Page 2 of I Still Love You

Gone. The. Next.

1

Luke

“That dude is gonna have another fucking thing coming if I see him grope one more lady.” The words slur against my lips when they come out, and I lift my shot glass to my mouth, downing the liquor like it’s nothing more than room temperature water that’s been sitting on the counter all day.

I try to welcome the burn of it. In fact, I look for it, but it never fully shows. I’ve had one too many tonight, and while I’m not entirely wasted, I’m far from sober—the heat in my gut a sure sign of it.

My twin brother glances over to follow my line of sight, and finds it dead set on the piece of shit at the other end of the bar. From yards away and with alcohol zipping through my veins, I can tell he’s a one-of-a-kind asshole. The kind who would take advantage of an innocent woman. He’s fucked half the women in this joint with a predatory glimmer in his eyes. Call me a nosey fuck, but I’m a guy. I know how our heads—both of them—operate. The thought of him targeting one of these innocent ladies in here tonight encourages the rage kneeling on my chest to lift its ears. It doesn’t help I’ve watched him grab the asses of two women as they passed by in the last twenty minutes or so. A casual slip of a hand that no one else in the joint notices. Or if they have, they’ve ignored it.

Unfortunately, for him, I have since it’s in my line of sight and my crosshair—my red-hot gaze—burns brighter as each second—and each shot—passes. The alcohol has me more on edge than usual.

I don’t know him. Have nothing personal against the guy, but my hand is itching for a kind of relief I don’t get often. Not unless I’m pounding my fists into the heavy bag at the gym, which is rare with my work schedule.

My brother must notice the snarl on my face, but I’m not surprised. He knows what I look like when I’m about to snap, and I’m not exactly hiding my disdain. My hooded eyes have been laser focused across the bar for the last twenty minutes. “You go over there, and you’re going to get yourself in trouble. Me, too.”

Mason downs his shot, wincing as he pushes it across the bar top. He’s had no more than a beer and this lonely shot, indicating he’s turned into a lightweight over the past few years. Having a two-year-old, a wife, and a workload equivalent to the size of a last meal on his plate prevents him from getting out and tasting the finer things in life too often. A few years ago, he moved to Austin to lighten the load, but I don’t think he expected to gain as much traction as he has. My brother is an honest dude and knows his shit, hence why it’s no surprise that all these companies want to work with him. The formula he created back when we were in college has paid off. I don’t see him ever getting out of working in the social media world because of it.

Just like I needed a break, he did, too, so I dragged his ass out of his apartment hours ago to enjoy my last night here. I love his family to pieces—his wife, our childhood best friend that he turned into his damn lover, and their baby girl—but I needed a night with just the two of us. It’s not that I want to get him into deep shit with Mackenzie, but to put it bluntly, I’m hurting. Scratch that. That’s not a good word to describe the insurmountable pain I’ve lived with for the past few years. Imagine the weight of a wrecking ball demolishing every rib in your body, breaking through you like it’s nothing, and blasting your heart to fragments.

The pain of that wreckage has been my reality for far too long, and I want the feeling of it gone, if only for a few seconds. It’s pathetic, really, but it’s difficult to ignore the way my heartbreak manifested into a mountain of rage with a lick of liquor in me.

I made a promise to myself when I flew down here that I’d loosen the hold of the emotional baggage that grips me. That I’d try to vacate the seat of the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on since that day.

I came to Austin knowing there wouldn’t be judgement if I needed to allow myself to feel just a little bit of what I’ve been pushing down. But once this is over, I’ll need to pick my head up and stay away from the alcohol because no matter how much time has passed, it makes me feel too much. To the point that I want to lose myself, to curl my hands around something—even if it’s the neck of the lowlife across the bar from me—just to get an ounce of reprieve.

My eyes stick to him the same way syrup clings to your skin as Mason tries to wipe the little devil off my shoulder, but we both know there’s no stopping me. Like always, Mase will have my back. The two of us are a package deal. You mess with either and you get us both. It’s how it was when we were kids and how it’ll be forever. Nothing changes that. Not the miles that separate us when I’m back in Quaint. Certainly not this alcohol. Still, I’m well aware of the goodness Mason exudes, knowing damn well he’ll attempt to pull my rational thoughts forward.

“Stop letting him consume you. You’re better than that. Mackenzie will have a fit if we go home scuffed up. Let’s round up one of the bartenders and hand the dude over to them. It solves the problem you’re having, and we still get to hang,” he suggests, eyes wide with optimism that I’ll agree with his idea. Little does he know, letting the bartender bitch him out does nothing for me. “Besides, we came because we haven’t seen each other in far too long. I don’t want to waste it on you not being able to control yourself. This is adult life, Luke, not the schoolyard.”

