Going Under (The Blackhawk Boys Book 3)

by Lexi Ryan

  When my phone buzzes an hour later, I’m afraid it’s Sebastian. I don’t trust myself to talk to him right now. But it’s not him, it’s Bailey, and I’m glad, because I really need a friend.

  Bailey: Mason said that Sebastian was a mess at practice. What happened?

  Me: Logan came by the shop and told me Sebastian used to be with my sister.

  Bailey: That’s awkward. What did Sebastian say?

  Me: Not much. I didn’t give him a chance. I walked away.

  Bailey: Where are you now?

  Me: At the house.

  Bailey: You can’t stay there. Do you want me to pick you up or meet you?

  Me: I want to climb into bed and stay there for a week.

  Bailey: Exactly. So which will it be? Pick you up or meet you at the Cavern?

  Me: I’ll meet you there.

  I take a quick shower before climbing into my car and heading toward the Cavern. Maybe I should have had her pick me up. Drinking until I don’t remember my problems sounds pretty incredible right now.

  When I pull into the lot and climb out of my car, Bailey is already there leaning against her car. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says. “I thought he told you.”

  “You knew?” I ask. It feels like another betrayal, and I understand it’s not her fault, but it hurts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She steps forward and tilts her head, studying me. “Should I have? Because I wondered, but I honestly didn’t think it was mine to tell.”

  I look away. She’s right, but dammit. Am I the last one to know? “He told me about the drugs, but I didn’t know that they…”

  She waits for me to finish, but when it’s clear I can’t choke out any more, she wraps me into a hug. “Mia’s on her way. Let’s go drink irresponsible amounts of alcohol and talk about why all boys suck.”

  Bailey makes good on her promise, and I’m sitting with the girls and either on my third or my fourth vodka cranberry when Logan walks up to our table. He looks tired. His hair is mussed and he hasn’t shaved today. His hands are tucked into his pockets and his shirt stretches tight across his chest.

  “Alexandra,” he says, and his gaze skims over me in such a sweet and gentle way that I’m reminded why I wanted to give this guy a chance.

  “Hey, Logan.”

  “I’m glad I found you here. I wanted to apologize for earlier.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

  “I do. I spoke out of anger, and even if you’d already known, it was wrong of me to talk about it like that. It made you feel bad, and I regret that. My anger was with Sebastian, and I feel like you took the blow.”

  Bailey and Mia exchange a look before Bailey points toward the bar with her thumb. “I think Mia and I are going to grab another round. We’ll give you guys some privacy.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “We’ll be right over there if you need us.”

  Then they slide out of the booth, and Logan watches after them before turning back to me. “May I sit?”

  “Of course.”

  He takes a seat across from me and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m glad I saw you.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not in your own bar tonight.”

  “I thought I might find you over here, so I ducked out for a little bit.”

  “Sebastian’s the one who never told me.” Not the whole story. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

  “It’s nice of you to feel that way, but I’m not sure it’s true.”

  “You know,” I say, “I’d expect that kind of secrecy from Martina. She was all about that. Keeping something a secret made it more exciting. But Sebastian was my friend. We sat next to each other in class and worked on lab reports together. Even if he and I hadn’t been involved, it would have hurt to find out from anyone but him.”

  “I’m not going to sit here and defend his choices. I probably could, but I don’t want to. I think you’re better with me,” he says. When I open my mouth to reply, he holds up a hand. “Just hear me out?”

  “Okay.”

  “I know you’re not in a place for a relationship right now, and honestly you made that clear to me the very first time we went out.” Running a hand over his jaw, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry I thought I could change your mind.”

  “It’s flattering. You don’t have to apologize for that either.”

  “It’s just that…” He studies the old Budweiser sign on the wall above our booth. “I don’t think I ever told you I got married young.”

  “I didn’t know you used to be married.”

  “We were a couple of kids.” He thrums his fingertips against the table. “I screwed up with her and we divorced a couple years ago. I regret the mistakes I made, and I’m trying to be a better man. I guess what I wanted to say is right now if you need a friend, I can be that. And if you ever want something more, I’d like that a lot. I just don’t want to lose you because of him. I don’t want us to lose a chance at something—even if it’s just a friendship—because of his screw-ups.”

  Am I that dumb girl who threw away her chance with a good man to be with a liar? “That means a lot, Logan, thank you.”

  “And…” He reaches for my hand and toys with my fingers. “I was hoping you’d still come to the grand opening at the Lemon Rind this weekend? As friends. It’s a big night for me, and I could use a friend by my side.”

  He holds my gaze, and I have a fleeting thought of how pretty his eyes are—all the warmth there directed at me should be something I want. I can’t stop thinking of Martina and Sebastian together, and I want desperately to stop thinking about it. And here’s Logan, offering me something that might get my mind off the mess of emotions in my head for a couple of hours. “I think that could be fun. As friends.”

  He exhales heavily, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “Try not to look too pretty, okay?”

