Page 186 of By His Play

“This isn’t over,” I warn before taking a step back, letting her know that I’m conceding.

Her lips kick up, but the smile she gives me is anything but happy.

“It might have to be.”

With that final kick to the balls, I spin on my heels and march toward her front door. But my need to have the last word gets the better of me, and just before the door closes behind me, I call, “It’ll never be over with us, Effie. Ever.”

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” a familiar voice asks.

The question hurts. It’s the same one I demanded of Effie when she got back to her apartment tonight.

“Leave me alone,” I slur.

“Not happening. Bill called us to come and drag your ass out of here. The bar closed an hour ago.”

I try to focus on the two looming figures standing before me, only they don’t seem to be standing still. They’re…swaying.

“More,” I mutter, reaching for my empty glass, but instead of picking it up and lifting it to my lips in the hope there’s scotch, I knock it to the floor. It shatters at my feet.

I stare down at the broken pieces. It’s a good representation of my life right now.

I let my team down, and I let my best friend down.

What am I going to fuck up next?

“Come on, man.”

Hands grab my arms and before I know what’s happening, I’m being hauled from the stool I was slumped on.

“Thanks for the call, Bill,” Jamie Franks calls. He’s our tight end. A fucking good one, too.

Together, he and Brax escort me out of the bar.

“Get the fuck off me,” I bark, fighting to get away from them the second we get outside. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Of course you don’t,” Jamie mocks. “Do you even know which direction your apartment is?”

I scoff. Of course I fucking do.

“Get him in the car,” Brax demands before I’m shoved forward.

I trip on the curb and fall into the car.

Probably not my finest hour, but there’s a high chance that I’ll have forgotten about it by morning.

All I can hope is that no one is filming me.

The drive home is a blur, but I’m very aware when I’m hauled out of the car.

“Evening, Gavin,” I slur as we pass the doorman of my building.

“Jesus. What happened?” he asks as I’m dragged toward the elevators.

“Partied a little too hard,” Brax says, as aware as Gavin is that this isn’t normal behavior for me.

Sure, I drink. But I know my limits. I never lose control.

Or at least, I didn’t until tonight.

---