Pity Party
Luke
The heavy wooden door of Anchor Point Bar swings open and I spot my brother sitting at the bar. His coat thrown over the stool beside him, holding it for yours truly.
Jake’s already two beers deep, judging by the empty bottle next to his current one. He looks up when I approach, his sea-weathered face breaking into a grin.
“There he is. My favorite sunshine brother.”
I drop onto the stool. “I’ll leave.”
“No, you won’t.” He signals to Heather behind the bar. “Because you need alcohol to survive this hellhole of a holiday, and I’m buying.”
Heather approaches, already pulling a beer from the cooler. She’s worked here for years, knows our orders by heart. “Let me guess,” she says, setting the long-neck bottle in front of me. “Another Valentine’s Day, another Harrison brother moping session?”
“We don’t mope,” Jake protests.
“Right.” She wipes down the bar, her expression flat. “Last year, you sat here for three hours complaining about your ex. The year before that, Luke literally growled at a couple who asked if they could share your table.”
“It was a two-person table.”
Heather shakes her head. “You men and your relationship drama, I swear. Either commit or don’t, but stop acting like love is some kind of terminal disease.”
She moves down the bar to help other customers, leaving us in relative peace. The place is busier than I expected.
“So,” Jake says, taking a pull from his beer. “What’s on your mind?”
I grunt, picking at the label of my beer.
“Is she hot?”
My brow furrows. “Where the hell did that come from?”
He shrugs. “You want to lie to the rest of the world, have at it, but you can’t lie to me, little brother.”
The scent of strawberries and sugar floods my mind.
“She’s…” I stop, realizing Jake’s watching me with a heightened interest. “My neighbor.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s all that matters.”
He snorts. “Right. Because you’re so good with neighbors.”
“I’m not interested.” I have to say, I’m getting pretty damn good at this lying to myself thing.
“Bullshit. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The same look you get when you’re trying to figure out a complicated wiring problem. Like you’re working through all the possibilities.”
He’s not wrong. I’ve been running through scenarios all day.
What if I went to the party? What if she’s there?
What if she’s not? What if she is, and she’s talking to someone else?
What if Danny tries to set her up with Tom from 205, who’s definitely her type—stable, friendly, probably never yelled at her for delivering a fucking invitation?
“There’s nothing to figure out,” I say. “It’s one day. Tomorrow it’ll be over, and everything goes back to normal.”
“Normal being you avoiding the female population?”
I glare at him. “Normal being me not getting involved with someone who lives ten feet from my front door.”
Jake signals Heather for another round. When she brings the beers, she pauses, studying me. “You know what I think?”
“I didn’t realize I asked for your opinion with my beer,” I deadpan.
She ignores me. “You think staying alone protects you, but all it does is guarantee you’ll be miserable.” She glances between my brother and me. “Both of you, actually. When’s the last time either of you went on an actual date?”
“I date,” Jake protests.
“One-night stands after closing down the bar every six months don’t count.”
“I’m busy. Charter season’s starting soon, and—”
“And you,” She points at me. “You probably haven’t been with anyone since that disaster of a girlfriend. What’s it been, a year?”
“Two,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
“Jesus.” Heather shakes her head. “And now here’s a nice girl in your building who’s interested—”
“You don’t know she’s interested.”
Her lips purse. “You’re right. I forgot you’re pretending to be an idiot who can’t recognize a pretty opportunity when it’s literally standing in front of you.”
The sound of glass shattering has heads turning. The latest bartender addition curses under his breath, quick to clear the broken glass.
Jake tips his chin. “What’s with the new guy?”
Heather huffs. “That’s Travis, and he’s having just as great of a day as you two,” she says, then walks away to help another customer.
Jake and I drink in silence for a moment, both of us in our own head. Wallowing in our own self-pity one beer at a time. The TV above the bar is playing highlights from last night’s game. This is my normal. This is safe territory. No breeding ground for heartbreak.
“You should go,” my brother says finally.
“To the party? Fuck no.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a Valentine’s Day party, and,” I can’t believe I’m saying this, “even if I wanted to go—which I don’t—it’s not fair to her.”
“What’s not fair?”
“She just got out of a relationship. She doesn’t need some asshole who…” I trail off, not having the words or desire to finish that sentence.
“Who what?”
I drain my beer. “I need to move.”
“Or you could just go to the party.”
“Not happening.”
“It’s eight-thirty. Party started at seven. You could swing by, make an appearance, leave after ten minutes.”
“Or I could stay here and drink until I forget this entire day.”
Jake studies me for a long moment. “You know what? Fine. Stay here. Be miserable. Keep pushing away anyone who might actually give a damn about you.”
“Jake—”
“I’m serious. You want to know why I’m still single? Because I watched my brother shut down completely after one bad experience. I thought to myself, if someone as loyal and grounded as you could get destroyed like that, what chance do I have?”
His words hit harder than I expect.
Heather appears with another round we didn’t order. “On the house,” she says. “For the Harrison brothers’ pity party.”
“We’re not—”
“You are.” She leans on the bar. “But what do I know? I just watch sad men drink away their feelings every February 14th.”
She walks away again, and Jake raises his beer. “To Valentine’s Day. The worst fucking holiday ever invented.”
I clink my bottle against his, but my heart’s not in it. I keep thinking about Molly asking if she’ll see me tonight. That teasing smile. The hope in her voice.
The way she felt in my arms for those few seconds.
“I’m an idiot,” I mutter.
“Yep,” Jake agrees, patting me on the shoulder. “But you’re figuring that out, which is progress.”
I check my phone. 8:47 PM. The party’s been going for almost two hours, she’s probably given up on me showing up. Hell, she’s probably talking to someone else by now. Someone who doesn’t have my baggage, my anger, my inability to—
“Go.”
I turn to my brother. “What?”
“Go to the party. I’ll close out here.”
“I’m not—”
“Either go to the party or stop looking at your phone like it holds the answers to the universe.”
He’s right. I’ve checked the time four times in the last minute.
“What if—”
“What if what? She’s not interested? She tells you to fuck off? You have an awkward conversation and then avoid each other in the hallway forever?” He shrugs. “Still better than sitting here wondering.”
I stand up before I can talk myself out of it.
“Holy shit,” Jake says, chuckling. “You’re actually going. I didn’t think that would work.”
I glare at him. “Maybe. I might just go home.”
“Sure.” He grins as I turn to leave. “Hey, Luke?”
I glance over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“Apologize first,” he tells me, raising the long-neck bottle in his hand with a smug wink. “I don’t know what happened, but I sure as shit know you.”
With a final ‘fuck you’ I leave before he can make any more observations, before the bartender can offer more unsolicited advice, and before I lose my nerve entirely.
The cold February air hits me as I step outside, and I can hear music coming from my building three blocks away.
The party is in full swing.
And I’m going.
I really am an idiot.