Page 126 of What Are The Odds?
My thoughts were too rabid to focus on any of the many games playing on the screens. There was hockey. Football. Soccer. Basketball. None of it was anything other than a blur.
“You never ended it,” Ryker pointed out. “You never claimed victory and kicked my guys out of the gym.”
He was right. By all means, I’d won. I should’ve kicked him and his guys to the gutter weeks ago. But doing that acknowledged the bet existed. And I’d wanted to pretend it hadn’t.
“Yeah. Well.” I shrugged.
“How did you go in your away game?” Ryker questioned, shifting the conversation.
“No fucking clue,” I admitted.
“Shit. You really love her, huh?”
I sipped my beer. “Yeah.”
We lapsed into a comfortable silence, one where I was kicking myself. I couldn’t believe I’d lost her. Each time I reminded myself, the revelation hit heavier. My first breakup, and it was fucking brutal. Just like this hangover was bound to be tomorrow. Lastlings should’ve been the last place I came to. There were too many reminders. It’s where I’d met Grace. Where I’d been only last weekend, her on my lap. Outside admitting I loved her. Trying to work through our future. After tonight, I was vetoing this place. I couldn’t come back.
“Do you still like her?” I asked Ryker, regretting the question immediately.
I had no idea what I was hoping to achieve here.
“Not like you do.” He cleared his throat, setting down his drink. “But if I’d gotten to be with her like you had. . . ” He trailed off, clearly reading my expression that was telling him to fucking cut off the thought. “I’d be just as cut up,” he said instead.
I lounged back in my seat, extending out my legs. They were achy. A reminder that I’d just played a full hockey game with no recollection as to what’d happened. I needed to watch the game back. Particularly the moment that’d sent me to the penalty box for five-minutes. I felt sorry for the guy who’d been on the other end of that. Whatever it turned out to be. My attention snapped to a familiar voice. On the far side of the bar, Summer was rubbing up against a football player. Of fucking course. It was the Running Back, the same guy whose girlfriend Ryan had fooled around with. The dots connected in an obvious line. I sighed.
“What are the odds you mentioned something to him?”
Ryker followed my gaze. “Well. Shit.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Any chance you’ll let me handle it?”
Anger almost clouded my judgement. Yeah, I was mad at Summer for running her mouth when it wasn’t her business. And I was mad at Ryker for telling the wrong person. But there was no one to blame other than myself. There was always a chance this was going to blow up. I should’ve been honest. Should’ve fessed up. I’d had more than enough opportunities. The nights spent in my bed. The mornings getting ready. The entire time in Colorado. Grace deserved the truth. I’d been a gutless coward.
“Whatever. But you better warn him to stay the fuck away from me for the rest of the school year.”
The atmosphere in Lastlings shifted. The table of girls beside us were staring at the door, excitement sparkling in their hazy eyes. I turned to the entrance. Will, Ryan and Tripp had just walked in, still dressed in their post-game suits and hockey jackets. Just like me. They searched the bar until they spotted me. I’d jumped from the bus and dashed to my car before any of them could ask where I was going. I guess they’d figured it out. They looked worried, especially Will.
“This is cute,” Tripp mused, rapping his hands on the table. “Brooding besties?”
I levelled him with a glare that shut him up. After tipping back the rest of his drink, Ryker slid back his chair. He nodded curtly to me before striding away. I guess we were done. Will guardedly slipped into the stool Ryker had just vacated like it was boobytrapped. He rested his tattooed forearm on the table.
“What the fuck, Levi. You can’t just take off like that.”
I arched a brow.
“We've been all over campus looking for you,” Ryan explained, a little more patiently. “What the fuck happened?”
Tripp scowled at me, alarm ringing in his wide eyes. “And what the fuck does Will mean Hughesy is gone?”
The concerned parent act was cute. I’d given Will a brief explanation. I’d needed one when I boarded the bus late. I think my explanation had consisted of seven words in total.Grace found out. She’s gone. It’s over.But he’d understood. He hadn’t mumbled a word the entire drive to the away game. He’d taken the pregame speech and stepped in to stop Coach from ramming down my throat. I threw back the remainder of my drink.
“Can you all stop fucking swearing at me?”
“When you snap the fuck out of this drunken stupor,” Ryan retorted.
Will sighed. “We drove to Ryker’s house, expecting to find him in a body bag.”
“Wasn’t his fault,” I mumbled.
The guys clearly didn’t know what to make of that. They looked at each other quizzically.
