got the rest of my shit under control.
Or as under control as possible.
My main goal was to get healthier, so I wasn’t a walking, talking, ticking time bomb. I’d never wanted to leave my boys, but the changes I’d been making lately had me determined to be around for as long as possible.
I grunted my agreement.
“I think there’s a little café up there on the corner. I could eat,” Lance said.
“Better watch it, you’ll end up on Bryce’s health-food menu with me if you’re not careful.”
Lance just grinned and patted his mostly flat stomach. “Hudson doesn’t mind, plus we get all the extra cardio we can manage.”
My eyes flew to him as heat flared in my belly with the mention of cardio.
“Fuck, man.” Lance grabbed the oh-shit bar again. “Watch where the hell you’re going.”
His eyes were on me as I parked the truck.
As we walked into the café.
The whole time I studied the menu looking for something healthy.
Fuckin’-A, what the hell had Bryce turned me into?
When the waitperson finally brought a carafe of coffee and took our orders, Lance waited until I had a mug full of black coffee before he finally spoke.
“So, you drag me out of town to run some secret errand,” he started, cutting me off when I started to argue. “I know we’re not just on a drive. You said you’re picking up some sort of order. But you’re being cagey as hell and grumpier than usual.”
I grunted.
“What’s up?” he pressed.
Shrugging, I savored the strong bitterness of the coffee, not even flinching at the bite of heat against my lips.
Lance studied me and pursed his lips. “Okay, fine. Have it your way.”
“I still owe you a few rounds in the ring,” I grumbled over the edge of my mug. “Maybe you stop being so damn nosey if you don’t want my fist in your face.”
Lance chuckled. “Whatever you say, Case.” He took a long sip of his coffee. “I want to check out the little store they’ve got before we leave. Maybe get some teas for Hudson and Jack.”
I gave a nod and absently drank my coffee while studying the café’s little shop over Lance’s shoulder.
That’s the way things with Lance and me had always been. As close as brothers—closer maybe in some ways—and we could fight like cats and dogs, but completely comfortable with each other through thick and thin.
“Bryce like tea?” Lance asked.
My eyes shot to his. If I hadn’t known the man most my life, I would have missed it. But there was a tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth, and I knew he was doing his fuckin’ damnedest to hide a smile.
“How the fuck would I know if Bryce likes tea?”
Lance pressed his lips together and waited.
“What?” I asked, setting my mug down with more force than necessary.
My best friend shrugged. “Just figured you live with him, spend most of your days with him, eat meals with him…thought you might know if he likes tea. Looks like they’ve got a buy three get one free sale going on.”
I reined myself in, determined not to take the bait, and gave a nod as our food arrived. “Yeah, maybe I’ll get him something.”
We ate in silence for a bit, but I knew it was too good to be true.
“I’m here to listen if and when you want to talk about what’s bugging you,” Lance said around a bite of omelet.
I stared down at my oatmeal and fruit.
Since when did I enjoy fuckin’ oatmeal and fruit?
Lance’s words ping-ponged through my head.
Bryce’s…offer? Suggestion? Request?
Fuck.
I didn’t even know what had happened the night before.
Bryce had said suggestive stuff before. Each and every word stirred up a shitload of something deep in my gut, but he’d always laughed it off and made it clear he was just joking around.
Until he wasn’t.
At least, he said he wasn’t.
Fuck.
The urge to play it off like it was nothing pressed down on me.
But if I couldn’t talk about shit with my best friend, who could I talk to?
Sure, my therapist was an option, but the moment I mentioned anything to her, she would start poking and prodding, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
Fuckin’ hell, I’d just finally been able to admit I was a god damned addict, maybe I could have a bit of time to adjust to the fact I might be—
Fuck.
Why was it a whole hell of a lot easier to talk about hypothetical sexuality situations with my therapist than to acknowledge things in the stark light of reality?
Maybe I’d found myself attracted to guys at various times in the past.
Mostly in the past.
Okay, not completely in the past.
Perhaps I wanted to explore what I’d slowly been uncovering about myself.
Maybe I’d potentially considered labels that fell into the not straight category.
But maybe—perhaps—a label wasn’t what I needed or wanted.
All that shit had been hypothetical speculation. Sure, my therapist wanted to act like she knew something I didn’t know—yeah, yeah, I knew…fuck right the hell off—but it had all been easy to compartmentalize and talk about it like it was someone else.
But then Bryce showed up.
I made a few break throughs.
I started taking better care of myself.
And things slowly started drifting further and further from vague theories to cold, hard reality.
Was it just because of Bryce?
No.
I could at least be honest and not pin all my shit on him.
It just so happened Bryce was one of several catalysts that came along and kicked my ass toward a path forward.
A better path forward.
For my health.
For my boys.
My future—something I truly did hope to have.
And then that mother fucker Bryce went and dropped a god damned bomb on me like it was no big deal. Like all the joking around he’d done since I met him had actually been leading up to this point. And he…just threw it right out there like it was a something he offered to his friends all the time.
Sitting there with my fuckin’ toe bleeding and throbbing like it had its own heartbeat, and my so-called friend tells me he’s willing to—
Fuck.
“Nothin’ to fuckin’ talk about,” I bit out. “Ordered something for the fall fest a while back. Need to pick it up. Didn’t want Bryce to see it. Sorry I dragged you away, just thought you could help.”
“Don’t do that,” Lance said. “I’m willing to help, and I’m glad to see you. You don’t have to tell me anything, but don’t lie to me and act like something isn’t bothering you.”
“It ain’t—”
“Look,” Lance said with a hint of weariness, “you already told me you might have a thing for the guy. Is that it? That’s what’s bothering you?”
Fuck.
As much as it annoyed the ever-lovin’ shit out of me that Lance kept poking, a tiny piece of me—deep, deep down—felt like a little kid with a juicy secret I just had to share with somebody.
And didn’t that just fuck with my head?
I glanced around. We weren’t in Haven Grove, and I didn’t know anyone in the café, but it didn’t feel right talking about Bryce’s offer in public. “Not here.”
Lance gave a quick nod, and we returned to eating.
After finishing a third cup of coffee, I decided I might just survive, and we paid our bill. I took a quick detour to the restroom while Lance browsed in the little shop. By the time I returned, he had a basket hooked on his arm.
“Good lord, man.”
“It’s just tea stuff. I won’t cheat on the Juicy Peach, but this tea is different than what we have back home.
” He held up a glass jar of blueberry preserves.
“And we’ve got all the peaches we can handle, but I’m getting blueberry and raspberry for Jack.
Bet he’s got all kinds of recipes for them.
” He tapped the strawberry jar. “And I know Hudson will devour some ice cream with this.”