Chapter 5
5
brYCE
I’m three vodka shots deep by the time I feel Poppy slide onto the stool beside me at the bar. I wave at the bartender who took over for Vic’s mom for the night for a fourth before facing my best friend.
She’s watching with a soft, concern-lined expression, and I huff at her. “Whatever you’re planning on saying, don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to say a word,” she lies.
“And I wasn’t about to have another shot.”
The bartender slides another glass across the counter, and I take it, shooting it back without a flinch. It burns like a motherfucker, but that’s the best part. He chuckles at my eagerness, and I glare at him.
“Can I get a water, please?” Poppy asks before he disappears.
“’Course.”
I tap my black-painted nails on the bar, leaning my body weight against it. “Water?”
“For you, asshole.”
“I don’t want water.”
“And I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow with a hangover from hell, but here we are.”
“I’ll keep my complaining to myself. ”
She sighs, placing a hand on my shoulder to spin me around, bringing us face to face. “I’m sorry I offered your room. Is that why you’re like this right now?”
“She could have stayed in the guest house. You’re hardly there.”
It’s the place she and Garrison stay at when they’re in town on the weekends. But recently, they haven’t been staying on the ranch long enough to use it. Not with Mr. Fancy Pants CEO whisking her all over the world on these endless fucking trips of theirs.
She scrunches her brows, frowning. “Are you mad at me?”
I spot the brown hair of the bartender and shout, “Can I have a bottle?”
“Of water!” Poppy adds.
Pinning her beneath a harsh glare, I try to shake her hand off my shoulder. “Don’t mother me right now. I can handle my liquor.”
“I know that. I’ve been drinking with you since we were fourteen, sneaking pink Sour Puss into my parents’ garage. This isn’t about that.”
The mention of the watermelon-flavoured poison rolls my stomach. Bartender #2 hands her a glass of water, and she pushes it directly in front of me before I can tell him to dump it somewhere.
Eyes zoned into me and the glass of water I haven’t moved to grab yet, she doesn’t look away until I’ve lifted it to my mouth and drank it. It’s not the taste I’m searching for, and before she can mother me again, I order another shot.
“You want to talk about this, Poppy? You can wait. I’m not interested right now.”
“What exactly do you think I’m wanting to talk about, though? Your feelings about me not using the guest house enough or the fact I didn’t suggest it to Daisy? Because if it’s option number one, then you’re right about not getting into it here and now. But option two? That’s something I’m curious enough about now to dig into. You heard her just as well as I did. She isn’t interested in staying on Steele Ranch, and last time I checked, the guest house was smack dab in the middle of it.”
“It’s nicer than my place,” I mutter, ignoring everything else she’s said.
I reach for my last shot of the night and tip it back.
“I don’t think she’ll care about that.”
I grunt in response, the effects of the vodka starting to make the world a bit smoother. Or softer? Rougher? Fuck knows.
“Okay.”
“Is there a reason why you don’t want her to stay with you, besides the fact I was the one who suggested it?”
“Don’t give a shit that you suggested it, Pops.”
She leans against me when I face forward, her cheek on my shoulder. “So what, then? Worried she’ll add a couple too many throw pillows to the couch? Or that she’ll host wild parties while you’re gone and offer free tats to randoms? Come on, Ice. She’s Johnny’s twin and one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about much.”
“Don’t know what you want me to say. It’s already done. She’s staying whether I want her to or not,” I say, my voice sounding a bit garbled.
“You don’t want her to, then?”
“Stop analyzing me,” I snap, stumbling off the stool to stand. “It’s done. Over with.”
She reaches out to steady me. I slap her hand away and step back.
“Just let me breathe,” I plead.
Her confusion is obvious. I’m confused too. I just don’t want to talk about this. Not with her, not with anyone. My problems with Daisy Mitchell are mine alone. I’ll deal with them sooner or later.
“Alright, Ice. Can I at least get you a ride home?”
“No. I’m good on my own.” It’s probably still pissing rain outside, but fuck it. “Text you when I get home. ”
“If you’re sure . . .” She trails off, glancing behind her at the sliver of the table we can see.
I leave her there while she’s not paying attention. Slipping outside is easy. I’m not drunk enough to be tripping over myself yet, but I brace myself on the railing as I move down the steps.
“Bryce! Wait up for a second!”
My mouth grows dry. I freeze on the sidewalk, rain pelting my hair and face, soaking my clothes. The street is empty, quiet, and wet with rain puddles.
“Oh crap. Do you have an umbrella? Are you walking home?”
Daisy’s a rambler. I’ve picked that up over the past three, almost four years. Doesn’t seem to matter who she’s speaking to, if she wants to talk a mile a minute, she will.
“Let me drive you home.”
“No, thanks” are my first words to her.
“At least take my jacket. It’s in my car.”
“Why did you come out here?”
I recognize the sound of her yellow high-top Converse clapping against the wooden stairs. The ones with the daisies painted on them in white and stars in black.
“I realized that I don’t have your number. Or know where the house is. I don’t need to see it before I move in, but I do need to know when I can actually do that.”
Goosebumps cover my bare arms as cool rain freezes my cheeks. I shiver. “Poppy can give you my number. And move in whenever you want.”
“Maybe we could meet up for breakfast and talk details another day?”
It’s a really fucking sincere offer. I’d have to be a heartless bitch to turn it down.
“I don’t eat breakfast.”
What?
“Oh.”
“I mean, I don’t like breakfast. Obviously, I eat breakfast. ”
“Well, I actually like cooking breakfast. It’s the easiest meal to cook. It’s hard to go wrong with pancakes or toast or eggs. Maybe a smoothie too, depending on how you’re feeling. Just dump a bag of frozen fruit into the blender with some milk and you’re set.”
