Chapter 31
CHAPTER 31
The table was a mess. Empty beer bottles jostled for space with crumpled napkins stained with ketchup and beer foam. A sticky ring marked where Brick had spilled his last shot of whiskey.
The bar thrummed with slurred shouts, which rose in drunken waves as the jukebox wheezed out a rendition of “Gimme Shelter,” crackling as if even the machine was exhausted from overuse.
Ethan slouched in his chair, one leg kicked out lazily while his other foot tapped an uneven beat against the floor. His face sagged with fatigue, eyes bloodshot from too many nights like this.
Devon set a battered tray in front of him with a dramatic flourish, as if presenting a feast to a king. On it sat six more tequila shots in squat glasses, their golden liquid shimmering menacingly in the light, lime wedges perched on the rims like tiny green flags of surrender. Beside them stood fresh bottles of Budweiser, beads of condensation running down to their bases.
“Gentlemen…” he declared, as if addressing an assembly. “Your next round awaits.”
Ethan groaned, dragging one hand down his face, trying to wipe away the sight before him. “No, man,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Not for me. I had more than my fill. No way I can do another round of these.”
Brick let out a loud laugh, then slapped his palm flat against the table so hard that one of the empty beer bottles wobbled precariously before settling back into place. “C’mon, man,” he said, grinning wide enough to show the chip in his front tooth as he grabbed one of the tequila shots and knocked it back like it was nothing more than water.
His throat bobbed once as he swallowed, then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smirked at Ethan. “What are you, a SEAL or a mouse? You gotta toughen up bro.”
Devon leaned forward and slid one of the shot glasses closer. “Up to you,” he said, impossible to ignore. “But don’t think we won’t rag you out all night if you pussy out now.”
Ethan eyed the shot warily. The tequila gleamed like a glass of liquid fire. He leaned in and sniffed it. The sharp, acrid scent stung his nose, and his stomach protested before he’d even taken a sip. He glanced at Brick, whose expression was openly challenging, then at Devon. His expression was something else entirely—darker, hungrier, his gaze fixed on Ethan with an intensity that made his chest tighten.
“Fine,” he finally snapped, grabbing a glass and tossing it back before he could second-guess himself.
The tequila hit his tongue like a reaper and clawed its way down his throat with all the subtlety of sandpaper dipped in gasoline. “Gaaahhh!” He grimaced, slamming the empty glass upside down with a loud clink.
His face contorted as though he’d bitten into something rotten, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the burn that lingered long after swallowing.
Brick erupted into a loud, booming laugh and clapped his hands together like a spectator at some gladiatorial contest.
Devon didn’t laugh, he just leaned closer to Ethan under the guise of camaraderie and clapped him on the back. “That’s my boy,” he said softly, though there was something in his tone that felt less congratulatory and more possessive. His hand lingered on Ethan’s shoulder, his fingers pressing firmly into the muscle before sliding down so that his thumb could brush against the back of Ethan’s neck. “You’re a champ.”
To anyone watching, this would look innocent enough—just two bros messing around after too many drinks. But to Ethan? It felt anything but innocent.
He stiffened but didn’t pull away—not outright anyway—though every instinct screamed at him to shrug off that hand before it could linger any longer. His breath hitched as goosebumps prickled along his arms beneath his jacket.
Across the room, Eddie sat alone at the bar except for the tumbler of whiskey he was cradling loosely between his fingers. His eyes drifted and no matter how much he tried to focus elsewhere, his gaze kept snapping back like a compass drawn inexorably north.
He saw Devon’s hand linger for too fucking long on Ethan’s tense frame, and something about it gnawed at him.
Logan slid onto a stool next to him, the wooden seat groaning under his weight. He clapped Eddie on the shoulder with a familiar hand, the kind of gesture that spoke of years of camaraderie and unspoken trust. “Hey, man, what are you watching over here all by your lonesome? Thought we were being social tonight.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, but there was an underlying tension in the way his gaze flicked toward Eddie’s drink.
Eddie barely acknowledged him at first, his fingers idly swirling the amber liquid around in his glass. The ice clinked softly against the sides as his eyes remained focused across the bar. “You know me, I’m just keeping an eye—sniper’s habit,” he muttered, but didn’t elaborate. The faint lines around his mouth deepened as he took a slow sip of the whiskey.
Logan frowned as he followed Eddie’s line of sight. “Keeping an eye on what?” he pressed, his brows knitting together as he scanned around the room, moving from one table to another until they landed on the scene that held Eddie’s focus.
A table in the corner where Brick was entertaining himself in his usual brash manner, tossing a lime wedge into the air, catching it expertly in his mouth with a crooked grin that earned a few chuckles from nearby patrons. Except… it wasn’t Brick who had Eddie’s attention, it was Devon and Ethan.
