Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
That cocky out-a’-towner can suck it.
4
BRIDGER
I’ve handled my share of punks before. Being in the military taught me how. Kissed the asses of sergeants who don’t deserve it. Sucked it up and saluted them. Dropped down and gave twenty, fifty, even a hundred while holding anger in my heart.
I pride myself in knowing how to keep my cool. At times, my life depended on it.
But this Anthony guy …
This spiteful little twat …
“Oh, shoot, I knew I should’ve helped you!” cries Trey when I arrive back at our table with the drinks, noting we’re one short—and I’m wet down my front. “I’m so sorry! Did it spill? Is that what happened?” He grabs a wad of napkins off the table and starts pressing them to my stomach where most of the liquid went.
“Nah, I’m fine, thank you,” I assure him, taking over with the napkin dabbing while he nudges Cody to get more. “I don’t need a drink. I’ll be the double-D. You go ahead and drink up.”
“You sure? I feel so bad.”
Pete leans in, grabbing his own glass. “Bridge here, he almost never drinks,” he explains to the guys. “The man’s as dry as a bone most days. Well, except for this moment,” he adds with a chuckle at my very much not-dry shirt and pants. “What happened, man?”
I shake my head. “Just clumsy. Spilled one. No biggie.”
“Clumsy? You?” Pete snorts. “You’re the least clumsiest guy I know. Did you piss off the bartender or something? Look at a girl the wrong way?”
Anthony’s contemptuous sneer is starting to take permanent residence behind my eyelids every time I blink, and I’m not a fan. I realize I’m dabbing my shirt more vigorously than I was a second ago. Cody hands me more napkins. “Nope, no one did anything, I just tipped over a glass is all.”
“Not buying it.” Pete nudges Cody. “This guy, my pal Bridger, teacher’s pet all the way. A perfectionist, by-the-book, iron rod of a man. He’s been my daddy these past few years, I swear, staying sober all the time just so he can watchdog me.”
“Calling me your ‘daddy’ doesn’t sound the way you mean it to,” I say, causing Cody to snort into his beer. “I just like to keep a level head is all.”
Trey smiles, then eyes Pete across the table. “You’ve got a real wise buddy here.”
“If you aren’t gonna drink, at least let me get you a water or somethin’,” says Cody. “Gets hot in this place after a while. You’re gonna wish you had a glass of somethin’.”
I turn to get a look at the bar counter, but my eyes find the jukebox instead. Anthony’s still over there with who I’ll presume is his girlfriend—God bless her for putting up with a guy like that. From the looks of it, I’m no longer a thought on his mind, dancing badly, laughing so loud it cuts through the room, and spilling his drink all over his tank top and loose, threadbare jeans, sagging on his ass.
I find myself wrinkling up my face as I look at him partying it up with his girlfriend. That guy bugs me. Deeply bugs me. To the damned core. But I can’t for the life of me put my finger on what exactly it is.
I mean, other than he’s a waste of space.
Does he remind me of one of the troublemakers I dealt with at the base? Or farther back than that to my high school days? Is it possible that I’m just projecting everything I hate about my past onto Anthony, all of the guys who pushed me around, who stood over me, who played games with my head—the dickheads from my youth who are, more than I’d dare admit out loud, the reason I enlisted in the first place? There were years in the Army I’d stay up later at night than I ought to have, staring at the bottom of the bunk above me, wondering what I was trying to prove to myself, to the world, to the men who’ve made so much of my life hell.
Starting with my old man, the most miserable shit of them all.
Thank Christ my brother and I got away from him.
Maybe when I see Anthony, thoughts of all the evil men in my life come rising right back to the surface like no time has passed at all, undoing the work I have done over the years to neutralize the trauma, like all of that work was for nothing, like all I’ve actually done is practice maintaining a state of denial—as if I don’t still carry damage from the heartless enemies of my past.
Well, either that, or Anthony’s just an annoying jackass who’s freakishly skilled at getting under my skin.
“Why am I hearing Take On Me for the third time in a row?” asks Pete, interrupting a joke Cody was telling to his husband, who didn’t look too inclined to laugh anyway.