It Was Me (14 page)

I wondered if it sounded as weird as it felt saying it but if it did, Brady didn't let on. He just nodded his head and said, “Ah, okay.”

I swallowed another mouthful of beer and kept my mouth shut. I had an insane urge to smash the bottle against his skull and scream, “It is NOT okay.”

But it wasn't his fault and taking my anger and frustration out on him for asking a simple question would have been a shitty thing to do. A shitty and stupid thing to do.

Because it wasn't anyone's fault, really.

Actually, that wasn't true, I thought as I brought the bottle to my lips one last time, draining its contents.

It was someone's fault.

Mine.

TWENTY NINE

We didn't stay at Luke's. Eleven-thirty on the nose, he stood up and said we were hitting the bars.

“I turn twenty-one in a half hour, man,” he announced, his words slurred. He grabbed an Angels hat from the closet and smashed it on top of his head. “Let's do this.”

I turned to look at Griffin. I was buzzed—better than buzzed—and the last thing I needed to do was try to drive into downtown PB. Looking around at the crew of half-baked, drunk guys, I was pretty sure no one was in any condition to drive.

“Think I'm gonna sit this one out,” I said.

Griffin grinned. “No way, man. We're in it for the long haul tonight. No way I'm letting your mopey ass go home.”

“I'm not driving,” I told him. “I've had six beers, dude.”

He held up four fingers. “And I've only had four. So we're golden.” He extended his hand. “Hand over your keys.”

“No.”

He reached for me, wrapping his arm around my neck in a loose headlock. With his free hand, he fished around in the pocket of my cargo shorts.

“Not much else in there to feel,” he said, smirking as he held up the keys to my truck.

“Fuck off.”

His grin widened. “Come on, man. You're already halfway to shitfaced. Let's go all the way. You need this.”

I wasn't sure what I needed other than to take a piss and maybe pass out. But everyone was grabbing keys and draining the last of their cups and bottles as they made their way to the front door.

The night air was cool and damp and sobered me up just a little as I followed Griffin back to the truck. A Suburban idled next to the curb and Luke flung open the back passenger seat, ushering his friends inside. Relief washed over me as I realized none of those boneheads would be driving.

“Hey,” he called to us. “My sister is on her way. Two blocks away. She's got room for two more people in her car.”

“We're good,” Griffin called back.

“You sure?” I asked him. I'd already pulled myself into the passenger seat in the cab of my truck.

He nodded as he climbed in and jammed the key into the ignition. “No worries, man. You know what it takes to get me wasted.”

I knew. A six pack usually had him relaxed, not buzzed. Four beers to him and his freakishly large body was nothing.

We followed the Suburban back to Ingraham and hooked a left on Garnet. A few minutes later, we pulled into a half-full parking lot in the alley behind Emerald City, a local joint on Emerald Street. It was a place I knew well. With any luck, Randy wouldn't be working the front door that night, which meant Griffin and I wouldn't stand a chance at getting in.

My heart sank just a little when I spotted his shaved head and tatted biceps at the door. He grinned at us.

“Long time no see, man,” Randy said to me, pumping my hand.

I shook hands and then shoved my fists into my pockets. “Yeah.”

Luke and his gang approached and Randy sniffed the air. “Looks like you guys have already been partying.”

Luke pushed to the front of the group, waving his ID. “I'm legit tonight,” he announced.

Randy glanced at the ID and then his watch. “Ten more minutes, dude.” He held his hand against Luke's chest and waved the rest of us through.

“What the fuck?” Luke demanded, pawing at Randy's arm.

“Ten minutes,” he said. He winked at the rest of us as we passed by him and into the bar. “He cut me off last week. Epic fucking wave. Told him I'd get him back.”

Griffin burst out laughing and slapped Randy on the back. “Remind me to never piss you off out in the water.”

“Consider this your reminder,” he shot back, jerking his head in the direction of one very pissed off Luke.

The parking lot might have been half empty but the bar was full. Mostly locals, people I knew, but some sailors, too, on leave for the night. You could always pick them out in the crowd, even if they weren't in uniform. Not just by their close-cropped hair but the looks they wore as they scanned the crowds. Not nervous or scared or anything. Just very much not local.

Griffin nudged my shoulder and motioned for me to follow him as he wound his way through the crowd and approached the bar. Two minutes later, we were both holding ice cold bottles of Corona.

