“Anyway, that’s always been more Colt’s domain. He’s the one who’s the life of the party, not me,” I add, desperate to move away from the topic I see playing around in his silver eyes.
“Yeah, well, that fucker went bumming through Europe all summer, so I couldn’t count on him for any diversion. And while you at least texted, that asshole completely forgot he had a life back here. Not one fucking call or message,” Easton announces, looking pissed our friend could shrug shit off so easily.
I understand why Easton might feel bitter at Colt’s apathy, but that’s just the way he’s built. He’s just as loyal as Easton is, even though he does act all aloof sometimes. Without question, I know where his loyalties lie—especially when it concerns his cousin Lincoln.
However, Colt has one quality we all lack. A virtue I wish we all could tap into. I might not be equipped to handle feelings right, but Colt can turn them off completely with a switch of a button. He can walk into a room and brighten it up with life and laughter, or he can just as easily walk away and not give two shits about you. He can make a person feel like they are walking on air, but if you’re not careful, he can cast the cruelest of shadows that makes you shiver in his contempt. Trust me. No one wants to be around Colt when he’s being a heartless dick. I might be an insensitive fucker, but Colt Turner can be arctic when he wants to be. Vindictive and sadistic in every imaginable way.
“Can you blame him?” I cross my arms over my chest, thinking Colt might just be the smartest out of all of us.
“No, not really. I guess it’s just easier for some people to move past shit than it is for others,” Easton explains, slumping his shoulders a bit, revealing the weight he’s been carrying for the last few months.
“I don’t think anyone is capable of moving past what we’ve done. Only try to keep it away from our minds as best we can,” I admit, bowing my head and kicking the air at my feet.
“Is that what you did?” Easton questions, his whole body turning toward me.
I lift my head and take off my shades because I sense the asshole wants to have one of those touchy-feely moments I despise. I’m not such a dick that I won’t at least give him, straight to his face, the honesty he deserves.
“Honestly? I tried to. But some shit is too hard to sweep under the rug and just pretend the big pile of crap isn’t there. Know what I mean?”
“Tell me about it,” he huffs out exasperated, running his hands through his unruly, jet-black hair.
“Have you seen him?” I finally ask, hoping Easton will be able to prepare me for the worst.
“You mean Linc?”
“Yeah.”
“A bit. He didn’t get out much, so I kind of had to come over and see if the fucker didn’t blow his brains out like his daddy,” he replies bitterly, but the ill joke falls flat on the concrete.
“That’s not funny, asshole,” I censure accusingly.
“It wasn’t supposed to be. Just calling it like it is.” He shrugs somberly, making the rocks that were lying on my chest fall to the pit of my stomach, thinking of how Lincoln may be worse than I imagined.
“That bad, huh?”
“It was in the beginning. It was fucking excruciating to watch him fall apart the way he did. But he’s gotten better. Or at least he’s trying. Kennedy helped.”
“Bet she did.” I sigh out, relieved.
Kennedy Ryland is probably the only person on God’s green earth that could pull Lincoln from any dark hole he dug himself in. She’s his beacon of light. Always has been, always will be.
“You know it’s not like that, Finn. Her fiancé wouldn’t like hearing you hinting that shit, either. Or her brother Jefferson. And don’t even get me started on her fucking daddy. Don’t let any of those fuckers hear you insinuate crap like that. Linc has his plate full enough as it is,” Easton reprimands me immediately as if I announced to the world that Lincoln has it bad for the engaged girl who has been his best friend since he was five.
“Dude, chill, will you? I’m not an idiot. But come on, that engagement is bullshit, and you know it. Both the dean and her brother must know that the wedding is never going to happen. I mean, Kennedy Ryland getting hitched to Thomas Maxwell? What a fucking joke. I’d bet my left nut that Tommyboy is probably just as much into Linc as Kennedy is. You know she’s just his fucking beard, and sooner or later, she’ll come to her senses and call the whole thing off.”
“Well, she hasn’t yet, now has she?” Easton retorts.
“That’s because Lincoln hasn’t made his move. Friend-zoning her was the stupidest thing that fucker ever did,” I blurt out unapologetically.
In hindsight, however, Linc keeping Kennedy at arm’s length probably wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever done. If he kept her any closer, then she’d have the same blood on her hands as we have on ours.
Easton looks up at the sky, probably thinking the same thing I am, and the pregnant pause that ensues is killer to my nerves.
“One thing is for sure—Senator Maxwell won’t be too happy to find out that his pride and joy likes sucking cock as much as his mistresses. Tommyboy should just fess up and get it over with instead of putting on this dog and pony show for his old man’s benefit,” I mumble, cracking my knuckles to fill the deafening silence.
“He’s just doing what everyone expects of him. So is Kennedy,” Easton defends, even though I know there’s no love lost between him and the senator’s son.
“Yeah, well, a lot of shit is expected of us, too. When does it become too much to deliver, huh? When do we reach a point that it’s just better to wave the white flag and surrender?” I relent, my nerves finally getting the best of me.
“You don’t, Finn. You just trudge on the best way you can. Surrendering is never an option. Only winning is,” he deadpans, his gray eyes turning a shade darker, showing that he means business.
Easton’s demeanor is also a reminder that thoughts, such as the ones I’m having, should stay far away from my head. It actually slaps some sense into me since the words he decided to throw are the ones he’s heard spill from my lips countless times.
Yeah, surrendering really isn’t an option. Not for us, at least.
“Is that the type of shit you’ve been struggling with all summer?” he asks point-blank. I give him a stiff nod, admitting my moments of weakness. “Well, it ends today. No more second-guessing and no more bullshit about waving the white flag. It’s not only your ass on the line. Remember that.”
I swallow dryly, but I stiffen my spine for him to see his words got through to me.
“You’re right. I guess I’ve just been thinking too hard.”
“Well, stop. I can see the fumes from here, and trust me, nothing good will come out of any one of us overthinking shit. Just let sleeping dogs lie,” he rebukes steadfastly.
“Fine,” I mumble, hating how I’ve somehow made Easton see me as being weak.
“And anyway, if push comes to shove and we do have to think things through, leave that shit for the pros, will you?” he says, pointing his thumbs to himself with a smug grin on his face.