I seemed to be able to manage him until we got older and that malicious side of Armstrong began to appear more often. Practical jokes gone wrong turned into the occasional fistfight. But then, that’s just how we dealt with things. He’d push buttons and I’d push back.
We were fourteen when things changed. Suddenly my best friend became my worst enemy. The harmless competition became vicious. After that I saw a side of Armstrong that I hadn’t realized existed, and for a while I was convinced I was the one who brought that horrible part of him to the surface.
Our competitive ball-busting turned into an epic, almost lethal clusterfuck after a dare went too far.
I came away with scars and he came out with a bruised ego. Blame was thrown around by my aunt, and after that the healthy competitive edge we had had turned into malicious backbiting.
For a while I tried to smooth things over. But it was clear that it wasn’t going to work. It became his mission to screw with me. If I was involved in a sport or a club or anything, so was he. Whatever I was good at, he wanted to be better and if he couldn’t be, he’d find a way to sabotage me. The competition between us seeped into every single part of our lives, from sports to school to girls.
Sometimes I just took it, but when he’d take it too far I’d retaliate in kind. He’d come back at me and do something worse. I could deal with it when it didn’t involve other people, but Armstrong’s vindictiveness wasn’t containable, and he’d hurt people in his mission to sabotage me. I’d feel guilt over whoever was caught up in the crossfire, because I made him into this. I pushed a button back when we were kids and fucked him up. So I’d given up years ago on making amends.
Except last year it wasn’t just Armstrong being a dick. It was more than that. I saw Amalie first at that party. He couldn’t have cared less who she was until he overheard me asking about her. I tried to remedy it by introducing myself and offering to get her a drink when I noticed hers was empty. Before I could make a move, in he swooped with his bullshit lines and his pearly white smile. I figured it wouldn’t last long. His relationships never did.
Neither did mine, usually thanks to him, but that wasn’t the point.
Getting back at him wasn’t worth it, not if it put someone else’s emotions at risk.
I blow out a breath, aware our history and tonight’s setup make this look exactly like I was trying to mess with him. “Whatever you think happened, it didn’t.”
Bane remains skeptical. “Enlighten me, then.”
“I told Brittany I was going to the bathroom. You know what she’s like, that chick just talks nonstop about nothing. I couldn’t take it. I sure as hell wasn’t drunk enough to manage listening to her for the rest of the night, so I took a breather.”
“In the bridal suite?”
“Yeah, man. Best hiding spot in the damn place. The bride shouldn’t have been in there at all. I was just going to use the bathroom and take a twenty-minute timeout before I headed back. That way I could miss most of the speeches, but when I came out of the bathroom there was Amalie, hacking her dress apart, freaking the fuck out.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you ended up on top of her on the floor.”
“Like I said. She was freaking out. She came at me with a pair of gardening shears. I wasn’t sure if she’d lost her mind or what. Then she told me she was going to fuck me, like revenge on Armstrong for my date blowing him or whatever, and she pulled some ninja move and we ended up on the floor. I said no. She’s feisty though. And strong.”
Bane’s glare tells me he’s unimpressed. “That’s your story?”
“It’s not a story, it’s the damn truth. I’m not an idiot, Bane. I wouldn’t screw a jilted bride. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not someone who’s already been hurt.” It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to have sex with her. Amalie in that lingerie, all pissed off and desperate? I was serious when I told her I would regret saying no forever.
I try not to let the way she felt under me become more than a whisper of thought. I look at my brother, whose faith in me as a person is sometimes questionable thanks largely to Armstrong and his constant games. “I’m not that much of an asshole. I’m not Armstrong. I wouldn’t manipulate someone that way. He has to be the stupidest man alive to screw around on Amalie. I don’t get it. She’s damn well perfect. He had it all and he just threw it away. She’s devastated. He gutted her. She cut herself out of her goddamn dress with gardening shears, Bane.” I run a hand down my face and meet his shocked gaze. “He ruined her for a fucking blow job. Who even does that?”
“Our cousin, that’s who. I’m sorry I thought you had something to do with it. Logically I know that’s not how you work, just the whole thing is a fucking mess.” Bane rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “I don’t know what he was thinking, but the fallout from this going to be bad, and you’re right in the middle of it.”
*
I should’ve expected that this shit storm wasn’t going to end with punching Armstrong in the face. Half an hour later my cousin has been taken to the hospital to set his broken nose and I’m sitting in one of the penthouse suites. Across from me, my very distraught mother is tucked into my very angry father’s side. He keeps asking if she needs anything, tissues, water, wine, a blanket.
Bane has gone in search of Ruby and the runaway bride. My other brother, Griffin, is tending to his distressed fiancée, who can’t believe that something like this could actually happen. This whole debacle has upset the entire status quo in this community. And apparently I’m in the center of it all because it was my date who “ruined” the wedding. Not Armstrong, who put his dick in someone else’s mouth, but the girl who opened her mouth and me, because I brought her along.
Of course my mother feels directly responsible, because she’s the one who pushed me to take Brittany. It doesn’t matter how many times my father and I assure her she couldn’t have known, and that Armstrong is responsible for his own actions, she’s still going to feel culpable. Just like she did when things with Armstrong became so unstable when we were teenagers.
My mother is a good woman with a great heart, and right now hers is broken because of what’s happened, and her perceived involvement in the demise of this marriage. Never mind that even if Armstrong hadn’t messed up tonight, there’s a good chance he would’ve done it eventually.
I worry about the impact this is going to have on my mother and her health. The stress isn’t good for her. She battled cancer and won a couple of years ago. During that time, she was the most gracious, selfless sick person I’ve ever encountered. The kind of woman who refused to allow her illness to interfere with her charity work or her family dinners.