He drained his in two gulps and waited expectantly.

I took a sip.

“Pansy,” he muttered. “I'm buying the drinks tonight and you're just gonna sit there and nurse that like a fucking baby?”

I ignored him. “I need to take a piss,” I said instead. I shoved my beer at his chest and he grabbed it.

“If you're not gonna drink it, I am,” he warned.

I'd already started in the direction of the bathroom so I just nodded my head. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything.

The bathroom was empty and filthy and smelled like piss and sweat. I got out of there as quick as I could, rinsing my hands and wiping them on my shorts, not bothering to use the hand dryer mounted on the wall.

I pulled open the door and a blond stumbling out of the women's bathroom greeted me with widened eyes and a smile.

“West,” Kayla said, her voice slurring a little.

I nodded at her. My ex-girlfriend was probably the last person I'd expected to see at the bar. Or wanted to see.

She looked around. “Where's your little girlfriend?”

I didn't answer.

“What's her name again?” she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she moved closer to me. Her tank top was cut low and I was pretty sure her bra was padded because her tits were spilling out of the top. “Amanda? Anna?”

I should have ignored her. Pushed past her and found Griffin. Or, better yet, walked straight out of the bar and home. It was an easy walk back to the apartment and I knew he'd drive my truck home. And if he wasn't in any condition to drive, he'd leave it there and come back for it in the morning. He wasn't always the best decision maker but he wouldn't fuck around with my car.

But there was something in her voice, something in the way she said those other names, that compelled me to respond.

“Abby,” I said. “Her name is Abby.”

She nodded and her silver hoop earrings bounced. “Oh, right. She has the twin sister, right?”

It was my turn to nod.

“So, she's here with you, right?” Kayla looked past me, back toward the main room of the bar and scanned the crowd.

Walk away
, I told myself.

“No.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “No?”

I shook my head.

“Thought you two were attached at the hip.”

“You thought wrong.”

She smiled, her bloodshot eyes leveled on mine. “Hmm.” She took a step closer, fingering the golden cross she wore. “You still together?”

“None of your business.” I took a step, trying to move past her in the dimly lit hall.

She leaned back, giving me room, and teetered on the wedge sandals she wore. She let out a little shriek and, on instinct, I shot out my arm to stop her from falling and she tumbled into me.

“Haven't been here in a while,” she murmured, her mouth next to my ear, her arms wrapped around my neck.

I righted her, getting her body away from mine, making sure her feet were firmly planted on the tile floor before stepping away.

“You aren't, are you?” she said, her mouth curving into a smile.

“I'm not what?”

“With her anymore.”

“Not having this conversation with you, Kayla.” My ex-girlfriend had been nothing but trouble when Abby and I had first started dating. After the run-in at the beach, she'd continued to complicate things between us. Not that it wasn't her standard mode of operation. Kayla had always been a fucking wreck, even when we'd dated.

She put her hand on my arm and squeezed. “I'm sorry,” she said.

It wasn't what I'd expected. The words weren't a surprise—Kayla could bullshit better than almost anyone I knew—but that was the thing. She didn't sound like she was mocking and she didn't sound insincere.

I didn't want it. I didn't want her sympathy, genuine or not.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“What?”

Her gaze shifted from my eyes to my mouth. “Can I help?” Her nails dug into my forearm and she moved closer to me. “Maybe take your mind off of things for a little while?”

Before I could stop her, she fitted herself to me, her tits pressing into my chest and she kissed me. I didn't know if the alcohol I'd drank had me frozen in place or the fact that lips—unfamiliar lips—were on mine, moving against them, a tongue darting into my mouth. Her hands snaked around my neck and she pushed her hips into me, grinding against me.

I closed my eyes and pretended. Pretended it was Abby. Pretended it was her lips sucking on mine, pretended it was her ass I was grabbing, her crotch I was thrusting into. I moved my mouth to her ear, nipping her lobe with my teeth, and opened my eyes. Griffin was at the bar, his own eyes wide with shock. He shook his head no. Back and forth, over and over, making sure I saw him.

I dropped my hands and pushed her away. What the hell was I thinking?

She stared at me with half-lidded eyes. “What?” she asked, her chest heaving.

“Thought you might have outgrown throwing yourself at every guy you see.”