Whatever Devon had whispered was far too quiet to hear across the bar, but Logan didn’t need to hear it to understand as Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His shoulders tightened as though bracing for something unseen.
“Shit.” Logan straightened on the stool. “What the hell’s he doing here with them?”
“You tell me.” Eddie finally turned, one eyebrow arched high in a gesture that was equal parts incredulous and accusatory. His tone was laced with disapproval, each word deliberately measured. “Don’t act like you didn’t know Devon was sniffing around.”
Logan rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous habit he hadn’t quite shaken since their younger days. “I didn’t think—” he started, but Eddie cut him off with a sharp laugh that held no humor.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Is that where you took Ethan last week? To Devon’s place?”
Logan hesitated as he reached for his glass and swirled the liquor absentmindedly. He took a long sip and the burn steadied him. “Yeah,” he admitted, before setting the glass down. “I thought the kid could use some loosening up. And Devon’s the best around.”
Eddie snorted loudly, shaking his head as though Logan had just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Plenty of other places you could’ve taken him,” he shot back, disbelief practically dripping from every word. “C’mon, Logan… Ethan’s as mixed up as any kid I’ve seen, and you drop him in front of that animal and tell him to make nice?”
Logan’s face darkened, though there was no immediate rebuttal. Instead, he stared into his glass as if searching for an answer at the bottom. “Christ, Eddie,” he muttered after a beat, “he’s not that bad. Sure, he’s had his issues, but he’s past all that now.”
Eddie let out a bitter laugh that turned heads at a nearby table before lowering his voice. “Are you for fucking real?” His frown deepened into something almost dangerous as he leaned in close. “Are you forgetting what happened or just handling it like always by pretending it didn’t? Brother,” he said slowly, as if trying to hammer each word into Logan’s thick skull, “the man is a fucking psycho.”
“He’s changed. He’s stopped drinking and sorted his life out.” Logan insisted, though there was still an edge of doubt that even he couldn’t hide.
“Yeah?” Eddie challenged, raising a brow. “Is that what you’re telling yourself these days?” He gestured toward Devon with a tilt of his chin. “Well, I hope you’re damn sure about that for Ethan’s sake. Last thing this team needs is that stalker creeping around again.”
Logan flinched at the word, glancing around quickly to ensure no one else had heard. “Oh, c’mon,” he said defensively, though not convincingly enough to sway Eddie. “You’re blowing things way outta proportion.”
“Blowing it outta proportion?” Eddie barked another laugh and leaned back in his chair. “Logan, he wasn’t ‘overzealous,’ like you keep telling yourself. He was obsessed with you.” He stressed the word, letting it hang heavy in the air between them.
“It’s ancient history,” Logan replied, working his jaw beneath his stubble. “He’s settled now—business is going steady, PTSD under control. He has a whole new life. He’s just out having fun. Look, if it’ll shut you up...” he sighed, dragging a hand through his messy hair, “I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“Well, you should.” Eddie snorted, elbows resting on the bar. “Because from where I’m sitting, he’s already making it real clear he’s got a thing for Ethan.”
Logan’s head snapped up at that, his dark brows drawing together. “What the hell do you mean, ‘a thing’?”
Eddie smirked and took a slow sip, letting Logan stew in the silence. Finally, he set the empty glass down, stretching his arms across the backrest. “Watch him,” he nodded toward the table. “The hands, the looks... Hell, the way he keeps touching. Kid’s uncomfortable as hell. If I can see it, everyone can. He’s doing it right out in the open—doesn’t give a damn who sees.”
“You’re seeing shit that ain’t there,” Logan shot back. Still, his eyes betrayed him as they flicked to the far end of the room where Devon’s hand lingered on Ethan’s shoulder—a little too firm, a little too familiar. Ethan shifted in his seat, his smile strained at the edges. Meanwhile, Brick roared with laughter, oblivious to it all. “Hell, they’re just messing around,” he continued, though his gaze remained focused. “You even remember what fun is? Or are you too old now?”
Eddie snorted again, as he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his worn leather jacket from the back of his stool. “Make sure it stays fun.” He slid one arm into a sleeve, then clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder and added, “I don’t trust that bastard.”
Eddie walked away and Logan let out a heavy sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest, then waved the bartender over. “Another large whiskey in there.”
He turned slightly on his stool to get a better view and could clearly see, even across the dimly lit bar, that Devon’s hand still hadn’t moved from Ethan’s shoulder—if anything, it seemed to tighten like some kind of silent claim.
Ethan’s expression was harder to read from this distance, but something about him seemed off—the stiffness in his posture or maybe the way his laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes as Brick cracked another joke.