  My cheeks heat. I’m not used to getting the kind of compliments he and Sebastian deliver, and to get them from both of them in such a short time frame, I feel like I need to check to make sure I’m still in my own body and not someone else’s. “That’s not a problem,” I say.

  He huffs. “We’ll see about that.” His gaze dips to my mouth one more time before he stands. “I’ll pick you up Saturday night. Around seven?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He turns to leave.

  “Logan,” I say, stopping him. “Thank you. For being so kind.”

  He grins. “I’ll be anything you want me to be, Alexandra.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sebastian

  We won, and after last weekend’s embarrassing defeat, we needed to, but I don’t even care. I’m numb. I played. I ran hard when I got the ball. I did my job. But that’s it.

  Somebody told me once that when nerves don’t make you feel like you might throw up before every game, then you’re done. You shouldn’t play anymore, because if you don’t care, you won’t play hard enough. According to that logic, I’m going to have a nice, long career, because I’m always nervous when I put on my uniform. The nerves fizzle away once I’m on the field and working for the win, but up until that point I always feel like I should carry a bucket with me or something.

  Tonight, on the other hand, maybe they shouldn’t have let me go out there, because I didn’t fucking care. And when Chris leaned more heavily on the pass game despite playing a team with a weak defense against the run, I should have been pissed, but I didn’t care.

  A few disappointed glances have been thrown my way since we got in the locker room. They know I’m not myself.

  “We’re going out tonight,” Mason announces, giving me a hard look.

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  He sets his jaw. “We are going out tonight.”

  Chris bumps me on the shoulder with his fist. “Come on. A bunch of the team is going. Make an appearance. You don’t have to stay long.”

  Honestly, I’m not sure I wan
t to be at home alone with my thoughts, so I agree. I shower, dress, and follow the guys when everyone’s ready.

  “We’re walking,” Mason says when I turn toward the parking lot.

  I frown. “Campus bar?” Of course we’re going to a campus bar. Tonight we’re fucking rock stars for winning the game. But I don’t want to be a rock star. I want to be a loser sitting in a dark corner. I want to feel sorry for myself and drink until I can’t feel my face.

  “The Lemon Rind,” Chris says.

  I stop walking, and the guys turn to look at me.

  “What’s the problem now, Crowe?” Mason asks.

  “No. I’m not going there.”

  “Is there are reason?” Chris asks. “Or are you just being a dick on general principle tonight?”

  “Alex is seeing the guy who owns that place.”

  Chris and Mason exchange a look before Mason says, “All the more reason for you to go.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

  “I’m surprised at you,” Chris says. “I thought you’d fight for her.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s always complicated,” Mason says. “Life is complicated. Football is complicated. But chicks?” He shakes his head. “Complicated barely scratches the surface, so you’re going to have to find a better fucking excuse.”

  “Isn’t that hypocritical of you?” I ask. “Are you fighting for Bailey?”

  He takes a step toward me, his nostrils flaring as he points at me. “You’re having a shitty week, so I’m gonna let that slide, but you don’t know jack about how I’ve fought for that girl. Don’t pick a fight with me just because you’re too scared to face your own problems.”

  He backs off, and the guys turn and start walking again. I follow—not because I don’t think they’d take no for an answer but because now that the idea’s in my head, I want to go. I guess I’m a fucking masochist, because if she’s there with him, I want to know. I need to see them together for myself.

  Will she be the woman by his side as he opens his bar? Maybe seeing it will help me let go. Or maybe it’ll be another knife in my gut to keep the other one company.

  The bar is one of those hip places with lots of “handcrafted,” overpriced drinks and craft beers. A popular local band plays at the back of the building, and the place is already packed.

  “You want a drink?” Mason asks.

  I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I said that wrong. I meant, you want a drink. It’s not a question.”

  “We’ll find seats,” Chris says.

  I give him a look. There isn’t a table available, but a group of middle-aged patrons wave at us from a booth adjacent the bar and motion us over.

  “The champions!” they shout.

  Chris treats them to his Southern boy charm as Mason places an order at the bar, and the next thing I know the group is giving us their table.

  “We were leaving anyway,” one of the ladies informs me. “We wanted to save seats for the team though.”

  “You’re too kind,” Chris says. “We really appreciate it.”

  “We appreciate you,” the lady says. “What a great game. Can’t wait to see what you can do when Arrow Woodison is back on the field.”

  Since I’m currently playing in Arrow’s position, the statement is a bit of a low blow, but I earned it after my lackluster performance tonight and last week. Chris flinches slightly before looking my way, but the lady seems oblivious.

  “We’ll be glad to have him back for sure,” Chris says. When they leave, he looks at me. “Sorry about that.”

  I shrug. “I deserved it.”

  “You deserve this,” Mason says, shoving a glass of dark liquid into my hand.

  “What is it?” I sniff it.

  “Fancy whiskey. I can tell you now, this won’t be our regular watering hole. I’d be broke before the semester’s over.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me,” I mutter.