He’s right. I should chill out and control the urges licking at my fingertips. Should shove them down and relent to his sound advice. Back then, I could get away with throwing a fist if I needed to. Now? I have a lot I could lose in Quaint. A solid job with a steady, solid income that offers me more than I ever expected and friends with names much bigger than my own. Yet, in my current state of mind, the only thing that matters is what I’ve already lost, what has slipped through my fingertips.

I sink my finger into my empty shot glass and spin it in circles. My hands are shaking to inflict the same level of pain that cracked my heart in two. To make someone crumble physically in the same way I have emotionally and mentally. The only reason I’m still sitting on this stool is that I know how fucked up it sounds. It’s an irrational thought, one that I know will get me in a shitload of trouble, so I force my attention to the murmurs of conversation around us, to the two bartenders effortlessly drifting up and down the bar filling orders and the patrons at the surrounding tables.

“It’s been, what? Close to a year since we’ve seen each other?” Mason questions, no doubt to try and change direction. “Shit, it’s been so long I can’t even remember. Makes me even happier you’re here, if only for a few days. Video chatting is not the same as in person. I thought it would be, but it isn’t.”

I’m half-listening, grunting in response, when the dude I’ve had my gaze set on spins his barstool and slinks a hand across a brunette’s back, his grimy paws touching her without her consent. She steps away to retreat, but that doesn’t seem to stop him. Oh, no. He gets to his feet and looms over her, his intimidating height adding to the discomfort that sets into her features—her body shrinking in on herself, and a brittle laugh my heightened sense of hearing picks up. I’m unsure if he does it intentionally, thriving off the authority and making women feel helpless, but I don’t give a fuck. No one, especially a man, should make a woman feel as though they don’t have an out.

The woman’s palm finds the contours of her neck, and she scratches her collarbone. Her lips tip up in what seems to be another laugh, but I can’t be certain when another bar patron cuts into my line of sight. When the person passes, she glances over her shoulder, and I know it’s probably to look for a friend she’s here with to save her.

This is how men take advantage of women. Somehow, this guy is figuring out how to finagle his way into her head and convince her to leave with him, with no one intervening. I can’t stand to think what he’d do if she declined his advance because that’s the kind of vibe this guy is giving me. Fucking sleazeball.

I pound my fist against the bar, my shot glass jumping and spinning on its curved edge, and rise from my seat with a suck of air through my teeth.

Mason does a double take and places his palms on the bar top before swiping a hand through his brown hair. He sets his green gaze on me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Luke,” he warns. “You’re not thinking rationally.” He cracks his knuckles, and it’s enough to know he has my back.

I stand straighter and shift my gaze to him, my glare biting into him as harshly as my internal sorrows squeeze my heart under the influence of a few shots. “I’m all for enjoying female company, Mason. I’m far from being okay with a lowlife feeling up half the female population in this place and eye-fucking the rest. It’s fucking wrong.”

He grabs my arm as I move around him, yanking me to a stop. When he pushes off the bar and gets to his feet, he flattens a palm on my chest. At close to the same height, his features mirror mine, minus the slight curve in my nose from when I broke it as a kid. It’s like looking into a mirror, his reflection so similar to mine. Sharp jaw. Dark green eyes. A dusting of stubble. “It’s highly likely this will not end well,” he lowers his voice and glances over his shoulder at the bartender closest to us tending to customers. “I’m all for standing up to this guy, but you have that look in your eye, and I don’t like it, Luke. You’re not acting yourself right now. It reminds me of…”

My jaw tenses because I don’t want to hear what it reminds him of. I glance away, tucking my lips into my mouth and biting down.

“So, before we do this…” he continues, “if this is about—”

Again, I lower my gaze to his, grinding my teeth together. “It’s not about that.” I press my eyes shut for a second. “It’s not about her. It’s about someone needing to put that guy in his place. What if that was Mackenzie? What if she came out with a friend, and it was her that he was eye-fucking? If it were her ass that he grabbed, you’d march your ass over there before me, and I’d be right behind you.”

At the mere mention of Mackenzie being taken advantage of, indignation flickers in his eyes. He nods once, then looks past the crowd, still uncertain. “How are you planning on handling this? I don’t want to be blindsided by your irrational thinking once we get over there. This can’t be a repeat of Timmy Popkins. You can’t pull a fast one on him without warning me first. I need to know if shit is going to hit the fan so I can get us the hell out of here.”

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