Page 49 of The Beginning and End of Everything
She brings her gaze to mine, the pain I’m causing evident on her face. Thisisn'tthe part where we heal each other, which is why I shoulder my bag and leave the room without a backward glance. She knows I’m alive, but it would be better if she didn’t. Her being here isn’t going to help either of us.
If I'm honest with myself, I've thought about contacting her a thousand times, but I just couldn't do it. I knew I would look at her and see everything we’ve lost, my own pain reflected back at me. Because it was never just Connor and me. It was the three of us. By running and avoiding her, I’ve let Connor down in the worst way.
I go upstairs and take a seat at the mahogany bar. All I need in life is to drown everything out. Whiskey and meaningless sex are old friends, ones I can rely on and expect nothing in return.
I flag Larry for a drink, downing in one quick gulp.
Larry thumps the empty glass. "What's got you drinking like a goddamn one-flippered goldfish?"
"You told me to drink. Here I am."
"Nah. Something's itching your butt. Wouldn’t have anything to do with that classy-looking girl that followed you out, would it?” He blows a long whistle through his teeth. “She’s a looker.”
Larry places two more drinks onto the counter.
"She's like my sister," I say, disgust lacing my voice.
"Hell, where I came from, girls like that, didn't matter if theywereyour sister." A perverted grin slinks across his face when he slaps me on the back.
"She's Connor's widow," I whisper.
Even breathing his name hurts, like a knife being wedged right in the center of my chest. I haven’t opened up to many people, but Larry knows all about Connor. Kyan, Finn, Larry, me, we're all ex-military. All running, still fighting a war we wish we'd never signed up for. I don't like to talk about it, but they understand. They've all seen things they’ll never forget, lost friends. Lost part of what essentially makes us human.
"Aw, hell." He hitches his pants back under his gut, and a heavy sigh slips through Larry's lips before he downs his shot.
Thankfully, before memory lane takes us into a shitstorm I can’t get out of, a peroxide-blonde steps to the end of the bar and shamelessly stares at me—small waist, a ton of cleavage. She's just what I need right now. Larry follows my gaze and pats me on the shoulder as he stands, and then finds his way behind the bar.
Six glasses of whiskey later, and the guilt is gone.Everythingis gone. I'm blissfully numb. Blondie is hanging off my arm, her lips leaving a trail of bright red lipstick down my neck.
"Wanna get outta here?" she purrs against my ear, and my gaze drops to her ample chest.
"Sure."
27
Poppy
The street running in front of the pub is deserted, except for the old men loitering by the entrance who let out a whoop of catcalls as a group of girls walks by in short skirts.
For a moment, I wonder why I’m even here. Brandon has always been stubborn. It would be foolish of me to believe I could talk some sense into him. Then I remind myself: Connor would want us to lean on each other. He always said friends carry each other when no one else will. And, right now, Brandon and I both need someone to carry us.
The ruckus of bar noise spills onto the street when the bar door swings open. The group of men cheers when Brandon's stumbles out with a curvy blonde. She presses her lips to his neck and wraps around him like a vine. They are almost to the curb when his gaze lands on me, and he unwinds himself from her hold. She reaches for him again, and he staggers back, saying something I can’t make out. Whatever it is, wins him a shove, followed by a middle finger before the blonde heads back into the bar.
He drags a hand through his hair and takes a step toward me, then stops and turns around.
“Brandon?” I start after him, but he keeps walking.
A sportscar's headlights flash, the alarm disarms, and he reaches for the door.
“Brandon O’Kieffe!” I reach the car just as he falls into the driver’s seat.
“Go away.”
The stout aroma of whiskey wafts up. There is no way he should be driving. He goes to shut the door, but I grab it, then reach over him and take the keys from the ignition.
“What the fuck, Poppy?”
“You are not driving.”
