Chapter 12
Andy
The restaurant door bell chimes for the tenth time since I got here and, I swear, my head might crack open, right on this table. I squint past the rows of cookie cutter booths, their sleek sage green benches the opposite vibe of Vida’s, whose weekend endless mimosas would probably cure my hangover.
Clutching the ice water I’m committed to finishing I finally spot Will saunter in.
Even behind his shades, I can see where Ben attempted to obliterate his eye socket.
The closer he gets, the more I can see the intensity of the bruising.
I’m confident it’s throbbing with pain, if the harsh set of his already strong jaw is any indication.
He slides into the bench across from me, wincing, and I remember that Ben got way more than one shot in.
There was only one person truly to blame for what went down last night, but at this point it doesn’t matter that Ben should’ve stayed away from Liv. That he shouldn’t have poured salt into whatever wounds were already festering between them. Because he did…and Will took the fucking bait.
Before I get a chance at a good look, he props the menu up—an additional layer of armor beyond the sunglasses and the hoodie pulled up around his head. I gently pull it down, grimacing.
“You…look like shit.” I watch carefully for a sign of life. I know that Will really only has two roads he tends to go down: the dark, emotionally volatile one from last night or the shallow one buffered by his humor and feigned ignorance.
When he lets the menu fall, I’m shocked to find he’s not half way down either road. There’s a stoicism in his gaze that freaks me out. He swallows hard, shooting his gaze down at the table.
“Yeah,” he says on an exhale that feels years in the making.
“He’s right you know—” Mom takes a steaming cup of coffee off her tray, sliding it over to Will’s side of the booth and he gives her a rare, genuine smile.
What started as Mom temporarily working at the diner until she got her sea legs in Boston turned into a full time management role, but she always finds an apron to tie on when Will and I come in.
“I’ve got to serve my boys!” she’ll mutter, fussing over menus and burying us in stacks of free pancakes.
“Hi, Ms. Spellman.” His grin turns to the one he uses on the women he’s trying to pick up and Mom swats him over the head with a menu.
“Don’t try that move with me. What’s with the eye?” She crosses her arms and I chuckle. Will slumps in his seat.
“I fell off a bike.” “He fell down some steps,” we say in unison.
“Uh huh…” Mom nods. “You know what—it’s probably better if I don’t know. The usual?” Will nods and she rolls her eyes, a small motherly scowl deepening the lines around her mouth.
“Oh wait!” He digs into the back pack he had over his shoulder when he walked in digging out a little egg that contains some weird slime thing both he and Carmen have been obsessed with the past couple months. “For Carm.” A smile leaks through my mother’s previously frustrated face.
“You make it hard to stay mad.” She shakes her head. “I’ll be back with ice,” she says, almost like a threat, her finger jutting toward him. He laughs as she turns and walks back to the clash and clang of the kitchen.
I sit back, taking him in and shit is an understatement. He looks like he has yet to sleep and I can still smell the alcohol on him. “How are you?” I dare to ask, even though I know it’s a stupid question.
“I messed up…everything.” He slouches back into the booth, pressing his hand into his unbruised eye socket. When he finally lets up, his eyes are bloodshot to hell.
“But Liv took you home?”
“She went home with me because she’s actually a good person.”
“Well, that’s up for debate,” I say, risking a slight chuckle.
He smiles, just barely. “I mean, they’re in the wrong, Will.
You’re not perfect, but you didn’t deserve that.
” Finding your girlfriend—technically ex, but whatever—in your brother’s arm on the dance floor must’ve been a gut punch.
I can’t blame him for being angry, even if he doesn’t have the most tactful approach to confrontation.
As if he reads my mind, he shakes his head.
“I shouldn’t have said all that shit to her.
I’ve hurt her enough,” he adds, but it’s mumbled and I know it wasn’t for me.
It was some small admission to himself that sits awkwardly in my chest because I don’t know what he means. And I thought he told me everything.
“Have you, uh, talked to Gen?” I side step the comment, knowing he’ll tell me when he’s ready.
“Nope. Blew that up, too,” he says, looking up with a disbelieving glint in his eyes.
Like he’s in awe of what a shit show his life is.
His laughter is soft rumble as Mom comes back with an orange juice, setting it down only to get flagged by another table in the corner.
