Page 66 of Promise Me Not

No big deal.

Noah and Ari lost so much, it’s good for them to bond with my little guy.

Besides, I’m still his favorite.

Everything is fine.

When I face forward again, Chase is still there.

He eyes me warily, keeping his voice low as he leans in. “You good, brother?”

“You gonna stop pissing me off,brother?”

His head jerks back, and I curse under my breath, lurch past him, and head to the bar on the other side of the room, taking a minute to settle myself. Or trying, at the very least.

It helps that the place is packed to the brim, especially since the bartender doesn’t bother or forgets to ask for my ID—not that it would matter, because I have a fake one that hasn’t failed me yet—when I order two pitchers of cheap beer.

The waiter follows me back to our section, setting several chilled mugs beside the pitchers, and I look up at the others with a forced smile.

I meet Noah’s gaze first. His head is cocked as he stares at me, Deaton jumping up and down in his hands, his little feetsmaller than the cardboard coaster he’s kicking around. Ari sits at their side, concern written in her gaze.

My attention falls to the tabletop, and I fight the scowl threatening to take over.

Am I being that transparent here?

What do they see when they look at me?

A man who isn’t wanted?

Fuck.

I grit my teeth and pour the golden liquid into a mug, offer it to my friends.

Every single person passes, and my pulse jumps in my throat.

Fuck it. Whatever.

I drink the glass myself. And then I drink another.

And another.

A while later, a smile breaks across my face.

Who finished the other pitcher?

“Guess I didn’t have to drink alone after all.” A chuckle leaves me, and I glance up when Brady drops beside me. “My man!” I shout, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and yanking his big-ass body closer. “I fuckin’ love you.”

“Ditto.” He chuckles low, placing his forearms on the table and coming so close my vision crosses a bit. “You feelin’ good over here?”

“Fuck yeah.” My body seems to sway a bit, and I laugh again, lifting my glass. When nothing comes out, I bring it before my eyes. A frown is instant. “Who drank my beer?”

Brady scoffs, bumping his shoulder into mine. “Might wanna slow down, my boy. Long drive back tomorrow.”

“I don’t have to drive.” I shrug, thinking about the long-ass way here. “I just gotta sit there in my seat. Get ignored some more.”

Brady glares, and when I look up, Payton is staring with a turbulent expression.

Is she sad? Mad? Worried? I don’t know, but if I know her like I think I do, she’s a bit of all three. But why? I’m the one dying over here.

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