“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make you.”
He smirks. “That’s not very nice. I was gonna say sorry but now I’m not going to.”
I clench my jaw. “That’s because you’re a fucking moron. And why don’t you worry about snapping out ofyourfunk, huh?”
He takes another pull of his beer. “Fuck you, I’m fine.”
“Sure, you are.”
He isn’t.
Ledger’s in a bad mood; he’s always in a bad mood but since the soccer game last week at his sister’s house, his mood’s been blacker than usual. It’s Tempest. He gets that way after seeing her. He hates everything; he kicks at things; he rages and then he calms down.
Whatever.
All I want right now is to get out of here.
Which I do when my own brother starts talking smack about me.
Well, not smack but it might as well be. Because he speaks as if he knows me. As if he knows anything about me and my life and my fucking soccer skills.
“Of course, he’s much better than me,” he says to Shep. “And I wish I could take credit for it, but it’s all him.”
I choose that moment to spring up from my seat. “I’m gonna take off.”
The only face I focus on while saying that is my brother’s and it tightens up. I see a flicker of disappointment and for some reason, it makes me hesitate. It makes me think that if things were different, if we were like Ledger and Stellan and Shep, if we were closer, I’d…
But what the fuck?
Since when do I hesitate when I disappoint people? Since when does that make me feel disappointed myself?
All the more reason to get the fuck out of here and have Homer stay away from me.
So I make my way across the bar, dodging the crowd, trying not to bump into people.
But unfortunately I do.
Crash into someone.
The last someone that I wanted to tonight.
The last guy of our group.
This is the first time I’m seeing him since his dad’s funeral. That I admit I went to very, very reluctantly. Which is saying something, because when I came back to Bardstown, my only goal was to be there for my best friend. Even though he didn’t want me to be. Even though he hated my fucking guts and has hated me for two long years.
But now I realize that it may have been longer.
It may have been since the first time we met.
I jerk my chin at him. “Hey.”
He doesn’t return my greeting though, his eyes growing harsh.
I glance down at the drink he’s holding in his hand. “Beer. Kinda light for you, isn’t it?”
“I’m building up to it. The hard stuff.”
“Didn’t think you needed any building up to. After two years of speed drinking, you must be more vodka than water right about now.”