Page 18 of Strong Side

He really is my sun. Or at least he feels like he is.

I don’t care who you are to a child or what you’ve done for them; if there’s no love in the household, you’re poor in the only area that matters.

My parents made sure we knew we could come to them no matter what. We may not have had the fanciest shit, but we never went without, either. I went to public schools with some of the best teachers I could’ve asked for. Our house was overflowing with love, and I know for a fact that’s not the environment that Clay grew up in.

Hanging up on his fuck of a dad was the most exhilarating thing I had done in a while, and the visible relief it gave Clay made it a hundred times better.

I get to my car and pull my phone out to text Jax, but I quickly see he’s now added me to a group chat, and these two idiots have been texting back and forth for the last twenty minutes. Clicking into it, I realize it’s only Jax, Clay, and me. I don’t know why Clay roped Jax into this, but he’s the one that I’ve had to go to get any sortof information since Clay’s still playing like he doesn’t have anything to do with this.

The first thing I notice is that Jax has named the group chat: The Office

I can only attest to the fact that the other day Clay mentioned that him and Jax were Jim and Pam, and I was their new Dwight. To which I took total offense to because I am nothing if not a Stanley.

Not bothering to go back and reread all of their bromance-worthy messages, I quickly shoot a quick one of my own:

The Office

Rocky

I’m on my way

Jax

See you when you get here, Birthday Boy! Be safe!

Clay

Better get ready to blow!

Candles, of course. Not me.Actually…

Jax

If you don’t stop he’s not going to show up.

Jax’s driveway comes into view, and I murmur a “shit” under my breath. There’s got to be at least thirty cars lining the road and covering his driveway. How mad will they be if I just turn around and go back to my apartment?

Before I can even think about turning around, Jax, Clay, and a few of the other players are waving me down from their spot on the porch, so I find the next parking spot I see on the road and pull in. I’m walking up the driveway when I find Clay with a shit-eating grin covering his face and Jax behind him, looking like a cowering puppy that just pissed on the floor.

“What the actual fuckery are you two wearing?” Clay and Jax have on matching Shania Twain shirts that are cut into crop tops. And now that I’m looking around, everyone is wearing crop tops with shorts or jeans. “What the fuck is going on?” I’m still looking around, thinking this is some kind of alternate universe. Usually, they’re all making fun of me for my many cropped shirt choices.

Clay takes me out of my misery. “We’re doing a ‘dress like the birthday slut’ theme. Found the trend onTikTok! And guess who’s the slut?” He’s pointing at me, biting his bottom lip, trying to hold back a laugh. All I’m wondering is how he set this up in less than a week and why he cared enough to actually make it a themed party.

Clay gets me out of my thoughts by throwing his hand up in the air, making a circle like he’s riding a horse about to rope some cattle, and yells out, “LET’S GO, BOYS!” Then he decides to kick in Jax’s front fucking door.

I grab Jax by the back of his shirt, being careful with his knee, and ask lowly, “How much alcohol have you all fed him?”

“To everyone’s surprise, not a fucking drop.” He’s smirking now, and if that knee weren’t in a brace from surgery, I would be meaner to him. Jax is one of the sweetest souls I’ve met; no matter how much he can piss me off, at times, I can’t stay mad at him.

Running my hand down my face, I murmur under my breath, "Dear fucking god. Somebody get me a drink."

A drink is what they get me—and another and another—until I have thoroughly lost count of how many I’ve consumed. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve let loose like this, but it’s much needed. The music is loud and I can feel the bass in my bones. The living room is looking very dance floor-ish right about now, and I'm ready toshake some ass.

1 The intro to my favorite rap song plays over the speaker, and before I can stop myself, my feet are moving on their own. I’m in the middle of the living room in Jax’s house dancing alone, putting on a show, but that doesn’t last long once I see Chloe approaching out of the corner of my eye.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

I lean down to whisper in her ear, “You look great tonight, Chloe.” I look up and lock eyes with Clay. He does not look happy.

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