Page 32 of Spilled Coffee

He slumped onto one of the many barstools, the plush leather groaning softly beneath his weight. The expensive texture was smooth under his hands, contrasting with the rough denim of his jeans. He leaned forward, elbows on the cool metal edge of the bar, head heavy as his thoughts weighed it down.

“Yo,” Brick called out, waving a neon-green pass in the air like a victory flag.

The barman, a wiry guy with a shaved head that gleamed under the soft gold lights, nodded in acknowledgment. His lip ring caught the light as he lined up a row of glasses.

The shots sat on the glossy, white-lit bar, glinting like liquid jewels. Ethan wasn’t sure he wanted more alcohol, his head already felt like it was filled with cotton and the room was swaying every time he shifted his weight—lilting like a ship caught in a lazy swell.

They’d started drinking back at his apartment. Brick cracking open the crate of cheap beer while he talked smack about one of the Commanders at the base and traded war stories, which grew more exaggerated with every drink.

By the time they hit the dive near base, Ethan had lost count of exactly how many they’d downed. Brick was still grinning that wolfish grin of his, that said he could drink the entire town dry.Now here they were in what might be the trendiest lounge Ethan had ever set foot in with ten shots lined up on the bar.

It felt less like drinks with a friend and more like a challenge, and Ethan wasn’t sure he was up for it.

His hand drifted to his pocket and almost unconsciously, he pulled out his phone. The screen lit up with a familiar wallpaper—an old photo of him and Logan, from months ago, the orange desert sunset dazzling behind them.

No new texts.

Ethan swiped quickly through his messages, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Hey, you good?

Sorry… text me back, please…

Can we talk? Please Logan…

The words stared back at him like tiny accusations embedded into the screen—each pathetic message betraying just how drunk he was when he sent them.

Still no reply. The silence was agonizing, and a dull ache gnawed at him even beneath the layer of alcohol.

“Here…” Brick jolted him out of his thoughts, shoving one of the many shot glasses into his hand. The liquid sloshed dangerously close to spilling over the rim as Ethan grabbed it.

Brick’s intense gaze narrowed slightly when he saw him pocketing his phone again. “Hey,” he said, leaning in so Ethan couldn’t brush him off. “Whoever she is… forget her.” He gestured broadly around the room with his other hand, where couples and singles alike swayed to the music or chatted animatedly at tables. “Plenty of hot one-night stands in here to take your mind off Miss-Mystery.”

Ethan blinked, his brow furrowing before he finally managed to croak out, “What woman?” His voice was thick and hoarse from both booze and emotion.

“What woman?” Brick rolled his eyes dramatically before throwing back another shot like it was water. “That chick you’re texting every ten minutes,” he said, alternating between gulps of beer and tequila.

“It’s not a…” Ethan shook his head slowly, rubbing a hand across his face as if that might clear away some of the fog clouding both his mind and heart. “It’s not actually a woman.”

Brick paused mid-swig, lowering his beer with an exaggerated tilt of his head. “Not a woman?” He repeated slowly, dragging out each word for emphasis before breaking into a wide grin. “Well, hot damn! I did not see that coming.” He clapped Ethan on the back hard enough he almost fell off the stool.

“It’s not funny,” Ethan muttered, voice barely audible over the music pulsing through hidden speakers behind them.

“Well, whoever it is…” Brick said more seriously this time, though there was still an edge of teasing to his tone. “…you’re letting them screw with your head.” He gestured to Ethan’s empty shot glass before sliding another in front of him like he was a bartender-in-training.

Ethan hesitated for a long moment, but eventually he raised the glass to his lips. The liquid burned all the way down his throat. Tequila? Maybe? Hell, he couldn’t tell anymore, and at this point it all tasted like fire.

“You gotta kick back and let loose,” Brick declared, finishing yet another drink without missing a beat, despite having consumed what should’ve been enough to knock him out twice over.

Ethan wasn’t sure if letting loose was possible tonight, not when Logan’s ghost lingered so vividly in every corner of his mind.

“Look, if you’ve got some sort of a problem goin’ on, I wanna hear it.” Brick leaned across the bar top, his elbows braced on the edge as he tried to catch Ethan’s gaze. His brows knitted together, his frown more worry than irritation. “So, you fancy a dude? So what?” He seriously hoped his face didn’t betray how much he was struggling to process the new intel.

Ethan… fancied men? He downed a shot. Ethan… his teammate and brother liked men not women? Hell, maybe he liked both?

He downed one more tequila.

Brick’s thoughts tangled his brain like barbed wire. He wasn’t sure if it was the over consumption of liquor or if he genuinely couldn’t wrap his head around it.

---