I’m the drunk. The washed-up athlete. The man who broke their best friend’s heart.
I collected more bad titles than I ever did championships.
Even Lana has done her best to avoid me since she found out about my drinking. She and the other parents keep to the covered seating area that was added to the dock when I had it redone. The boat slip beside it is empty, although the extra room gives the kids a place to practice their jumps into the water.
No one comes to talk to me, minus Cami, who makes an effort to check on me at least once before running back to her friends.
The icy glares and whispers taunt my demons out of hiding, and I’m driven to fill my half-empty cup of soda to the top with vodka.
If Lana is going to be mad at me, I might as well not suffer through the buildup. Slowly, after two trips inside the guesthouse, my muscles loosen and the thick knot in my throat disappears. The warmth spreading through my veins replaces the cold chill, justifying my reason to drink in the first place.
Peace.
I’m not sure how long I sit by myself, swaying to the country music pouring out of Lana’s portable speaker, but at some point Wyatt sneaks up on me.
“Here.” Wyatt drops a cheeseburger in front of me before taking a seat. “Eat it and sober up.”
I’m barely buzzed, yet he speaks to me like I’m a sloppy mess.
“I’m fine.” I shove the plate away.
He grabs my cup and sniffs. “Still masking your issues with vodka?”
I steal it back and drain the rest of the drink in spite. “What are you doing here with me?”
“I want to talk.”
“What about?”
“You can’t keep doing this to Alana. It’s not fair.”
My nails bite into my skin. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re leading her on and making her believe you two have a chance.”
“Because we do,” I seethe.
He gives me a bored once-over, being sure to drive home how utterly unimpressed he is of me. “Not if you keep this up, you won’t. This is why I knew it was a bad idea for you to come back. You aren’t ready.”
I’m not ready? Ready for what exactly?
I keep my face calm and collected despite the rage building within. “What do you want?”
“To help you for some goddamn reason.”
I laugh. “What do you know about helping someone like me? You’ve got the perfect life. Happy wife, good job, bright future.”
His grip on the picnic table tightens. “Why do you think that is?”
“Because you got lucky?”
“No. Because I put in the work.”
My lips press together.
He continues. “If you want to ever get Alana back, then you need to pull yourself together. For real this time. Starting with this.” He grabs my cup and tosses it in the trash bin nearby.
My eyes narrow. “Why are you helping me?”