Last Call (Bad Habits Book 3) (9 page)

He raised a brow. “How’s that work?”

“Long story. I’ve been crashing at Rose’s.”

He smirked. “Oh, man, Rosie Fisher. Tell me you’re banging her.”

I sighed. “Not anymore.”

He gaped at me. “Shut the fuck up, man — are you serious? You bastard. I remember when she dated Jackie boy, that fuck.” He shook his head, smiling wistfully. “It feels like a million years and yesterday. It’s been a blur, the last few years especially.” He paused for a beat. “Remember that cat Sarah and Shane had?”

I chuckled. “King Fluff? How could I forget?”

“He was the fattest motherfucker I’d ever seen. Best cat I ever met.” Seth shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. “Shane called. Sarah … she passed.”

Cold snaked through my chest. “Yeah. He called me too. Have you seen him?”

“Not since before I got sober. We were on a bender. She looked bad, man, even then. Shane too.”

I nodded, feeling somber. “You don’t go that hard for that long and make it out the other side in one piece. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“She looked like she was already dead. Her arms were so thin, and her face …” His brows dropped, pinned together. “I’ve been around junkies half my life, but to see Sarah and Shane where they were, after knowing them when we started this? When we were young and … I don’t know. I looked in the mirror and I didn’t know myself.” The words were quiet. “I’m sorry, Patrick. For everything I’ve put you through, for everything I’ve done. You don’t owe me anything, and I don’t want anything from you other than to try to make it right.”

We walked in silence. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I let you down, over and over again. Now, I’m clean. Now I can be the friend to you that you were to me. I just wanted you to know, in case you wanted to take me up on it.”

I looked over at Seth, the kid I met when I was sixteen, alone in the city, in the world. When I had no one, I had him. The friend I’d been trying to save for the better part of ten years.
 

I couldn’t deny him. I never could.
 

“Of course. You know I’m always here.”

He smiled, his eyes shining. “I won’t let you down. Not this time.”

I smiled back. “So, we’re going to Habits for my birthday in a couple of days, if you want to swing by.”

“Fuck yeah. Still have the same number?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Hit me up.”

“I will.”
 

“Tricky?”

I looked up to find Rose barreling toward us looking pissed. “Hey. You okay?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes as she came to a stop in front of us. “Yeah, just finished with my—” She glanced over to see who I was with, and her face bent in confusion. “Seth?”

“Hey, Rosie,” he said with a smile, and she smiled back, head tilted.

“Man, it’s been forever. You look great.” She stepped up to give him a hug, shooting me a what-the-fuck look over his shoulder as they embraced.

“It’s good to see you,” he said as he backed away.

“Yeah, ah, you too. What are you guys doing?” she asked.

The question was loaded, I knew. “Just getting coffee,” I answered. “What are you doing over here?”

“I just came from there. For my ‘date.’ Which was a disaster, in case you were wondering.”

I was. I found myself smiling. “Did you get lemon bars, at least?”

She huffed. “No, that’s the worst part. He was creepy as shit, so I didn’t get coffee
or
lemon bars, which is basically the only reason I come all the way to Roasted.”
 

“Well, we’re going there now. I’ll grab you a lemon bar.”

She smiled, seeming to feel better at the offer. “Thanks. Oh, and get this. The guy’s medium?
Taxidermy.
The guy makes furniture out of dead animals.”

We laughed, and I winced. “Wow.”

“Yeah. It was a nightmare.” The conversation lulled, and she looked between Seth and me with questions behind her hazel eyes, eyes that looked more green than usual. She shook her head just once, small, and smiled. “Well, I better get going. Have fun, guys. I’ll see you later, Trick.”

My eyes were on her. “See you, Rose.”

She blushed, just a little, just enough. And then we parted ways.

Seth shook his head and glanced back over his shoulder. “Damn, dude. I can’t believe you and Rose. I just always saw her as … I don’t know. Unavailable.”

I shrugged. “People say that about me too.”

He chuckled. “Because you are.”

