I scrambled, but it was as though I were drowning in quicksand. The harder I fought, the more impossible finding a job became. There were more than enough desperate pilots searching for work without adding me into the mix. Scott was the only one who saw the hell I was going through. His answer was to ply me with alcohol every weekend to keep me distracted. That’s what best friends do. Even assholes like Scott Dalton.
Scott went to a lot of trouble to lead people to believe he was a douchebag. It allowed him to distance himself from serious issues even with his closest friends. It was a trait I’d loved in him when we’d first started hanging out and probably the only reason we’d been able to remain friends after everything had gone down. In reality though, Scott had the biggest heart of any guy I’d ever met—as long as you didn’t call him on it.
He was the one who finally convinced me to bite the bullet and ask my stepdad for help in finding a job. He was also the one I’d called two days later when Jackson had formally offered me a job piloting charter flights. It was only part time. And it wasn’t ideal. But Scott still celebrated with me as though I’d won the lottery.
While his visits were much less frequent now, something my liver appreciated, we still got together as often as our crazy schedules would allow.
“Sooooo?” he drawled, drumming his hands on the top of my bar. “First round’s on me.”
“I’m not sure I feel like drinking tonight.”
His eyebrows lifted so high they were nearly in his hairline.
After pushing to his feet, he prowled forward. “Oh, I think you do.”
I had him by a few inches and at least fifty pounds, but that didn’t stop him from getting up in my face.
Typical Scott.
He wasn’t serious. I knew this dance well. If I said no again, he’d spend the next hour calling me various combinations of bitch and pussy in an effort to goad me into going. And, if I still refused, when he ran out of creative insults, he’d resort to begging.
“Let’s just stay here and drink. I do not feel like fighting a crowd tonight.”
He groaned, dropping the tough-guy act. “Come on, Roth. I need a night out. Work has been hell. I haven’t left the base since Shannon’s wedding, and let me just tell you—” He suddenly stopped, but the damage had been done.
And we both knew it.
My body froze as his slipup seared through me. It had been over ten years. I was in no way still haunted by the past. Hurt and anger no longer ruled my days.
But a pain like that never truly left you.
It had changed me.
Actually, it had changed the trajectory of my entire life.
“Dude,” he whispered in apology.
Shannon’s wedding.
Fuck.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Evan.”
Yeah. Me too.
Suddenly, a drink sounded like exactly what I needed.
“You know what? You’re right. Let’s go out.”
Getting up to take a piss at bar number three was the last thing I remembered. But, somehow, I’d managed to wake up in my bed the next morning. I was scared to look at my bank account to see the damage I’d done. If the pounding in my head was any indication, it was going to be extensive. I’d been doing shots—my personal drink of choice when trying to forget that an amazing woman was avoiding me because she loved me and I couldn’t return her feelings and also that my ex, the only person I’d ever loved, and eventually hated, had recently gotten married. Fucking awesome!
I winced. And it wasn’t because of the way my stomach churned as I rolled out of bed. My phone was lying on the ground, the screen cracked right down the center. Shit. Add that to my expenditures from the evening and I wasn’t sure I could afford to hang out with Scott again until I got a full-time gig.
Sliding my finger across the screen, I found that it was at least still operational. Hopefully it would limp along another few weeks before I had to fork out the dough to fix it. Scrolling through my phone, I noted a missed call from Jackson. There was no possible way I could fly today. Awesome. Yet another paycheck that won’t hit my bank.
After tugging a shirt on, I made my way to my kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee. Surprisingly, I found Scott shirtless, sitting at the bar, a steaming mug already in front of him.
“Any more of that?” I asked in a raspy voice. My throat was fucking killing me.
“Whole pot. But your milk is bad. So I hope you like it black.”
I lifted my phone to show him the cracked screen. “What the fuck happened last night?”
He chuckled. “Well, let’s see. You were half a second from passing out when a song came on the radio in the cab. I swear to God, it was like an exorcism. Your eyes were still closed, but your drunk ass sat straight up and shouted for the cabbie to turn it up. He refused. You called him an asshole.”
I groaned.
He laughed, fiddling with the handle on his mug. “Yeah. It was fun. You proceeded to tell us both some never-ending story about how you’d flown the dude singing. I couldn’t make out half of the shit you were saying, but at the end, you decided you needed to call Nikki and tell her you’d met Henry Alexander.”