8 - Avery
Avery
I’m going to commit a felony.” I shrug out of my coat, sliding onto the barstool next to Wesley.
“Before or after your second margarita?” She doesn’t even look up from the menu.
“Depends. How fast can I get the second margarita?”
She snorts softly into her drink before finally glancing up, dark hair pulled into a messy bun.
“That bad?”
“It’s always that bad with her.” I sip the margarita that she had waiting for me.
I’m coming from dinner with my mom, and it went as well as I expected.
Horribly.
Not that she had noticed. She’s always been the star of the show, and I’m supposed to enjoy the storm as she breezes through.
“At least she came to visit you.” Wesley’s voice is tight, as if she’s trying and failing to point out a silver lining.
“She came because she had a gallery show out here. I just happen to also live here.”
I wish that were me being dramatic, but unfortunately, it’s true. It stings, knowing I’m a pit stop in her life, but it’s familiar at this point.
“I’m sure she wanted to see you, too.”
“She wanted to see metal sculptures that look like human-sized sporks. She had to see me to make sure that Dad wouldn’t hold it against her.”
“Do they talk?” Wesley asks, brow furrowing.
“Only when they want to argue, which is all of the time.” My lips twitch up, and I wiggle my brows.
She winces. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” I grab the drink menu even though I already know I’m sticking to tequila tonight.
“You’d think after being divorced for as long as they have, they’d be over it, but now they just go out of their way to fight.
She literally called and told him she was in town just to make the dig that at least one of my parents visits me. ”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Oh yes, she did. Then she acted confused when I was annoyed.”
“Did she at least apologize?”
I snort. “Not once. And now, I’m waiting for him to call and plan a visit to ensure that she doesn’t outdo him. I’m the pawn in their toxic little game. Always have been.”
Wesley groans, dropping her head back against the booth. “Tell her to shove it.”
“This is why we’re friends.” I smile. “But I’ve had enough of her ruining my night. Take my mind off it.”
The waitress appears as if I’d magically summoned her, so I order another margarita.
“And tequila shots,” Wesley adds before I can stop her.
“It’s Tuesday. We have training tomorrow.”
“Correct.” Wesley purses her lips. “But I’m trying to work on my balance. I have to if I want Nathan to take me back. And today, balance means tequila shots because my best friend’s parents are emotionally terrorizing her. Also, I don’t care if you are the only child; you are too nice to them.”
“Says the girl who, until recently, put herself last for the sake of her family.”
Wesley lifts her drink dramatically. “Touche.”
I know Wesley worries about me, but I spent an entire childhood playing emotional referee between two people who should’ve gone to therapy instead of having a child together, so a two-hour dinner dodging snide comments about my dad and questions about Damon was par for the course.
Despite my attempts to tell her the truth about Damon, my mom ignored every red flag and reminded me that one day I’d realize how good I had it. I guess I missed the memo where slamming doors and breaking dishes were good things.
Hell, everyone missed it. Damon was charming in public, while privately he chipped away at me piece by piece until I barely recognized myself.
Now, I fake confidence the same way he faked kindness, flirting with strangers and showing up in tight jeans when none of it feels like me anymore.
No one knows how every attempt at intimacy feels rehearsed instead of real.
Well, almost every attempt.
Becca’s birthday a couple of weeks ago was the one exception, and I’m still trying hard to forget it. Forget the way Grayson’s grip on my wrist felt and the way my skin buzzed under his touch.
Wesley reaches across the table, nudging my hand lightly with hers. “Where’d you go just now?”
I look down at my hands before huffing softly. “Nowhere.”
She gives me a pointed look.
My hands raise in surrender. “I’ve had enough sharing tonight. You’re supposed to be making me forget about it.”
“Fine. Consider yourself off the hook.” She points at me. “For now.”
“So, has anything changed on the Nathan front since last week?” I ask, hoping she’ll take the bait to change the topic.
“You mean since I moped over half-watched movies and copious amounts of ice cream? We’re still talking. Taking it slow, I guess.”
My eyes roll involuntarily. “Sure, whatever, but I have a hundred dollars on you guys being official by the end of the month.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re betting on me?”
“It’s just with Liam. And absolutely I am.” I take a sip from my glass.
“Aves!” Wesley slaps my arm, but I just laugh.
Nathan broke his collarbone after a nasty hit a week and a half ago. It wasn’t career-ending, but it was enough to make Wesley realize she’d been fighting her feelings for him for too long.