“Maybe that’s why we worked. For a minute at least. Being friends was easy.”

“Yeah. I mean, we were friends too, but I thought pretty much every dude was friendzoned. Only available to doucherockets like Jackie, and I guess broody art-types like you.”

I snorted as we came to a stop outside the coffee shop.

Seth hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to work, but damn, is it ever good to see you.”

I smiled, feeling hope for Seth for the first time in a very long time. “You too, man.”

He hugged me again, and we clapped each other on the back. “Later.”

I stepped into the coffee shop and to the counter, ordering coffee for the shop, waiting as the lattes were frothed and espresso shots made, reeling from what had just gone down, the shock of seeing Seth sober ruling every thought.
 

He was clean. It was what I’d always wanted for him. I just didn’t know if he’d hang on this time. It was maybe the most hope I’d
ever
had for him, as tenuous as it was, and I contemplated what it would mean for him. What it could mean for me, to have the friend I’d always known he could be.

I was still lost in thought when I walked back into the shop to find Joel at the counter, arms folded, lips downturned.

“Did I just see that right?” His brow was low.

I sighed and set the coffee carrier on the counter. “Sure did.”

“What did he want? Money?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “An old friend of ours passed.”

His face softened at the news. “Patrick, I’m—”

I held up a hand. “It’s okay. I hadn’t seen her in years. Sarah, the girl we used to live with. I’m surprised her boyfriend was sober enough to even call to tell me.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

I unpacked the coffee, lining the cups up on the counter. “No, but I let all that go a long time ago. It was too hard to see them all living that way, but there was nothing I could do about it. You can’t help somebody who doesn’t want help. I don’t make a habit out of arguing with brick walls. If Seth taught me anything, it was that.”

“Is that really all he wanted?”

“That’s all, he said. He’s six months clean.” I leaned on the counter and grabbed my cup, spinning the cardboard sleeve around.

He shook his head and gave me a hard look. “You know it always starts out like this.”

But I met his glare with one of my own. “I do know. This time feels different, but I’m not letting my guard down.”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t mean to be a dick about it, but this is what he does. He comes back and burns you the second you get close. Seth holds the power to fuck you up more than anyone. Even Rose.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I know you want to help him. Just know I only want to help you. Must be something about those puppy dog eyes of yours.” He shook his head. “The day you walked into the shop, barely eighteen, skinny and dirty, and you opened your sketchbook right here to show me your work, I knew I’d be patching you up for a good while. Never even thought twice about taking you in. I knew you’d work hard. I knew you had talent. I knew you were good, Patrick. Always did.”

I smiled, my heart full of gratitude that I’d ever found someone to believe in me. “We’re just a couple of suckers, you know that?”

He snorted. “Do I ever.”

Rose

AWKWARD DATE ASIDE, IT HADN’T been a horrible day.
 

I came home from the ordeal annoyed and changed into shorts, a tee, and my Vans, blowing out of the apartment with my longboard under my arm and earbuds blaring. It was a gorgeous day, the sky high and cornflower blue, without a cloud to be seen, and everything just felt good, right, as I cruised around Central Park, happily alone with my thoughts.
 

So Steve was a disaster, but one bad date wouldn’t stop me. Not with my shades on and the wind in my hair.
 

Patrick crossed my mind, the surprise at seeing him unexpectedly flashing through me again. Sometimes, I think my brain toned down how beautiful he was in my memory because seeing him always took me a little by surprise, like the real, live version of him had so much more presence and grace than my mind could store and recall.

I realized I’d been seeing a lot of unexpected Patrick lately. Part of me hoped it wouldn’t become a thing. The other part … well, I told her to shut up and sit down, let’s just say that.

But what I couldn’t get over was seeing Seth. It had been years, and he’d definitely changed for the better — today was the first time I’d ever seen Seth not
looking
like a junkie, and I could see that Patrick was amazed at the fact. But Seth was bad news, always had been. Every six months or so, he came around needing money, a job, a place to sleep — Patrick was the one Seth called when he was in trouble. He had no family to speak of, no other friends who weren’t junkies, and Patrick was always there for him, sometimes at great personal cost. Like this: a few years ago, he’d been thrown in jail overnight alongside Seth. Guilty until proven otherwise. Guilty by association. But he’d gotten out without charges, an unfortunate mistake. Wrong place, wrong time.