As soon as she’s out of sight he pulls out a tiny bottle of vodka, dumping it into his cup.
“Sure that’s a good idea?” I wince.
“Hair of the dog,” he shrugs, taking a sip and closing his eyes as he does it, as if this is his first drink in years, not in the span of an hour. I sigh, wrinkling my nose and he raises an eyebrow. “A bit judgmental for a guy I’ve seen hammered more times than I can count.”
He’s right, but this feels different somehow.
Back then we were drinking for fun. Right now it feels like he’s punishing himself, but for what, I’m unsure.
Maybe I get it, though. Olivia and Will were a weird sort of promise that we all bore witness to and without them, it feels like everything else is free game.
Like anything can be brought into question.
He blinks into the blank space before pulling in a deep breath. “Do you think I’m codependent?”
Yes.
“No,” I laugh, shaking my head, but he just dips his brow at me. “Who cares if you are?”
“Liv said I…possessed her.” He breathes a sigh of relief as his spiked orange juice appears in front of him.
“And losing her feels like that. Like I lost something. Like I could lose everything.” He stares into his drink before tipping it back, his throat bobbing with each impressive gulp.
I reach out and pull his arm down, forcing him to pace himself.
“Okay, let’s not jump off a cliff,” I chuckle, trying to bring him back to reality.
“You got broken up with. Your childhood best friend called you out on your shit.” He winces at the mention of Gen, but he has to know I’m right.
Showing up to her place before the gala shit faced was a terrible and irresponsible move.
“And you’re on your own, really…for the first time in your adult life. ”
He looks at me, startled. “Shit. You’re right.”
I sit back, feeling smug and relieved. “Just…take it one day at a time, man. Eat your body weight in pancakes,” I say as I watch mom tray up entirely too much food across the restaurant, “go slow on the liquor, and give yourself some grace.”
“Grace,” he repeats like it’s a foreign word, and he retreats back into the dark abyss of his inner turmoil for a moment.
“Hey,” I bark, getting his attention. “I’m serious.
I’m here for you. I care about you. There is another side, and you will get there.
” It comes out like a reminder, not just to him but to myself and guilt flows through me like poison in a wound, stinging until the words feel sour in my mouth.
I wish I could be the man I say I am, wish I wasn’t the real snake in the grass, the one that makes his brother's misgivings look pitiful in comparison.
He exhales, leaning back into a stretch that has him expanding into the bench before he right himself. A genuine smile, the first all morning, finally graces his face and it’s another punch to the gut. I wonder if he can see the guilt the way I can feel it pulse in my temples.
“Thanks,” he says right, as Mom sets down a plate with what appears to be a half pound of bacon on it. Will snags a slice before it can hit the table.
“I have to go to the back and do the schedules for next week so I might not see you boys before you leave. William, you're coming for dinner soon, right?” she asks, hands on her hips, but it’s not really a question.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good.” She pats his head before turning to me. “Love you.” She squeezes my shoulder before disappearing into the hustle and bustle of the restaurant.
Will cuts out a large bite of syrupy pancake pausing before it disappears into his mouth. “Wait—why are you here and not in some girl’s bed?”
I breathe out, letting myself melt back into who I let Will know me to be. I start to make up some excuse, saying I was doing damage control with him for Coach, but my phone dings.
256-400-5143
Hi! calling in that favor if ur free tonight?
I stare at my phone a second too long which has Will snagging it from me without giving me a second to blink.
“A favor?” He wiggles his eyebrows and I’m glad for the momentary respite into normalcy. I watch him type in a reply, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Dude what the fuck? Sloane Fielder is hitting you up?” Amusement laces his tone, and he almost looks sober as he wrinkles his face at my phone.
“Stop—” I blurt, attempting to snatch it back but he fakes left, shouldering me before I can grab it. “Will, please. It’s really not like that with—”
“Just trust me.” I can hear the grin in his voice as he thumbs out a response to whatever Sloane sent him. I tilt my head backward, looking up at the fluorescently lit linoleum ceiling.
I shouldn’t even care. I don’t know what it is about her; normally, I’d be fine digging up some dirt on a one night stand. But Sloane isn’t even that. We’re not sleeping together. It’d be better if we had because then I could’ve put her in the back mirror.