by Izzy Sweet
“Now, now, Emmett, there’s two ways to do this. You either get into the shower and clean your fucking shit up or I have Dale run you a bath.”
It’s amazing to me that for all the my struggling and fighting, I’m still being slowly dragged back toward my bathroom.
“Why the fuck would he run me a bath?”
“Because I sure as shit ain’t standing in the shower when I scrub the fucking alcohol off your fucking body.”
Chase grunts as I slam an elbow into his ribs.
Finally achieving the desired effect, I drop beneath his arms and move toward Dale. The only problem is Dale’s grin has gotten even bigger.
Shit, that’s probably not good. Especially since I don’t hear Chase coming after me.
Watching Dale step out of my way with a malicious grin, I turn around the corner only to come face to face with Bear.
“Motherfucker,” I groan.
Silent as ever, Bear just crosses his arms and nods his head.
Turning around, I look at Dale. “What the fuck is this all about?”
“We’ve got a tournament starting up this morning for—" he says, but I don’t hear anything else after that.
It’s like a static sound is filling my brain as I lean into the wall. I watch Bear’s lips move, but I don’t hear anything.
When he finally finishes speaking, I wait a few moments for my head to clear as he just stares at me.
“Casey. Tommy’s parents are bringing him to the gym. They’ve been having a rough time with him,” he says, his voice finally breaking through, and I can feel all the air in my chest crushing out.
It’s like Chase is bear hugging me. No air, just a reeling feeling.
“What do you mean a rough time?” I ask.
Tommy’s shining light in the world was his son. He loved the child more than any other parent I’ve seen love a child. Casey was Tommy’s very reason for being. He was also one cool ass kid, a little diamond of awesome.
“He’s twelve, Emmett. He’s lost his father. He’s drowning in depression and as lost as you are,” Dale says with a voice filled with sadness. “He ain’t the same kid. I know that is to be expected, but he’s now just a shell.”
“Yeah man, we’ve been trying to get through the walls he’s got surrounding him… But it ain’t working,” Bear says quietly.
Looking to the three men who surround me, I feel trapped. Trapped by my own grief, rage, and shame. “What the fuck do you think I can do?”
“Something besides being a fucking waste,” Dale shouts as he pushes on my chest.
A waste. That’s all I am. A waste. I don’t need to be near someone as fucked up as me. I’d just ruin them.
Edging up into my personal bubble, Dale puts his nose right up against my own. “Be a fucking stand-up person for fucking Tommy. His son is dying from the inside out and you can’t be fucking bothered to even pick up a fucking phone when his grandparents call you!”
He’s right. Every time the phone rings, I push it to my message box. Which, besides the one from Tommy, have all gone unheard. I’m pretty sure the box is full by now, especially since the phone never rings anymore.
Or maybe it isn’t full… maybe everyone has given up on me. They probably should.
“Fuck it!” Dale roars into my face when I don’t respond back. “Let’s go guys, fuck this shit. We’ll figure something else out.”
Shaking his massive head, Bear just looks from me to Dale. “Nah, I’ll get a ride back on my own.”
Fuck.
Watching Dale and Chase leave the house gives me more dread than I’d like to admit.
Dread, lots of it. Dread that this is the last chance I have of stopping what’s surely going to be an early death. Dread that Bear is standing silently behind me, the complete lack of judgement searing into my body. Maybe I’d be happier if he was judging me, like Chase and Dale surely are right now.
Turning to face him, I say tiredly, “You don’t want to stay around here, it’s only going to get worse.”
“You planning on drinking till you pass out?” he asks just as quietly.
There’s no judgement in his features and it hurts me even more. Why, I can’t figure out, but it does.
“More than likely,” I say and walk past him.
I can’t look him in the face anymore.
Heading for the kitchen, I hear and feel him walking behind me. Whatever. I need a drink.
Pulling an unopened bottle of rum out of the cabinet, I watch as Bear walks over to another cabinet and pulls two glasses down.
“You ever drink like a civilized person?” he asks as he walks past me to the living room.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask loudly, following him out to see him already making himself at home on the couch.
“I’m drinking with you,” he says.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on restriction?” I ask, eyeing him.
“Nah, that was last month,” he answers. “I’m taking off for a couple of months. Grace is pregnant again and it’s getting closer to the due date. I figure I shouldn’t make Hope do so much work with her mama and little sister, then add another one.”
“The fuck? You trying to field your own cheerleading squad?” I ask with a laugh.
Jesus, three fucking daughters?
Snorting with laughter, he shakes his head. “Not my little Hope. She’s already tearing through her striking and grappling classes. She wants nothing to do with all that girly stuff. She’s going to be a fighter like her dad.”
Thank god she doesn’t look like him. I can’t imagine a female version of Bear walking around.
“You gonna pour me some of that?” He motions to the bottle I’m holding.
“You planning on drinking with me the whole day?” I ask.
“Nah, just till you pass out,” he says.
