Page 54 of Let It Breathe
Reese stood up and started gathering her dishes with a clatter. “We don’t have any secrets. We’ve all known each other forever. Let’s play something else.”
“Come on, you guys!” Larissa pleaded. “We haven’t done anything fun together since Clay came back. It’ll be like old times.”
Eric grunted and glanced at Clay. “Aren’t we all supposed to be doing supportive shit so we avoid things being like ‘old times’? Doesn’t seem like a drinking game would be the best idea.”
Clay felt a sharp pang in the center of his gut. He knew Eric was aiming for helpful, not accusatory, but the words still stung. “Actually, admitting past failures is part of the recovery process,” Clay said. “I haven’t played ‘I Never,’ but it sounds like the same idea.”
“Sure!” Larissa said. “I mean, you kinda want to avoid words like ‘failure’ if you want it to be fun, but it’s all about revealing salacious things you’ve done.”
Clay shrugged. “I’m game.”
Reese bit her lip but didn’t meet Clay’s eyes. “It just seems like a bad idea. Isn’t this—what’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Dumb?” Eric offered.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Reese waved a hand in Clay’s direction, flinging soap on Larissa’s shirt. “A trigger. Something that wouldn’t be good for Clay.”
Larissa rolled her eyes. “You guys, he’s been sober four years. Don’t you think he’s capable of deciding for himself what’s good for him?”
All three pairs of eyes shifted to him, and Clay stood frozen in the space between the kitchen and the living room, the space between the fun guy they remembered and the responsible guy he knew he could be. He hesitated, not knowing what the right move was here, but knowing he wanted to prove to all of them that he could do this. He could be fun and spontaneous and still be a responsible adult who didn’t end up ruining everyone’s evening by passing out or passing up a chance to do something enjoyable.
He folded his arms and met their gazes one by one. Larissa, Eric, Reese. “Let’s play.”
Eric shrugged. “Fine by me. I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Larissa looked at Reese, who had started ladling huckleberry cobbler into bowls. “Reese?”
She sighed. “This all seems a little awkward. Come on, Eric and I used to be married. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“No weirder than you being besties with his second wife,” Larissa pointed out.
Eric refilled his wineglass and stood up with a shrug. “Isn’t awkwardness the whole point of the game? I’m not endorsing it, just saying.”
Reese sighed, looking defeated. Larissa gave her a one-armed hug, then grabbed a bowl of cobbler and a glass of wine before flouncing into the living room. Eric shrugged, then picked up a bowl of cobbler and followed. Clay watched him sink into the center of a leather sofa the color of an old saddle, while Larissa curled up in a bright-orange armchair lined with flowery turquoise pillows. Clay stared at them for a moment, his throat welling with a flood of nostalgia for his lost college years. If only he hadn’t fucked everything up?—
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Reese murmured.
Clay turned to look at her and felt the wistful pang grip him tighter. He cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“I’m not talking about the alcohol.” She shot a nervous glance toward the living room, then lowered her voice. “I’m just thinking about that time in college when?—”
“Come on, you guys,” Larissa yelled. “Hurry up!”
Clay looked at Reese, still wondering what the right move was. She stared at him, her expression unreadable. He turned back to the living room. “Why don’t you guys play and I’ll finish up the dishes?”
“No way,” Eric said. “I’m not going to be the only guy playing. Get your ass in here. You, too, Reese. Come on, we’ll get the dishes later.”
Clay looked at Reese. He took a step closer, making his voice low. “I promise I’m okay with this,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about it being a trigger.”
He watched her throat move as she swallowed, and she took a shaky breath. “Okay. That’s fine, I mean. I just—how do you want to handle?—”
She broke off there, not finishing the question, but Clay watched her gaze flit to her wineglass on the counter. Right, the alcohol. This was a drinking game, after all.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “I’ll drink water. ’Riss seems drunk enough not to notice who’s drinking what anyway.”
She seemed to think about that for a moment, her gaze drifting out to the living room. Part of him ached to reach out and touch her the way he had in the kitchen or at Vineyard Grill. He glanced at Eric, who frowned at him.
Right. Touching Reese would be bad.
