By the time I pull myself together and go outside, the party is in full swing. I slide my sunglasses into place to hide any signs of my secret.
Wyatt lifts his chin in my direction before resuming his conversation with a couple other men I don’t recognize.
“I was wondering where you went. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Lana holds out a plastic inner tube for me. “Cami was hoping you could help her with this one.”
I grab the inflatable from her hands without speaking.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yup.” I stick the little plastic nozzle in my mouth and start blowing.
Her head tilts. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
She places her hand against my cheek. Her furrowed brows add to the shitty feeling brewing in my chest. “What’s wrong?”
The fact that I drank despite knowing how much you hate it.
I lean away from her touch. “Just tired.”
“That’s a shame then because I had plans for us tonight.” A teasing smile tugs at her lips.
“I’m sure I’ll get a second wind.”
She rises on the tips of her toes and kisses my cheek. “I hope so. After our last time, I owe you.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I’d expect no less from you.” She flashes me a flirty smile that has my cock rising into action. “But you have to leave before Cami wakes up. If she catches us together, she will go into wedding-planning mode.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
Something in Lana shifts at the sound. Her nose twitches and her mouth pulls down into a frown. “Are you…” She steals my sunglasses off my face. “Really? At a kid’s party?”
My stomach drops. “I can explain.”
“Why bother?” She throws my sunglasses at me before she turns around. Her hips sway as she walks away, tempting me to grab her so she can hear me out.
And say what? You drank because you couldn’t handle a six-year-old’s birthday party?
Right. Because that doesn’t sound pathetic at all.
You’re no better than her sister, making her upset with your selfish choices and lack of control.
The thought of relating to someone like Antonella only feeds on my fears, allowing them to grow until I have no choice but to escape.
Did you really expect anything less from someone who is so damn good at fucking up?
Nope. Not at all.
My anxiety and self-loathing fester and grow with each passing hour of Cami’s birthday party. For the most part, I keep to myself, mainly because Wyatt, Delilah, and Violet made it obvious from the start that they don’t want anything to do with me. I know what my old friends think of me. It’s obvious in the way they stare.
I’m the drunk. The washed-up athlete. The man who broke their best friend’s heart.
I collected more bad titles than I ever did championships.
Even Lana has done her best to avoid me since she found out about my drinking. She and the other parents keep to the covered seating area that was added to the dock when I had it redone. The boat slip beside it is empty, although the extra room gives the kids a place to practice their jumps into the water.
No one comes to talk to me, minus Cami, who makes an effort to check on me at least once before running back to her friends.
The icy glares and whispers taunt my demons out of hiding, and I’m driven to fill my half-empty cup of soda to the top with vodka.
If Lana is going to be mad at me, I might as well not suffer through the buildup. Slowly, after two trips inside the guesthouse, my muscles loosen and the thick knot in my throat disappears. The warmth spreading through my veins replaces the cold chill, justifying my reason to drink in the first place.
Peace.
I’m not sure how long I sit by myself, swaying to the country music pouring out of Lana’s portable speaker, but at some point Wyatt sneaks up on me.
“Here.” Wyatt drops a cheeseburger in front of me before taking a seat. “Eat it and sober up.”
I’m barely buzzed, yet he speaks to me like I’m a sloppy mess.
“I’m fine.” I shove the plate away.
He grabs my cup and sniffs. “Still masking your issues with vodka?”
I steal it back and drain the rest of the drink in spite. “What are you doing here with me?”
“I want to talk.”
“What about?”
“You can’t keep doing this to Alana. It’s not fair.”
My nails bite into my skin. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re leading her on and making her believe you two have a chance.”
“Because we do,” I seethe.
He gives me a bored once-over, being sure to drive home how utterly unimpressed he is of me. “Not if you keep this up, you won’t. This is why I knew it was a bad idea for you to come back. You aren’t ready.”
I’m not ready? Ready for what exactly?
I keep my face calm and collected despite the rage building within. “What do you want?”
“To help you for some goddamn reason.”
I laugh. “What do you know about helping someone like me? You’ve got the perfect life. Happy wife, good job, bright future.”
His grip on the picnic table tightens. “Why do you think that is?”
“Because you got lucky?”
“No. Because I put in the work.”
My lips press together.
He continues. “If you want to ever get Alana back, then you need to pull yourself together. For real this time. Starting with this.” He grabs my cup and tosses it in the trash bin nearby.
My eyes narrow. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I want what’s best for Alana and Cami, even if it’s you.” He scowls.
“So you think she could do better.”
“In the end, it doesn’t matter what I think because she loves you, so maybe it’s you who should do better by her.”
My heart stalls in my chest. “She loves me?”
His eyes swing over to the dock, where Lana helps a child with their floatie. “I’m not sure she ever stopped.”
I shake my head. “She dated someone else.”
“And? I’m sure you did too.”
“Dated? Hell no.”
“So, you fucked around then.”
My teeth grind together. The period of my life when I was still getting high on Oxy was possibly the lowest I’ve ever stooped. Just thinking about the risks I took and the people I used to get high with makes me sick to my stomach.
On cue like always, the acid in my belly churns.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t been with anyone in over two years.”
“Two years? That’s…” His voice drops off.
The same time I saw Lana with Victor.
If Lana felt even a fraction of what I experienced when I found her kissing someone else, I can’t imagine the kind of pain she went through reading some of the headlines posted about me.
The person I was when high isn’t the man I am now. Yet no matter how many times I repeat the same words, I can’t erase the disgust I feel toward myself when I think back on my past.
Shame makes my throat close up.
His low whistle grates against my nerves. “Damn.” He actually laughs. “That’s rough.”