“That’s not gonna be anytime soon,” I say and crack open the seal on the bottle.
“Rehab centers take drop-ins at all hours. I’m sure they won’t mind me bringing you to them in the middle of the night,” he says with a shrug of his massive shoulders.
“What the fuck?” I growl out.
I can feel the blood pounding behind my eyes as the headache slams back full force into the front of my skull.
“You’ve got two choices, as I see it,” he says as he leans forward, his eyes suddenly becoming more intense than I’ve ever seen them before.
“I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to say something I want to hear,” I say and roll my eyes.
“Yep. Two choices,” he repeats. “Choice number one: We drink till you pass out. Then I toss you over my shoulder and take you to a nice rehab on a seventy-two-hour wellness hold. Involuntary more than likely. But me and the guys at the gym know a couple people who will help keep you in for the full seventy-two.”
The bottle isn’t even fully opened and I get that sick drop in my stomach at the thought of going through what he just said. I’d be able to get out of the rehab after the hold, but he’s right, they’ve all got connections throughout the city. I’d stay every single fucking hour of that hold.
Sober. Completely fucking sober.
“Option two?” I croak out.
“You leave the bottle on the end table there, go take your shower, and come with me,” he says.
“That’s…” I try to think of something to say, but suddenly my tongue is thick and dry in my mouth.
“It’s pretty simple. Two choices,” he says and leans back against the couch.
“It’s not that simple, Max,” I say to him, calling him by his real name and not his ring name.
“Actually, it is, Emmett. You have two options. You choose one and everything else follows after. You just need to figure out which way this is going to work. Each one will be a fight for you, but drinking yourself into an early grave or putting a bullet through your skull isn’t an option.”
For the last two months, I’ve debated those two things. Debated how I’d like
to go out. Something inside of my brain doesn’t do what I expect though. I watch my hand shakily move the bottle to the end table.
“No promises beyond today,” I say as I stand up and avoid looking at him.
Bear nods. “I can get behind that for now.”
Chapter Four
Bree
Slowly awakening from my nap, I linger in that place somewhere between sleep and awareness, enjoying the sweet oblivion.
Here, there are no worries, no problems, and most of all, no cheating ex-boyfriends and backstabbing best friends.
There’s only the warm blanket wrapped around me, the soft pillow beneath my head, and this wonderful feeling of weightlessness.
In a way it reminds me of when I was younger. When my little brain couldn’t even comprehend that the monsters in the world aren’t imaginary, they’re other human beings.
I try to hold on to this feeling for as long as I can, but it seems the harder I try to hold on to it the quicker it leaves me.
It’s completely gone by the time there’s a light knock on my bedroom door followed by my mom’s voice.
“Aubrey? Are you awake? Chase and Avery are here.”
My brain begins to wind up, and even though the gears aren’t fully spinning yet, I can sense the shitstorm waiting for me at the edge of my consciousness.
“Yeah… I’ll be down in a minute,” I grumble out and blink my eyes open.
I’m not ready to face the shitstorm yet.
“Okay, honey,” my mom says cheerfully.
I listen as her footsteps trail down the hall then reach out beside me, blindly grabbing my phone.
Out of habit, I check my messages, and instantly regret it.
The first text that pops up on my screen is from Tristan, telling me to text him as soon as I get in.
The fucking nerve of him…
I almost throw my phone across my room, but then my eyes land on the other messages.
There’s about a hundred texts from Ashley, all of them apologizing and begging me to forgive her.
Shit.
I don’t want to deal with this right now, but there it is.
Closing my eyes, I plop back on my pillow and squeeze my phone so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack in my fist.
So this is the game they want to play?
But to what end?
I can easily guess what Tristan wants. He’s made it clear he doesn’t expect his infidelity to change anything. He’s simply trying to maintain the status quo.
But what does Ashley get out of this?
I doubt she’s feeling guilty for what’s she’s done.
Maybe she’s simply saving face?
Even then…
My curiosity getting the better of me, I pull up my Instagram. If she made a public apology, I’ll be shocked shitless.
I only have to scroll two pictures down to see Tristan’s latest post.
It’s a fucking picture of the two of us together.
In the picture we’re snuggled close on a couch. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders and we’re both beaming for the camera. I’ve taken so many damn selfies with him, I can’t even remember when this one was taken.
Below the picture, he’s captioned: Missing my girl already. Hurry back home Bree baby. #futurewifey #lonelywithoutmybaby #missingyoucrazy #wakemewhensummerisover
I shouldn’t be surprised… I shouldn’t. But the sheer, arrogant audacity of it causes my blood to boil and I can’t think straight for a minute.
Once I’m no longer seeing red, I look at the post again. Really look at it.
He didn’t make that post out of stupidity. No, as much as I dislike Tristan, he’s not just a pretty face, he’s also as cunning as a fucking fox.
Still, even knowing that, something about it really bothers me. The only way he’d have the balls to make that post is if he’s supremely confident that I won’t be able to dump his ass.
