Twenty-Five
Emmett trudged into the kitchen and opened the fridge, studying the paltry offerings. A box of pizza from two nights ago was wedged onto the shelf, balanced on a carton that used to hold six bottles of beer but now held two. Besides pizza and beer he had some cheese—moldy; lunch meat—scary; and eggs—not expired.
“Eggs for dinner, it is.” Carton in hand, he walked to the stovetop, but when he bent to grab a skillet from a low cabinet, the world slipped off its axis. At least his world did.
That’d been happening a lot lately. It was like he was living on a damn Tilt-A-Whirl.
Since he’d called it quits with Stefanie three nights ago, he’d found a new weight to haul around in place of the fear of not being enough for her. A heavy, burdensome load that sat in the pit of his stomach like a cannonball.
Or a wrecking ball.That was how he felt.
Fucking wrecked.
All of a sudden his stomach soured at the idea of food. He shoved the carton of eggs back onto their shelf and reached for a beer at the same time his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Chase.
Emmett would finally face him. He’d expected his best friend to come sooner, and come in hot, his temper preceding him. Instead, Chase had accepted Emmett’s leaving without fanfare.
It made sense. Chase had promised he’d choose Stefanie, which was what Emmett had wanted him to do. Emmett had emailed his resignation letter yesterday, which had solved another problem for his best friend. Chase wouldn’t be forced to fire his head of security.
I’m in your driveway, the text read.
Come in, Emmett typed back. He opened the fridge and pulled out a second bottle of beer, setting it beside the other and popping off the caps.
Seconds later, Chase stepped into the kitchen and took one look at him, and his mouth flattened into a mirthless line.
“I opened you a beer.” Emmett gestured, but before he had a chance to lift his own bottle and suck down half its contents, pain bloomed over his left cheekbone in a neon flash.
Blinking, he palmed his face and stared in astonishment at his houseguest. Chase’s face was neutral, and if he hadn’t been shaking out his hand, Emmett would’ve sworn he’d imagined the sucker punch.
“Should’ve expected your head to be that hard after what you pulled with Stef.” Chase winced as he flexed his hand.
Emmett blinked, his vision finally clearing. “Expected this three days ago. You’re late.”
“My baby sister is in tears and it’s your fault.”
Emmett’s chest caved in. “Still?”
He hated that she’d cried—that she was still crying. And because of him? Shouldn’t she be over him by now, or at the very least shouldn’t she accept that she’d dodged a bullet?
Chase came toward him, but Emmett was ready this time. Emmett ducked and Chase’s fist swiped the air. Emmett landed a clumsy sock to Chase’s gut, but it hit hard enough that Emmett steadied his best friend when it took the wind from his lungs.
Chase recovered quickly, ramming Emmett in the belly with his shoulder and smashing his back against the stainless steel fridge door.
“You son of a bitch.” Chase pressed his forearm against Emmett’s throat. “Do you have any idea what you cost her? What you took from her? And for what? So you could fuck her?”
Incensed, Emmett traded their positions, pressing Chase’s back to the fridge. He raised his fist, poised to ruin the mayor’s perfect nose, but then stopped cold, the taste of blood—or maybe that wrecking ball weight of regret—sobering him.
Chase was his best friend, but Emmett hadn’t told him the truth.
Hell, Emmett had only recently admitted the truth to himself.
He lowered his hand and unwound his fist from Chase’s shirt.
“Go on. Finish what you came here to do.” He backed away a step so Chase could come for him. It’d be no less than what he deserved. “I realized the truth I was in denial about the moment I stepped into this house and she wasn’t in it.”
Chase, chest heaving and unspent anger simmering in his eyes, paused long enough to ask, “What truth was that?”