I twist, looking back toward the building. Suddenly, the liquor sets fire to my blood, and I’m burning deep in my chest.
She’s stepped out from beneath the awning of the bar and lingers on the bottom step in the rain. Her hair is drenched, draping over her shoulders as the thick strands drip red-tinted water onto her shirt, staining it. I’ve always known she isn’t a redhead. The black roots that appear in between dyes tell on her.
The pink at the tip of her tiny nose is concerning. She could get sick standing out here talking to me. Johnny wouldn’t let me live that one down.
“You’re getting wet,” I blurt out.
Her round cheeks pinch when she smiles at me, a small laugh escaping. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“Go inside. I’ll text you tomorrow. No breakfast, but I’ll tell you when to move in.”
“Okay. That works.”
“Great.”
I turn around and start down the sidewalk. I’ll be too drunk to get home on my own if I don’t leave now.
“Bryce!” she shouts, and I stop automatically, waiting. “Get home safe.”
Thump .
With a weak wave, I leave. The movement in my stomach has to be from the booze. Not her.
The rain stopped ten minutes ago.
My lips are probably blue, but I don’t get up. The curb is hard against my ass, and the inside of my boots are full of water. I have a chill despite how hot I feel beneath my skin.
Victoria’s old house is behind me, the fence Poppy, Anna, and I painted pink out of spite a couple of years back brown again. The lawn is overgrown, weeds sticking up through the longest pieces. I fucking hate this house almost as much as the woman who doesn’t even live inside of it anymore.
She’s been gone for a while now. Off somewhere with the man she chose over me. I don’t love her anymore, but the wound she left is still there, just scarred over.
My first and only long-term relationship with a woman was torn out by the roots by a man. It wasn’t the start of my annoyance with all things men, but it did spark a deep-seated hatred. The good for fucking nothing, shit for brains, goddamn assholes have brought me nothing but headaches since I was a teenager.
In a perfect world, they’d disappear from the Earth with a snap of my fingers. But the world is far from perfect, and now, all of my friends have found themselves ones to make me suffer with forever. Anna first, then Poppy. Aurora moved here and fell prey to Johnny within a few weeks. And now, it’s just me.
Well, me and one of the only men I can stand who’s currently driving down the road to pick me up.
Darren Huntsly is a good guy. I’ve known it since Poppy and I were kids and he’d punch any classmates who tried to come near us on the playground. I’ve grown to accept him as both a brother and a best friend, despite every rule I’ve ever made for myself telling me I’m a fool for it.
When Victoria cheated and tried her best at convincing me that we couldn’t be happy together without a man in our relationship, Darren was the first one I called from the police station after I . . . made a mess of things.
He was on the phone with the officer who took me from the scene of my crime within seconds of us hanging up, trying to get me released without having spent even an hour in a cell. Of course, Poppy doesn’t know that detail. As far as she’s concerned, she was my first call from the station.
It was instinct to call him when I found myself parked on this curb, too drunk to risk walking home on my own.
He’s got a sleek black car that costs . . . a lot. If it isn’t raining, I force him to let me put the roof down so I can feel the wind on my skin. Even the seats are expensive, a deep brown leather with cooling and heating and massagers for long drives.
I’d marry this car. Yeah, I would.
The headlights are tinted blue when they fan over me and then illuminate the street. I wait for him to put the car in park before trying to stand.
A car door slams. “Christ, Bryce. You’re going to get sick.”
“Yeah, Dad. I am.”
He holds me up with an arm around my middle before we’re moving. I lean against him and keep my protests hidden when he lifts me off my feet and carries me to the passenger door.
“I was going to follow you, but Poppy told me to leave you be. Clearly, I should have listened to her,” he says.
I roll my eyes and tuck myself into the seat once the door is open. He reaches in to help with the seat belt, but I push his hand away.
“She was right. I called you, didn’t I?”
He sighs, backing up. “Yeah, you did.”
The door shuts, and I close my eyes, leaning my head back. It smells faintly like the cologne he always wears, but it doesn’t irritate me. Probably because I bought it for him.
I keep my eyes shut as he slides in beside me and clicks in his seat belt. The radio goes so quiet I can barely hear the song playing before he asks, “What’s up with you?”
“Not you too, D. Not right now.”
“You called me to pick you up in the middle of the night, drunk off goddamn vodka when you know it has this effect on your body, and you don’t want me to ask what’s wrong?”
I swipe a hand down my face and look at him. He’s waiting for me to speak, two eyebrows lifted expectantly and lips slightly parted as if he’s got a rebuttal at the ready.
“I don’t want to share my place with someone I hardly know.”
The words feel sticky coming up, and they sound the same. I’m a pathetic liar on a regular day, but under the influence, I’m just plain ridiculous.
“You sure it has nothing to do with who you’ll be sharing a place with? Daisy is?—”
“Yeah, I know what Daisy is, Darren,” I hiss before he can finish. “Just take me home, please.”
“It might help to say it out loud, Ry. It’s only a matter of time before everyone else pieces it together. My sister already has an idea.”
I tense, whipping my head to scowl at him. “Don’t tell anyone if you want to live.”
“Not planning on it. I’m just saying, maybe you wouldn’t get into these moods if you weren’t?—”
I stick my hand out and tug at his beard hair. When he curses and shoves me off, I smirk, crossing my arms.
“Take me home, D.”
He does, and in a town the size of Cherry Peak, I’m being tucked into bed in ten minutes flat. With a kiss to my forehead that I wipe off immediately, he leaves, locking up as he goes.
The last thing I think about before I crash is fuck vodka.