Page 42 of Fight

“Very funny.” She picks up the phone; it’s one of those twenty-pound fuckers. Easily could kill a guy if you smashed ithard enough against his skull. “Callahan Woods needs a ride home.”

“Hey!” I whine. “How come I have to go home but Teddy doesn’t? She’s trashed too!”

Teddy cuts in. “Don’t listen to him, Mae. He’s a liar.”

I swallow. That was the joke when Scottie and I first met—in this very bar. Funny, it was her lying the entire time, and nowI’mthe chump. I shake it off and flip my empty glass upside down, pushing it with one finger toward Mae with every ounce of coordination I have left.

“And Teddy needs a ride too,” Mae says to the cab service, rolling her eyes at us. “Make sure they each end up at their houses and not at another bar.”

“I’ll drive her home, Mae.” Xander’s deep voice cuts in. “I finished my last beer an hour ago.”

I snap my head around and bark out a laugh. “Where the fuck did you come from!?”

Teddy and I cackle, and it feels like we’re the chatty kids in class who the teacher has to separate and send to the hall. Or in this case, be sent home.

“I’ve got no tolerance for alcohol since having kids,” Teddy mumbles while Xander helps her off her barstool. “I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow.” She gets one arm in her jacket and bats around for the other. Xander grasps her hand and threads it through the other sleeve. She grunts, trying to free her hair out from under the jacket.

“Yes you are,” he says, sweeping under her blonde hair and releasing it from beneath the collar.

“No funny business, X! She’s married!” I warn.

Teddy pins me with a look.

“I’m aware,” Xander says under his breath.

“Go warm up your truck or some shit,” I say. “Gotta pay our tab.”

“I’ll pull the truck up front,” he says. I mumble somethingelse, but he ignores my bullshit and helps zip up her coat before walking out.

My hand scrubs over my face. “Fuck, I’m tired,” I groan.

“Same. I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow,” Teddy says.

I chuckle at her. “You already said that.” Mae slides the receipt in front of me. I scribble a swirl at the bottom—no use in even trying to sign my name.

I’m told the cab is outside, and I hop off my seat, pausing a moment to get my footing. The room is spinning.

“Fun’s over. Ready, dude?” I put an arm around Teddy’s shoulder to steady us, and she leans into me. The tanked leading the tanked-er.

We take two staggered steps, inciting more laughter between us, but eventually, we make it to the exit. I yank the bulky door to the bar open and freeze in my tracks. I may be drunk, but I swear half the alcohol evaporates out of my system when I seeherface.

Prescott Timmons.

Mrs. Prescott Timmons.

She glances at Teddy, then back to me. Our eyes meet. Hers are shimmering, and mine are likely glazed over like a dead shark. Fuck, she’s a smokeshow. And it makes perfect sense that she’s married. I should have been suspicious from the start. I peek down at her hand. Still no ring. The taste in my mouth grows bitter.How could she?

“Here to pick up a new suitor?” I snide, ushering Teddy past her. My eyes are filled with contempt. “Good luck.”

She actually has the audacity to look hurt, and I want to shout at her that she’s a shitty person and an even worse wife. I want to tell her how much it hurts to find out the person you loved is fucking someone else. I want her to know how gut-wrenchingly awful it is to unknowinglybethe other man; she made me into a villain without my permission.

But most of all, I want her to know how much this fucking sucks because we could have been awesome together.

Tears burn behind my eyes when I see him walk out of the bar with another woman.

Fuck him.

My feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm as I jog down Spencer Avenue. When I’m not at work, I jog. When I’m not jogging, I sleep.You need friends.I ignore the inner criticism. I can feel myself retreating, but I don’t know how to switch up my routine. It’s easier this way. I tell myself this is all temporary, but without plans to make any real change in my habits, it’s all bullshit.

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