Has he already spoken to my father? Dammit.
The post is up to a few thousand likes and there’s a few dozen comments from our circle of friends.
Even Ashley commented how much she’s going to miss me.
Bitch.
Scrolling down, I rush past the photos of everyone’s lunch and vacations until I reach Ashley’s post.
Copying Tristan, she’s posted a picture of the two of us, like we’re still best friends.
I click off my phone, not bothering to read the comments. If I do, I just might have a rage aneurism.
But I’m not mad that she slept with my boyfriend. No, that’s just her nature. I can’t blame her for that any more than I could blame a cat for eating a canary or a lion for hunting the gazelle.
What I’m mad about is that she betrayed me and won’t let me go, just like Tristan. For whatever reason, she’s joining him in trying to keep me tied to their existence.
Every vengeful, wrathful bone in my body wants me to make a post calling them out. To scream from the rooftops what happened.
To show the world their true faces.
But would the effort, energy, and fallout be worth it?
Knowing my circle of ‘friends’, they’ve probably known about this for a while now. Given that I’m only now finding this out, there’s no doubt that Tristan and Ashley have had help to carry on behind my back.
If I make a peep of this, I’ll only look sad and pathetic. I know because I’ve seen this kind of thing go down before.
Four years ago it came out that one of the guys in our group of friends, Spencer, was cheating on his girlfriend. I can’t even remember her name, but I remember the sympathy I felt for her when she came to confront him with mascara tears running down her face at one of the basketball team’s after-parties.
I also remember the jab Ashley gave me in the ribs to keep me from standing up and comforting her as she sobbed her heart out.
She was the wronged party, but to the group it didn’t matter. She instantly became the one in the wrong for making a fuss and creating drama. Everyone stood by Spencer and ostracized her to the point that she ended up transferring schools.
Even now I feel guilty for not reaching out to her. At the time, though, my position in the circle was still new, and I was so afraid of losing the friends I had finally made.
Perhaps it’s karma that I’m now going through exactly the same thing.
And I deserve it.
If I would have stood up for her, I probably would have been kicked out of the group and been saved from this massive headache.
But then again, our situations aren’t exactly the same…
After all, I’m not heartbroken over Tristan. No, I now realize that I fell out of love with him a long time ago. I think the only reason I was still with him was because it was expected.
Expected by my father and our social circle.
Now, all I care about is getting stuck with him.
Staring at the black surface of my phone, I try to think of what I could possibly do to keep a small shred of my dignity and send them a message in the process.
Then it suddenly hits me.
Silence speaks volumes. Especially to people like Tristan and Ashley. They thrive on attention. They need it like the rest of us need to breathe.
After a quick web search, I log back into Instagram and disable my account. Then I block their numbers in my contacts.
There… Let everyone make of that what they will.
Because I’m done. Done with caring about people who don’t care about me.
Done trying to be what they want me to be.
Having put this little family reunion off for long enough, I quickly change out of dirty my clothes and try my best to clean myself up. As much as I would love a shower, I don’t think I have the time for it. It would take me at least another twenty minutes to get clean and dry my hair, and the last thing I want my new stepbrother and his wife to think is that I’m a high-maintenance, spoiled princess.
Something I’ve been accused of being one to
o many times.
People look at me, at my family, and the things I have, and they assume I’ve always lived this way. Too many assholes assume I’ve grown up with a silver spoon in my mouth and take everything I have for granted.
But it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Before my mother achieved success as an interior designer, we were living in studio apartments, paycheck to paycheck, barely making ends meet. I know what it’s like to go without. Up until starting high school, that was my life.
Without.
Without time with my mom because she was working two jobs while putting herself through school for her degree.
Without an extra penny to spend on anything that wasn’t a necessity, and sometimes without the money to buy the necessities.
Without a father who gave a shit about me.
Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I do a quick sniff test of my pits. Yeah, I definitely smell like I’ve been stuck in a car for eight hours.
After spraying on half a can of deodorant, I brush my teeth and gargle some mouthwash.
Then I say a little prayer and make my way down the staircase.
I’ve only met my new family once, when I came back to Nevada from school for my mom’s wedding. While everyone was nice to me, especially Logan, it felt like we were polite because we were afraid of ruining the happy couple’s moment. With everything going on, the family dinners, the rehearsal dinners, there just wasn’t enough time to really get to know each other.
Well, we’ll certainly get to know each other now because I’ll be here all summer.
That thought alone causes my stomach to clench with a touch of apprehension.
It’s been so long since my mom was happy, and I don’t want to ruin this for her. Out of all the people in the world, I personally believe she deserves it the most.
Before I make it completely across the foyer, the tinkling, musical sound of children giggling reaches my ears.
It’s weird but I swear a little jolt of warmth courses through body.
Funny, I didn’t even realize I was cold. Especially in this dry, desert heat…
Confused but drawn to the pull of the sound, my footsteps quicken, carrying me across the lavish foyer until I’m standing in the dining room doorway.