Logan exhaled sharply and turned back to his drink. The whiskey sloshed in the glass—a swirling amber storm that mirrored the one building inside him.
At the table, Brick rubbed his hands together with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“So…” he declared loudly enough for half the bar to hear. “Who’s up for more tequila?” His cheeks were flushed red from too many shots already and it was obvious he was well on his way to drunk. “I’m gettin’ a taste for ‘em now—let’s have a party! Hey...” He waggled his brows suggestively at Devon before turning to Ethan. “Maybe we should hit that club again? See if those girls are there? Maybe they’ve got another friend we can roll with if you know what I mean.” He punctuated this with an exaggerated wink and an elbow jab toward Devon.
“Or maybe...” Devon drawled, leaning over the table toward Brick. “…we could have a party of our own.” His voice dropped an octave—low enough to make even Ethan glance sideways. Then, as if to emphasize this suggestion, he reached out and placed both hands firmly on Brick’s shoulders and gave them an almost-too-friendly squeeze.
Brick froze mid-laugh and whatever witty comeback had been forming died instantly, alongside any lingering buzz from the tequila shots.
“Uh... yeah,” he stammered after several long seconds where nobody dared speak. “... no offense or anything, man, but... That’s not really my scene.”
“Really?” Devon sighed dramatically, pulling back and adding an exaggerated pout. “You disappoint me, brah. Hey, don’t worry… I’m just messin’ with y’all. Hell, you’re not my type anyway.” He winked again, playful but pointed. “But never say never until you’ve tried it. That’s my motto.”
Brick forced a smile, his lips curling enough to feign politeness. He really wasn’t sure if Devon was joking, but either way the taunting tone with which it was delivered dug under his skin.
He didn’t care who Devon slept with, but something about the insinuation, the smugness behind those words, rubbed him entirely the wrong way.
His jaw tightened as he stared down at his half-empty beer bottle, fingers gripping the glass a shade too tightly. Then it hit him. Like a sudden flash of clarity, it left him reeling.
Ethan. Ethan’s weird vibe. The way he’d dodged Brick’s questions about that massage a few nights ago. The restless energy in the kid’s eyes whenever Devon walked into a room. Was this that guy?
Brick’s stomach churned and he exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into the moment. “Look,” he muttered, sliding out of his seat with deliberate ease, “I’ll go grab us some beers.” He needed space, even if it was only the few steps to the bar.
Devon plopped down in the seat next to Ethan. The move was brazen, almost theatrical, and Brick could feel his shoulders stiffen even as he walked away.
“So,” Devon began casually. “How you holding up?” His smile was easy, disarming even.
Ethan glanced up, his fingers twitching as though they couldn’t decide what to do with themselves. “I’m good,” he said quickly, though there was a hesitation to his voice that betrayed him. “Better than the last time we saw each other, anyway.” His gaze darted away as if searching for an escape. “Look, sorry about that. I don’t know what happened that night.”
Devon tilted his head, his expression softening into something sympathetic. “Hey, don’t sweat it, I gave it some thought and maybe someone spiked your drink? Happens in clubs all the time.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “You were really out of it, I’m just saying it wouldn’t be your fault if that’s what went down.”
Ethan’s brows furrowed. “You think that’s what might’ve happened?” He shook his head as if trying to shake loose the possibility. “Shit… I didn’t even consider that.” He paused for a beat before adding, “I did feel kinda weird. Hell, it’s a good thing you were there or who knows what could’ve gone down.”
Devon’s grin widened—a fox who’d just been let into the henhouse. “Well… if you hadn’t been so trashed, even I might’ve taken advantage.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “But you already know that, right?”
Ethan flushed, not just in embarrassment, but in something far more complicated. Awkwardness clawed at his chest as the heat continued up his neck and settled uncomfortably on his face. He glanced up instinctively and froze.
Logan was watching. His gaze firmly locked on them and while his expression remained unreadable on the surface, there was no mistaking the intensity behind it.
“Uh-oh,” Ethan mumbled under his breath as nerves coiled tighter in his stomach. “Looks like the boss is watching.”
Devon twisted in his seat to follow Ethan’s gaze and immediately spotted Logan’s stare boring into him like a laser. Instead of backing off, he smirked cockily and raised his glass in an exaggerated toast before taking a sip.
Without missing a beat, he leaned even closer—close enough now that Ethan could feel the brush of warm breath against his ear. “Hey,” he murmured smoothly, “wanna ditch this place and go somewhere less public?”
Ethan’s mind raced as his heart thudded heavily against his ribs. Conflicting emotions warred within him: part of him wanted to stay where Logan could see them—where Logan had to see them—and hope jealousy would do its work, while another part recoiled at how this whole situation was spiraling out of control.