  There’s a bit of a cheer as everyone turns toward the stage, but when I follow their gazes, I realize they’re not looking at the band. Logan just stepped out onto the balcony that’s positioned just to the right of the stage, and he’s waving like he’s some sort of celebrity.

  Alex steps onto the platform to stand by his side, and my stomach twists into a knot. She’s wearing a yellow, high-necked dress that hugs her curves, and a matching pair of scrappy fuck-me heels. From my seat, I have a great view of her, and a perfect view for when Logan slides an arm possessively around her waist.

  Jealousy tears through me, and I drain the drink faster than I intended.

  I thought coming here might help me let her go. The idea is laughable. Nothing has helped me let go of Alex. Not two years in different states, not kissing her and holding her all night long, and not even being responsible for the worst night of her life. The only way I can let go of her is if I stop breathing.

  * * *

  After the first round of drinks, the guys left for the Cavern in search of cheaper beverages, but I stayed. I can’t leave when I know Alex is here, not if there’s any chance I can get her to talk to me.

  I wait all night to get her alone, and it’s after midnight before I find my opportunity. She’s at the bar in front of three shots of tequila. I put my hand over the second one when it’s halfway to her mouth.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

  She narrows her eyes and frowns at me. “I’m having fun. Isn’t this how you do it?” She pulls the glass out from under my hand and brings it the rest of the way to her mouth, shuddering faintly as it goes down.

  “Why are you trying to be like her?” The music is so loud that I have to shout to be heard, but I know she hears me because she freezes.

  “What?” Her eyes are hard as she turns them on me.

  “Why are you trying to be like your sister?”

  “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

  “No. I’m asking you a question, because I really don’t understand why you can’t just be you.”

  “So, what? I’m not allowed to have a drink? You’re sure about that? Or is it that your picture of me as the good little girl is shaken by the fact that I enjoy a little buzz from time to time?” She clunks the glass on the counter and makes a face of mock horror. “Ooh! I like to party a little! So what?”

  Party. That was always Martina’s word for it. Party meant alcohol. It meant late night drives on back roads pushing a hundred and ten miles an hour. It meant going down on me in the restroom at school. It meant drugs. It meant anything she could do to get a cheap thrill.

  When I meet sixteen-year-olds now, I’m blown away by how young they look. That’s how old Martina and I were when we met, and I’d already been dealing a year. If I saw a sixteen-year-old today doing the things we did, I would drag them home by their hair.

  But by the time I was sixteen, I was already in too deep, and Martina was spending every spare moment looking for trouble. I know why I made the choices I did, but until Alex told me about their uncle, I never understood Martina. Especially when I compared her to Alex. She was such a contrast to Martina—as if Alex got all the good decision-making skills and Martina none.

  “I couldn’t be her if I wanted to,” Alex says, and I feel like a dick, because all the joy I saw on her face earlier is gone and she looks so damn defeated.

  “Alex…”

  “I’m just trying to catch up, okay? I haven’t done a lot of living in the last couple of years.” She draws in a shaky breath then puts her hand to her cheek before grabbing hold of the bar with the other.

  “Unsteady?”

  “Little bit.”

  “That’s what happens when you take three shots of tequila in a row.”

  “It feels good.” She stares at me defiantly. “If the rest of my life didn’t suck right now, I might just like it.” Then she turns and heads for the door, swaying slightly in her heels.

  I go
after her, telling myself I’m only following her because she’s been drinking and someone needs to look out for her.

  She’s standing on the sidewalk, leaning against the building. She’s studying her feet, her arms crossed over her chest, and when she lifts her head, there are tears in her eyes.

  This is my fault. That broken expression on her face right now. The pain in her eyes. It’s my fault, because I didn’t tell her what needed to be told. I thought I told her the part that mattered, but maybe I left out the rest because I knew how much it would hurt her. Maybe I was too ashamed of the part I can’t blame on my father.

  Now here she is, staring at me like I’ve broken her heart when all I ever wanted to do was protect it.

  “Can we talk?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says. She straightens, stepping away from the building and toward me. “Let’s talk. Let’s talk about what it’s like to have a twin sister who’s better than you in every single way.”

  “Alex—”

  “No, I want to talk about it. I want to talk about what it’s like to be twins but be so very different. I want to talk about what it’s like growing up and having everyone naturally compare you to someone who’s smarter than you, prettier than you”—she lifts her hands and makes air quotes—“‘more fun’ than you. I want to talk about what it’s like to be the sister boys use to get closer to the other. Let’s talk about growing up without any scars and finding a quarter of your body hideous at the age of seventeen and feeling like the only thing that’s changed is that the better version of you is gone forever.” She takes another step forward and slams the palms of her hands into my chest. “Let’s talk about what it’s like to watch your sister become an addict and to feel grateful, because at least in this one area you aren’t the crappier sister. You want to talk about that? What a mind fuck it was for me to watch her spiral?”

  She slams her palms into my chest again, and I let her, letting the blow land so it rocks me back on my heels. She’s so close, and I desperately want to hold her until the stubborn tears in her eyes flow down her cheeks, to whisper in her ear that it’s going to be okay.