Page 62 of Spilled Coffee

Eddie let out a bitter laugh that turned heads at a nearby table before lowering his voice. “Are you for fucking real?” His frown deepened into something almost dangerous as he leaned in close. “Are you forgetting what happened or just handling it like always by pretending it didn’t? Brother,” he said slowly, as if trying to hammer each word into Logan’s thick skull, “the man is a fucking psycho.”

“He’s changed. He’s stopped drinking and sorted his life out.” Logan insisted, though there was still an edge of doubt that even he couldn’t hide.

“Yeah?” Eddie challenged, raising a brow. “Is that what you’re telling yourself these days?” He gestured toward Devon with a tilt of his chin. “Well, I hope you’re damn sure about that for Ethan’s sake. Last thing this team needs is that stalker creeping around again.”

Logan flinched at the word, glancing around quickly to ensure no one else had heard. “Oh, c’mon,” he said defensively, though not convincingly enough to sway Eddie. “You’re blowing things way outta proportion.”

“Blowing it outta proportion?” Eddie barked another laugh and leaned back in his chair. “Logan, he wasn’t ‘overzealous,’ like you keep telling yourself. He was obsessed with you.” He stressed the word, letting it hang heavy in the air between them.

“It’s ancient history,” Logan replied, working his jaw beneath his stubble. “He’s settled now—business is going steady, PTSD under control. He has a whole new life. He’s just out having fun. Look, if it’ll shut you up...” he sighed, dragging a hand through his messy hair, “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Well, you should.” Eddie snorted, elbows resting on the bar. “Because from where I’m sitting, he’s already making it real clear he’s got a thing for Ethan.”

Logan’s head snapped up at that, his dark brows drawing together. “What the hell do you mean, ‘a thing’?”

Eddie smirked and took a slow sip, letting Logan stew in the silence. Finally, he set the empty glass down, stretching his arms across the backrest. “Watch him,” he nodded toward the table. “The hands, the looks... Hell, the way he keeps touching. Kid’s uncomfortable as hell. If I can see it, everyone can. He’s doing it right out in the open—doesn’t give a damn who sees.”

“You’re seeing shit that ain’t there,” Logan shot back. Still, his eyes betrayed him as they flicked to the far end of the room where Devon’s hand lingered on Ethan’s shoulder—a little too firm, a little too familiar. Ethan shifted in his seat, his smile strained at the edges. Meanwhile, Brick roared with laughter, oblivious to it all. “Hell, they’re just messing around,” he continued, though his gaze remained focused. “You even remember what fun is? Or are you too old now?”

Eddie snorted again, as he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his worn leather jacket from the back of his stool. “Make sure it stays fun.” He slid one arm into a sleeve, then clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder and added, “I don’t trust that bastard.”

Eddie walked away and Logan let out a heavy sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest, then waved the bartender over. “Another large whiskey in there.”

He turned slightly on his stool to get a better view and could clearly see, even across the dimly lit bar, that Devon’s hand still hadn’t moved from Ethan’s shoulder—if anything, it seemed to tighten like some kind of silent claim.

Ethan’s expression was harder to read from this distance, but something about him seemed off—the stiffness in his posture or maybe the way his laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes as Brick cracked another joke.

Logan exhaled sharply and turned back to his drink. The whiskey sloshed in the glass—a swirling amber storm that mirrored the one building inside him.

At the table, Brick rubbed his hands together with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“So…” he declared loudly enough for half the bar to hear. “Who’s up for more tequila?” His cheeks were flushed red from too many shots already and it was obvious he was well on his way to drunk. “I’m gettin’ a taste for ‘em now—let’s have a party! Hey...” He waggled his brows suggestively at Devon before turning to Ethan. “Maybe we should hit that club again? See if those girls are there? Maybe they’ve got another friend we can roll with if you know what I mean.” He punctuated this with an exaggerated wink and an elbow jab toward Devon.

“Or maybe...” Devon drawled, leaning over the table toward Brick. “…we could have a party of our own.” His voice dropped an octave—low enough to make even Ethan glance sideways. Then, as if to emphasize this suggestion, he reached out and placed both hands firmly on Brick’s shoulders and gave them an almost-too-friendly squeeze.

Brick froze mid-laugh and whatever witty comeback had been forming died instantly, alongside any lingering buzz from the tequila shots.

“Uh... yeah,” he stammered after several long seconds where nobody dared speak. “... no offense or anything, man, but... That’s not really my scene.”

“Really?” Devon sighed dramatically, pulling back and adding an exaggerated pout. “You disappoint me, brah. Hey, don’t worry… I’m just messin’ with y’all. Hell, you’re not my type anyway.” He winked again, playful but pointed. “But never say never until you’ve tried it. That’s my motto.”

Brick forced a smile, his lips curling enough to feign politeness. He really wasn’t sure if Devon was joking, but either way the taunting tone with which it was delivered dug under his skin.

He didn’t care who Devon slept with, but something about the insinuation, the smugness behind those words, rubbed him entirely the wrong way.

His jaw tightened as he stared down at his half-empty beer bottle, fingers gripping the glass a shade too tightly. Then it hit him. Like a sudden flash of clarity, it left him reeling.

Ethan. Ethan’s weird vibe. The way he’d dodged Brick’s questions about that massage a few nights ago. The restless energy in the kid’s eyes whenever Devon walked into a room. Was thisthatguy?

Brick’s stomach churned and he exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into the moment. “Look,” he muttered, sliding out of his seat with deliberate ease, “I’ll go grab us some beers.” He needed space, even if it was only the few steps to the bar.

Devon plopped down in the seat next to Ethan. The move was brazen, almost theatrical, and Brick could feel his shoulders stiffen even as he walked away.

“So,” Devon began casually. “How you holding up?” His smile was easy, disarming even.

Ethan glanced up, his fingers twitching as though they couldn’t decide what to do with themselves. “I’m good,” he said quickly, though there was a hesitation to his voice that betrayed him. “Better than the last time we saw each other, anyway.” His gaze darted away as if searching for an escape. “Look, sorry about that. I don’t know what happened that night.”

Devon tilted his head, his expression softening into something sympathetic. “Hey, don’t sweat it, I gave it some thought and maybe someone spiked your drink? Happens in clubs all the time.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “You were really out of it, I’m just saying it wouldn’t be your fault if that’s what went down.”

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