She smiled. “Didn't seem like you were protesting too much.” She reached for me again but I folded my arms across my chest and took a step back.

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

She drew back, stung, as the realization that I was rejecting her settled in. “Fuck you, West.”

I smiled. “You wish.”

THIRTY

My head felt like someone had pounded it with a sledgehammer. I rubbed my eyes and groaned and turned over. And fell off the couch.

“Whoa. Sleeping Beauty awakes.” Griffin's voice was as loud as an announcer at an arena and my hands immediately shot up to cover my ears.

He laughed.

“What the fuck, man?” I winced at how loud my own voice sounded and dropped to a whisper. “What time is it?”

“Noon.”

I opened one eye. “Seriously?”

“Deadly.” He nodded his head toward the clock mounted on the wall. “See for yourself.”

I shifted on the carpet and turned my head in the general direction of the clock. My vision was cloudy and my brain was fuzzy but it looked like he was telling the truth.

“How the hell did that happen?” I muttered.

Griffin motioned to the coffee table. “Well, when you knock back half a bottle of Jack, crazy shit happens. Like passing out and losing track of time.”

I lifted my head just a little and saw the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table. “I didn't drink all that.”

“You sure as shit did.”

I closed my eyes again and dropped my head back to the carpet. “I don't remember.”

“Huh.” He sat down on the couch. “So you probably don't remember the twenty odd phone calls you made to your ex-girlfriend, either.”

My eyes flew open. “What?”

He nodded as he popped something into his mouth. A donut hole. My stomach rolled as the smell of fried dough hit. “Yep. Came home from Emerald City and found you passed out on the couch. Phone  on your forehead.” He ate another donut hole, chewing loudly. “Grabbed the phone to see what the fuck you'd been up to. Twenty-two calls to Abby, dude.”

As soon as he said it, it came back to me. Walking home from the bar, pissed at myself for kissing Kayla. It hadn't been my fault—she'd thrown herself at me—but it didn't matter. For half a minute, I'd kissed her back. And even though Abby had broken up with me, it had still felt wrong, like I was cheating on her.

Which was ridiculous. Because she'd pulled the plug on us. Called it quits and hadn't bothered to get in touch with me for three days straight.

I'd gone home and grabbed the bottle of Jack. Took swig after swig and stewed. We'd spent a year together and she'd broken up with me over the phone. After we'd spent a week on vacation together. Not just the two of us, but with her family. After we'd decided to move to Tucson together. I hadn't pressured her to make the decision; she'd done it on her own.

And then we'd come back to San Diego and she'd disappeared with Tana. Two days later and we were done. Finished.

The hard liquor coupled with the beer made me bold. Angry. I wanted answers. So I'd picked up the phone and called her. It didn't matter that it was one o'clock in the morning.

She hadn't answered. Not one single time. But I'd left her messages.

“I take it you didn't get ahold of her?” Griffin asked.

I just grunted.

“Please tell me you didn't leave a message.” When I didn't say anything he groaned. “Seriously? How many?”

I cradled my head in my hands. “I dunno. I can't remember. And stop talking so loud. My fucking head is pounding.”

He groaned again. “I bet you left her a message every time you called. You did, didn't you?” He sighed. “I knew I should have followed you home. Just put your ass in bed.”

I wished he had, too. Even in the condition I was in, with my brain barely functioning, I knew it had been a stupid thing to do. Calling her. Leaving messages. It made me look like a raving lunatic. A pussy-whipped, raving lunatic.

He stood up, brushing crumbs from his board shorts. “Get up.”

I burrowed into the carpet.

His foot came down on my back. “Up. Or I'm picking your ass up off the floor.”

“Fuck off.”

He leaned down and I rolled away, every muscle in my body protesting at the sudden movement. His hand gripped my shoulder. “Up.”

Before I could say anything, he lifted me to my feet and hauled me down the hall. I shoved at him but he held me tight, shoving me towards the bathroom.

“You need a shower,” he said. “You smell like shit and you need to wake the fuck up.”

“What for?”

He propped me against the sink and I tried to steady myself but my head felt like it was about to explode. He turned the water on and the spray sounded like a jet engine.

“One, so you don't stink up the place,” he told me. “And two, so you can sober up and go and take care of this once and for all.”

I eyed him warily. “Take care of what?”

He yanked my shorts down and shoved me into a stream of cold water. “Abby.”