Why do people say that? It never actually makes the angry person calm down. I don’t think anyone has ever stopped in their tracks, thought to themselves, ‘yeah, I’m overreacting’， and chilled out. But Carter says it anyway.
Zack grabs his shirt, shaking him a bit, and when that doesn’t change the past, Zack rears back and throws a punch smack into Carter’s nose, which pops red blood that drips to the marble floor.
“Zack! Carter! Stop it!” I shout, but neither of them pays me any mind.
There’s a bit of a scuffle, but it’s mostly a one punch-and-done deal because Carter isn’t really fighting back. When he’s released, Carter covers his nose, glaring at Zack. “Feel bedder?”
I’m sure he means ‘better’， but the bloody nose is giving his voice a bit of a hollow sound.
Zack doesn’t seem to care. “Not at all.”
The hostess swishes up with more interest in her eyes than anger and says, “Boys, if this isn’t over, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Out of the side of her mouth, she whispers, “You got them fightin’ over you?”
I think that’s supposed to be a compliment, not a question.
I speak up for all three of us. “Go get cleaned up.” I wave Carter off. “And you sit down.” I point at Zack’s vacated chair.
“I’ll be right back,” Carter vows. “And we’ll handle this.”
Ugh, I hope that doesn’t mean more fighting! It’s not like it’s going to save my honor or something antiquated like that. Alphena would kick both Carter and Zack’s butts for even thinking something like that, much less acting on it. And the shred of Alphena that resides inside me is considering doing it, too.
Carter stomps away, not giving any mind to the people he passes who are staring at him in disgust. I guess bloody noses aren’t really dinner entertainment in a place like this. Maybe some of these people should come to the college bars Sam takes me to? There, a plate of nachos, a beer, and a fight are a typical Friday night.
“What the hell, Zack?” I demand when it’s the two of us. I’ve leaned in close, though we’re sitting next to each other at the table. But we’ve put on enough of a show. This conversation deserves some privacy.
Zack lays his hands over mine, leaning into me too. “I am so sorry for getting you tied up in this, Moony. This isn’t what I meant to happen. I never thought he’d take advantage of you like this.”
His eyes are filled with the self-torture he’s subjecting himself to. At one point in our lives, I would’ve let him stew in his own guilt, earned or not. But not now, not this time.
“I’m not sorry,” I confess, knowing it’s true. “I’m fine, and he didn’t take advantage of me. But I’m not discussing my . . .” I pause, looking around to make sure no one is listening, but there are still side-eyes looking our way. I whisper, “sex life,” and then return to regular volume, “with you. We talk about a lot of things, but that’s off-limits. And that goes both ways. I don’t want to hear about whose ankles you pinned behind her head, either.”
Zack glances toward the restroom and with a tight jaw asks, “Did he?”
“Ah-ah-ah, not doing that,” I warn. “You can’t go around punching guys I see, even if I have sex with them.”
He shrugs. “It’s kinda my job.”
That stops my argument along with my breath. I know what he’s talking about. For all our age difference, the biggest difference was that Zack took on a lot of responsibility when our parents divorced. In some ways, I think he accepted that he was now ‘man of the house’ and cared for Mom and me. Little things like changing light bulbs, and big things . . . like validating who we dated. I never required much of that ‘parenting’ because of art and my preference to be by myself. But Zack ran off a couple of Mom’s boyfriends he didn’t feel passed muster.
In that framework, his overreaction makes sense as years of pent-up worry for me mixed with concern that it’s his best friend, with a splash of guilt over his helping to set up the whole fake marriage thing in the first place.
I press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Zack Attack, though I don’t know if I should call you that now. It might encourage you to pull stunts like that again.” I shoot him a dirty look of disapproval, which he answers with a smirk.
Carter clears his throat, and I jump. His nose is red-tipped and bulbous. “You look like Rudolph,” I tell him with a giggle. “You’ll go down in his-tor-ryyyy!” I sing, having sung the song in my mind already.
“Glad you think this is funny.” His challenging, stone-cold stare is locked on Zack as he places a firm, claiming kiss to my forehead.
Forehead kisses really are the best, I decide, and my feet do a tippy-tap dance of happiness under the table.
Carter sits down, taking my hand and holding it on the table. It’s a power move and I know it. Hell, we all know it. But his thumb is doing a sweeping motion across my skin that reminds me of a certain other thing he’s done before, and I start to get a little hot.
Zack sighs heavily. “She says you didn’t take advantage of her. Not sure I believe that. I’ve seen how you are in and out of business.”
He’s talking about me like I’m not sitting right here.
“And, no offense.” Zack looks at me. “But you’re young, and though you don’t want to hear it, na?ve. Two things this guy is not. Not that there is a big difference, but there are a lot of life lessons in those years.”
He’s warning me off, and I’ve always listened to my brother before. But this time, I’m conflicted. “Do you remember your twenty-seventh birthday?” I ask my brother.
Though he looks confused, he answers in the affirmative.
“I was hiding in a corner, nursing a glass of champagne I wasn’t supposed to have and trying to be invisible, as per usual. I was watching people talk and laugh, and I was happy to see you so happy with your friends. I think you know, I’ve never really liked Carter.” I squeeze his hand, telling him to wait because there’s a point here. “It’s because of that night.”
I disappear into the memory as I tell the story, it feeling like reality to me.
“You were dancing, and Carter was talking to a guy. I was listening. I didn’t intend to, but they were close by and I couldn’t help it, especially when I heard your name. Carter was telling this guy how you thought you were a whiz but didn’t have the skills to back it up. This was well after you’d gone into business with him, but he was laughing at you. It pissed me off so badly. I wanted to defend you, tell Carter and the other guy they could stick their arrogance right up their asses. But I . . .”
Zack frowns. “You wouldn’t do that.”
I shake my head. “I couldn’t. I just walked away.” I blink hard, remembering how disappointed I’d been in myself. I’d told Zack that I was leaving, and he’d asked me to stay a little longer, but I’d left anyway. “And you got deeper and deeper into business with Carter, always talking about how you couldn’t do it without him and saying how much you looked up to him.”