“You shouldn’t leave without telling him what you came here to say,” Dez said. “Don’t you think he deserves an apology at least?”
“That’s all I wanted to do!” Tripp snapped. “That and just talk, but he’s drunk so it’s not going to matter right now and, I’m so done trying to hold everything together when no one else gives a shit. I’ve never had anything or anyone who was just mine, but I wanted him to be!”
“All the more reason to stay,” Dez insisted. The man still hadn’t let go. Considering the way they were always snipping at one another, Tripp would have figured Dez would be happy to see him leace, and yet, his hold was firm and all traces of laughter were gone from his face.
He was fuckin’ serious.
“I don’t know what the fuck he sees in you besides a hot piece of ass,” Dez said. “But you matter to him, so, fix it, yeah, so he’s not drinking so much trying to bury what the fuck you said to him.”
“I never meant to imply that…” Tripp began.
“Don’t tell me, tell him. The fact is, whether you meant it or not, you said it, and this is the fallout,” Dez said. “I’ll make him a sandwich ‘cause I’m starving and he’s gonna need something to soak up all the SoCo he drank. After that, you’re on your own.”
Tripp hoped whatever Dez made wouldn’t be tuna or anything else with a strong aroma to it. His stomach ached in the awful, tight, burning way it had been doing for weeks now, only this was the worst it had been so far. He had never gotten around to eating anything, the thought of eating left him wanting to puke.
“You hurt my friend again, and I’ll bury you somewhere remote and apologize to Winter later,” Dez growled. There was no doubt in Tripp’s mind that he meant it too. “Now come on, before I change my mind and chuck you down the elevator shaft rather than waiting for the lift to come get you.”
A vicious contradiction, that’s what Dez was. Despite the vitriol lobbed his way, Tripp had to admire his loyalty to Zakk, and the door he was opening, literally, as he shooed Riley, Zakk, and Tripp inside the condo. It also left him with burning questions, like how the man could so thoroughly and completely act like the previous bands he played with didn’t exist and what the hell had caused the bad blood so many in the music community believed to exist between them.
The living room looked like a slumber party. Blankets were draped over every surface, papers and pens littered the coffee table, end table and even the couch. Many of the papers were crinkled like someone had slept on them. A couple of large bottles lay on various surfaces, smaller ones interspersed among them. There were some glasses too, but no plates, at least not that Tripp could see. Either they’d gotten those into the sink, or they hadn’t bothered with food.
In the kitchen, Zakk flopped in a chair and started shoving the saltshaker back and forth between his hands, looking everywhere but at Tripp, despite taking the seat across from him. Riley sat on the counter beside the fridge where Dez rummaged, emerging with several containers and packages like he was going to make the mother of all sandwiches.
“Riley, you want anything?”
“Please. I skipped breakfast looking for a certain someone who never made it home last night.”
Twin spots of color bloomed on Dez’s face, leaving no doubt in Tripp’s mind where he’d crashed the night before.
“How long have you been here anyway?” Dez asked as he cut open a couple of hoagie rolls.
“Half a bottle of SoCo at least, maybe a little more.”
Dez seemed to know exactly what that translated to in numerical units, if the heavy sigh he let out while he buttered the bread was any indication.
Why was he buttering sandwiches?
Tripp’s stomach roiled and he could feel his nose wrinkling.
Had he mistaken the butter for mayonnaise? No, there was, well, Tripp wasn’t sure if it was mayonnaise, ranch dressing, or something else entirely in the jar Dez had slid onto the counter. Was he drunk too?
It hadn’t smelled like it when they’d talked at the elevator, though Tripp had caught a whiff of weed. Now that he could go for if someone were inclined to offer.
“You hungry?” Dez asked, prompting Tripp to shake his head and hope he didn’t wrinkle his nose at the offer.
It looked good though. Damn. He kept hoping the antacids he’d chewed on the way up would kick in, but so far, nothing was lessening the combo of heartburn and nausea he had going on. He nearly gagged when Dez started frying several strips of bacon, but at least the lingering scent of it in the air overpowered the red onion Dez sliced in thin circles.
Now he understood why the bread was buttered. Dez put it face down in a pan to toast the insides while he worked on the rest of the ingredients. The only thing he couldn’t figure out was why only two rolls. Wasn’t he making three sandwiches?
There were three plates on the counter. Only, one of them looked very different from the others. The sharp thud of the saltshaker striking the kitchen table momentarily drew Tripp’s attention back to Zakk, who looked both quizzical and surprised to see the glass twinkling against the wood with a salt tail arching out behind it.
Something told Tripp that it was going to take more than just one sandwich before Zakk could make solid connections between words. Right now, it didn’t look like he’d be able to connect himself to the planet if someone asked him to.
Zakk traced his fingers through the salt, forming some strange cross between runes and letters. Drunk and adorable, that’s what he was, looking absolutely fascinated by the patterns he was creating. A purple string trapped in the strands of his hair, dangled over his ear, waving every time Zakk breathed. He reached across the space between them to brush it away, only to be clumsily swatted at.
So much for that.
At least the silence gave him time to start figuring out what to say, though the process was made infinitely more difficult by the bubbling burning that had started in his stomach and was beginning to creep up his throat.