Now they’re ‘taking it slow,’ which everyone except the two of them knows is complete bullshit.
I shrug. “That’s just what friendship is. Emotional honesty. Vulnerability. Mild bullying.”
“I would jump back in now if he’d let me.” She sighs. “Men are exhausting.”
“You know,” I mutter, “maybe we should move into a giant house together and give up on men entirely.”
Wesley raises her glass immediately. “Now that’s a plan I can support.”
“Nathan would literally cry.”
“He can visit.”
I roll my eyes again, knowing damn well she’d have him moved in within the month.
“What if you want to bring home your flavor of the week?” Wesley teases, picking up a handful of the trail mix between us.
“I already told you last week, there’s no flavor of the week.”
“You were serious about that?” Wesley asks.
“There isn’t anyone recent. Not when it comes to sex,” I double down.
“But Becca said there was that soccer player.” She furrows her brow as if trying to make sense of it.
“I mean, I’ve made out with some guys at the bar. You already know that.” I tip my glass to get an ice cube and chew on it to stall. “But, um, there hasn’t been anything more than that for a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“A while.”
She passes me the shot that the bartender just dropped off. “A month?”
I shake my head.
“Two months?”
I shake my head again.
“Three months?”
Oh, for fucks sake, I’m not doing this. “Since Damon.”
I can feel her looking at me differently now, like I’ve suddenly become porcelain that she might crack if she responds the wrong way. My stomach twists. Before she can say anything, I grab the shot and throw it back, welcoming the burn because at least it’s a sensation I understand.
Unlike the ugly pressure building in my chest every time Damon’s name comes up lately.
Maybe it’s the tequila loosening my tongue, or maybe I’m tired after two straight hours of my mother romanticizing a relationship that nearly hollowed me out from the inside, but keeping it all in suddenly feels too hard.
“The breakup fucked with my head a bit,” I admit finally, tracing condensation down the side of my glass. “I decided to take a step back from things for a while.”
“You broke up nine months ago,” Wesley says carefully.
“I’m aware.”
Her hand lands gently over mine. “Did something happen?”
I pull away instantly, fast enough that she notices. “You already know he was an asshole. You never liked him.”
“Yeah, but you did. So what happened?”
I can’t figure out how to say that the relationship had been a slow, careful erosion of Damon taking and taking until I didn’t recognize myself. Then I can’t figure out how to explain that I’d learned to flinch when he started slamming doors, knowing that a fight was imminent.
The words get lost somewhere between my heart and my mouth.
Her eyes are focused on my face, concern etched into every feature, and my mouth goes dry. If she’s this concerned without knowing the full story, I can’t imagine the pity she’d feel if she knew everything.
“Nothing crazy. He was awful, then he was more awful, and eventually I knew I had to end it.” I stir my drink, trying to keep my hand from shaking.
I’ve known her long enough to know that she’s aware there’s more to it, but she’s known me long enough to know when to drop it.
“Besides,” I add quickly, forcing lightness back into my voice, “I’m getting back on that horse soon anyway, so it’s irrelevant now.”
She visibly relaxes, which makes me feel worse.
I know exactly what I’m doing. I know this sudden determination to sleep with someone has absolutely nothing to do with actually wanting sex and everything to do with proving something to myself.
My parents loved each other in the cruelest possible way, and somehow I still grew up believing I’d do better. Then Damon came along and showed me otherwise.
So yeah, I guess I’d like to prove that I’m not ruined just because the last person I loved taught me to associate intimacy with anxiety.
“Have your sights set on someone?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Not yet.”
“Not even the gentle and sweet hockey captain who gave you a ride home from the grocery store last month.”
I glare at her, knowing damn well who spilled the beans. “I’m going to kill Harper.”
“Oh, you knew she’d tell me.”
It’s true. We don’t keep secrets from each other.
“No. I’m not interested in Grayson. Never have been. Never will be.”
“Why not? He’s hot.”
“Earth to Wesley. Did you not just hear me tell you about the asshole that is my ex?” I make a face. “Captain of a hockey team. Nice. Everyone loved him. Always showed up for people, just not me. Secretly treated me like trash. Sound familiar?”
Understanding flashes across her face. “Grayson’s not Damon.”
“If it walks like a duck, Wes.”
The universe does have a funny sense of humor. The first man I’ve felt comfortable around since Damon happens to be someone who’s exactly like him. I’d have to be a masochist to be that stupid twice.