“Uh…” he stalled, then cast another glance at Logan. “Let’s stay here awhile longer.” He managed an uneasy smile. “You cool with that?”
“Sure.” Devon gave an exaggerated shrug, then as he leaned back in his chair, one hand disappeared beneath the table and landed squarely on Ethan’s thigh.
It was bold—too fucking bold—especially with Logan watching from across the room like some silent sentinel perched atop stormy seas. Ethan tensed. The weight of Devon’s palm felt far too intimate, too possessive, and decidedly unwelcome given everything swirling around inside him.
“How about darts?” He blurted out. Anything to shift this increasingly uncomfortable dynamic into safer territory where hands stayed on darts instead of thighs.
“Okay, sure,” Devon said, amusement dancing behind his grin—the kind that said he knew exactly what game Ethan was playing, but wasn’t above indulging him.
As they stood, Devon’s hands found their way onto Ethan again, this time settling on his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispered, his lips brushing devilishly near his skin. “No one’s watching. They’re all too busy wrapped up in their own shit.”
Ethan knew better, but forced a nod as Devon sauntered to the dartboard. The low hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter seemed to be overtaken by the rapid pounding of his own heart. He shifted his weight, trying to act as though Devon’s presence didn’t unnerve him.
“So, Ethan,” Devon called over, his smirk almost as sharp as the darts he was holding. “How’s it going between you and Logan? You gone all the way yet?” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge beneath it—a challenge wrapped up in the humor.
Ethan’s stomach twisted violently. He felt heat rush to his face. “Uh…” He glanced around, paranoid someone might overhear this very public dissection of his private life. “Not good,” he admitted, coughing to mask the blush creeping across his cheeks. “We... you know, the other night.” He stumbled over the words as if saying them aloud made them more real. “But now he’s gone all cold. Don’t think he wants it to happen again.” His shoulders slumped as he shrugged, deflated.
“That’s Logan for you,” Devon let out a low whistle as he lined up another dart. “Leads you on, takes what he wants, then bails cause he can’t handle it.”
He threw the dart, hitting just shy of the bullseye, then turned, gaze sweeping appraisingly over Ethan before he added, “If you ask me, I think he’s nuts. Hell, who wouldn’t want that body of yours, over and over?”
Ethan bit down on his lip hard enough to sting. Devon’s openness—his brazen want—it felt too much. It felt like he was being stripped bare under fluorescent lights, every flaw and vulnerability exposed for scrutiny.
In bed with Logan, things had been different—private and yet electric in a way that made him feel alive. This? This felt invasive, like stepping onto a stage when all he wanted was to stay in the shadows.
“Yeah, well,” he mumbled, dropping his gaze to the scuffed wood floor. “He didn’t exactly lead me on.” The words felt like an apology. “I knew what I was getting into,” he added quietly. “Guess I just wanted more than he could give.”
He took a shaky breath and stepped forward to retrieve his darts. He threw them again half-heartedly, more out of habit than focus. His eyes flicked instinctively to the bar where Logan was now sitting with Brick—an easy smile on both their faces as they laughed at something. It was a genuine laugh that lit up his whole face, but when Ethan tentatively smiled in his direction, Logan’s expression shuttered instantly. Stone-faced, he turned away as if Ethan wasn’t there.
That rejection killed. It was sharp and breath-stealing and Ethan turned from the bar before anyone could see how much it stung.
“You know you’re right,” he finally said, forcing a brightness into his tone. “We’re wasting time here. Let’s take Brick up on that club idea.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Devon said with obvious relish as he clapped Ethan on the back. “Just need to hit the head and I’ll be ready.” He grinned, then swaggered in the direction of the men’s room.
Ethan lingered by the dartboard before steeling himself and approaching the bar where Brick sat nursing his beer.
“Need to hit the head.” Logan immediately stood up as Ethan neared, not looking at him but brushing past deliberately enough that their shoulders clashed. The brief contact sent a jolt through Ethan, not unlike the ones he’d felt when they were tangled together beneath sheets, but this one was cold instead of electric.
“Something I said?” Ethan frowned, turning to look at Brick with confusion etched into every line of his face.
Brick glanced sideways before finishing off his beer in one long gulp. “What d’you think of this Devon guy? Seem a little over-friendly to you?”
Ethan forced a laugh that sounded false even to himself. “He’s alright. Just his way, I guess.” He paused for half a beat. “He’s a hands-on kinda guy—which, being a masseur, makes sense, right?” He shifted uncomfortably under Brick’s scrutiny but said nothing more, his thoughts were already elsewhere.
Brick nodded but didn’t look entirely convinced, and his brow furrowed as if trying to piece something together.