After that, Patrick tried to distance himself as much as he could.

The thought that Seth would be hanging around made me nervous. Patrick had suffered enough in his life without someone like Seth taking advantage of the loyalty he felt for the people he loved. I figured he saw some of himself in Seth and just wanted to save him. Fix him. But some people were beyond saving.

By the time I came home that evening, I was happy to find my apartment empty, no Patrick to be found. I had to admit, it was nice to have somebody around — I hadn’t realized just how alone I’d been — and I felt better about him, about
us
, than I had in a really long time. Like there was a glimmer of hope for our friendship. I just wished there was another way, one that didn’t involve him being in my apartment every day.
 

But for now, it was quiet, and I was blissfully, consciously alone, just like I wanted. Or at least that’s what I told myself, as if I could repeat the mantra until it manifested into truth.

So I turned on my radio, made some ramen from my favorite Chinese market, and sat down at the table with my book, which happened to be a romance novel. I was in for what was hopefully a long evening of reading, devoid of talking and ex-boyfriends. I opened my book with excitement flitting through me — the hero had this huge secret, and the heroine was about to figure it out, which meant a blow up was imminent.
 

That was always the best part.

You’re surprised? Just because I’m a cynic doesn’t mean I don’t love love. I just didn’t think I was cut out for it or that it would ever really happen to me. I had hope for a moment in time with Patrick. I thought he was my happy ending, but really he was just another shitty chapter.

See, the reason why I love a good romance is that life sucks. It’s harsh and cruel and ugly. Only the lucky ones get their happy endings, like my parents, or Lily and West. But that was the standard I held love to. Not that it had to be a fairy tale. Not that I expected perfection. I just expected respect. The trouble is, most people don’t deliver that. But I’d been fooled enough.
 

So I chose to read about it instead.

It’s supremely satisfying when the good guys win and the bad guys lose. When the guy gets the girl and everyone lives happily ever after. Reading is the greatest escape. Where life is unfair, fiction can be perfect. The appeal is infinite, and the reason why I read at least three romance novels a week. If I can’t have it, I may as well imagine it.

I opened my book and began to read as I spun my fork to twist the ramen up, blowing on the steamy noodles before stuffing them in my mouth.
 

The door opened, and Patrick walked in. My face fell as my pulse ticked up a notch. Solitude, destroyed.

“Hey,” he said and dropped his keys in the dish like he lived there.

“Need something?” I asked with an eyebrow up and my eyes still on my book.

He pulled off his jacket and tossed it on the back of the chair. “Just got off work. Brought you lemon bars.”
 

I felt like a dick for being a dick when he’d brought me my favorite pastry, and I glanced up as he smiled and passed the small bag across the table to me.

Patrick had a dozen smiles for various emotions, with only a couple that showed his teeth. There were sideways smirks and small smiles where only the edges lifted, a small degree of what he was willing to share. But when he laughed — really laughed with abandon, when he let go — those smiles were brilliant. They changed his face, the stoic, sharp features shifting into pure joy, so rare to see that it was blinding.

I pushed my musings away and smiled back gratefully. “Thank you. I’d been thinking about going back all day.”

He took a seat. “What’d you do all day?”

“Skated. Just got back a bit ago.” I looked into my bowl as I twirled my fork in my noodles again, avoiding his eyes, feeling a little trapped. Like I couldn’t get away from him. “So, I can’t help but notice you’ve been here every time I am. Not that I mind a little company, but this was exactly what I was talking about when I said we weren’t roommates.”

He smirked, leaning back in the chair as he folded his arms. “So, twenty-four hours in and you’re already done?”

My brow dropped. “I’m just saying, you keep just
being
here. Like yesterday after jury duty.”

“You asked me to come over to talk.”