Sabrina gasped.
These words kept spilling out of my mouth. I needed to leave before I said more.
Breathing in her lavender smell had lulled me into a false sense of comfort and masked the reason we were having this conversation in the first place. I snatched my hand out of her hold. “Now you see why I’m not going to be a big brother to Ryder. I’m trying to put everything to do with my father behind me, and now that he’s dead, it’s even easier.”
I backed into the kitchen, my only path of escape.
“He’s a kid, Hunter.”
Turning, I stalked away. “So was I.”
Jameson pivoted on his right foot, sneaker squeaking on the lacquered hardwood floor, and sunk the shot. The basketball swooshed through the net and bounced against the painted cinderblock wall of the gym. “Nothing but net.” He held his shooting hand in the release pose for extra emphasis.
Leo jogged over to me, practically falling into my shoulder. “What’s up with you, man?”
I shook him off. “Nothing,” I ground out, stalking to the bleachers.
Around us, sneakers squeaked and the thud of basketballs filled the gym. Smells of ancient paint, wood, and sweat brought back all the memories of us getting our asses kicked in five on five back in college. Back during the first game when they’d needed another player on the court and I’d been hanging around after a workout.
Leo tossed me my water bottle. “Sounds like something.”
I caught it and drained it, spilling water down my chin, mixing the freezing liquid with the steaming rivulets of sweat pouring down my neck. “It’s nothing.”
Silence. The kind that told me they weren’t going to let me off the hook that easily.
“Ryder came to the apartment again.”
Jameson pushed his glasses up his nose. “As in your brother Ryder?”
“He’s not my brother,” I bit out.
His jaw clenched. He’d made his feelings about the Ryder situation known. Teresa was his little sister. His big-brother instincts had been amped up after his dad died, but this wasn’t the same. Not by a long shot. He loved Teresa. Hell, we all did, which was why in a week we’d go to his house to bake another monstrosity of a cake for her sixth birthday.
I didn’t know Ryder, and he sure as hell didn’t know me. “It’s not the same, Jameson.”
He gulped down his water, shaking his head.
Anger spiked through me. “How is it that I’m the bad guy? I’m the only one in the situation who hasn’t done a damn thing wrong. My dad was the lowest piece of trash imaginable, but I’m wrong for being happy he’s dead. My dad’s son, who he had while cheating on my mom, shows up, and I’m supposed to open my arms to him. To the new family my dad left us for. And Sabrina just lets him in after I specifically told her not to. The same one shooting porn in my grandmother’s apartment. But I’m the fucking asshole?” My voice boomed in the gym. All sneaker squeaks and dribbles ceased, leaving only the stomach-curdling silence.
Leo stood and cupped his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, everyone. Let’s call this meeting officially over.”
In muted movements, we packed up our things and headed to the showers. The trip to The Griffin bar didn’t take long, but wedged between Jameson and Everest in the backseat, I felt seconds from jumping out of the moving car. My heart pounded like I hadn’t left the court and had instead been forced to run sprints.
I still had the gym sweats even though I’d showered and changed. Running on less than three hours of sleep each night was getting to me. Stepping out of the car, I breathed deeply, trying to wake myself up and calm myself down at the same time.
We sat in our booth with the RESERVED note stuck to the top of a metal stand.
August stood beside the booth, letting Jameson scoot into the middle. I took the opposite end, and Leo and Everest took the chairs in front of the table. “Barry threatened to give our table away if we don’t get at least five orders of wings. Everyone up for it?”
Barry, the grizzled owner and bartender who seemed pissed that his no-frills bar was slowly becoming a trendy favorite, had a lot more bark than bite, but none of us wanted to push our luck.
A grumble of approval rippled through the table. I could shove the wing sauce under my nose like smelling salts to keep my head from hitting the table. I couldn’t deal with a late night, especially not after playing, but the thought of trying to sleep ratcheted up the anxiety.
A round of beers arrived. Leo slid them across the table. The cold, wet condensation glided against my palm.
They jumped into conversation again. Leo, the de facto leader, went over his newest client. In addition to Waverly Hotel Group, he’d secured a city-wide contract for events for corporate groups using the convention center.
Everest, no matter how much he professed to hate it, had cleaned up with all the sports teams in the city. Upper management loved him. Having a name like his opened doors, even in the sports world. It looked like he’d be wearing those oversize jerseys for even longer.
August kept up his bitter grousing over it being wedding season year-round now that he’d opened his services for international clients and locations. Cry me a river—the private jet his last client had booked to get him to Geneva had to have been a real hardship.
Jameson had his notebook out, making notes of what everyone had failed to let him know. Working his ass off to secure the contract for the fan zone coordination for the football national championship happening in two years in the city. Half the time the madness surrounding the playoffs was an excuse to party, but who were we to complain when we were the ones running the show and collecting the checks when it was all said and done?
I stayed fixated on the Yuengling label with the tear, poking and prodding it. Scraping my finger against it. In the din of the bar crowd, all voices and noises melded into a droning hum. The guys talked over the rest of the fall and winter plans, juggling clients. My eyes drooped.
“Hunter, do you need any help with the New Year’s Eve concert?” August leaned in, eyes intent on mine.
I shot up, snapping my eyes open and sucking in a breath. “No, I have it handled.”
“Are you okay?” Jameson bent forward, his blue eyes scanning my face over the thick black rims of his glasses.
“I’m good. Actually I’m going to head home.” I didn’t need them thinking I wasn’t up for it and would drop the ball. I’d get home and come up with a game plan for sleep. A cartoon-sized mallet or a fifth of vodka were always options.
“Is that when the next scheduled show begins?” Everest had his arm draped over the back of his chair.
I gritted my teeth, sorry I ever even showed them Sabrina’s room and started the conversation about what she was doing in my apartment. Kicking my foot against the leg of his chair, I pressed on the back of it, sending Everest flying. “I’ll get a front-row seat.”
Leo grabbed him, and Everest grabbed the edge of the table to keep himself from falling. Both shouted after me.
I needed to get to my apartment. The windows were down during my taxi ride. Falling asleep wasn’t an option.
By the time I made it to the apartment, I was fighting sleep but also the terror that came with it. The chest-tightening, wake-you-up-covered-in-sweat fear of what would happen when I closed my eyes in bed.