It's bittersweet.

On one hand, I feel horrible and even a little heartbroken over the thought of me and Bryan never existing like this again. On the other, I know that Gavin is waiting for me on the other side.

I made my choice. Now I just have to see it through.

Bryan holds my hand and waits next to me until the valet finally pulls around with Joy's car. Turning toward me, he gazes deeply into my eyes. I feel like he's searching for something but I can't quite figure out what.

"Harlee..." he pauses, nervously biting his bottom lip, "...when I said I loved you last night, I meant it," he admits, seeming uncharacteristically backward.

"Bryan... I," I start.

"Don't. You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you in person so you know it's real. I love you," he says, leaning in to lay a sweet kiss to my mouth.

Once again I can feel the thick emotion clog my throat, and I fight back the welling tears as I tighten my grip on him, deepening the kiss. I know I'm doing it for my benefit; my way of saying goodbye, and I'm so ashamed of the action. But in this moment, I don't care. I just want him to know that no matter what happens from here on out, my feelings for him were always real.

I truly care for Bryan. I would even go as far as to say that I love him. Maybe not in the way I love Gavin, but in a way that you love someone that over time becomes a part of who you are as a whole.

I finally break the kiss, laying my forehead against his.

"Goodnight, Bryan," I get out breathlessly, turning around and quickly climbing into the Mercedes without looking in his direction again.

I'm not even out of the parking lot before the tears start to fall. I'm so p.i.s.sed at myself. I'm p.i.s.sed that I couldn't do what I came here to do. I'm p.i.s.sed that I put myself in a position to have to do it in the first place.

I know I need to take Joy's car back, but right now there is one place I know I need to be. A place where I know I get no judgments. A place that feels more like home than any other place on this earth.

I grab my cell and pull up Angel's number. She answers on the first ring.

"I'm coming over," I croak, not wasting time with pleasantries.

"I'll have the tequila ready." She reads me immediately, ending the call without another word.

One great thing about having a friend like Angel is knowing that no matter what I need, she'll always be there. It's the type of friendship where sentences are finished and when one needs the other, everything else ceases to exist.

I need a shoulder, some tequila shots, and maybe even a good punch in the face for how f.u.c.king stupid I am for getting so mixed up in all of this.

I hit the gas pedal, loving the way the engine purrs under my sudden acceleration. I just need to get to Angel's and forget this night ever happened. There will plenty of time to beat myself up tomorrow. Tonight I just need to exist without Bryan or Gavin. I need to exist in a world where I'm not the girl torn between two men but just Harlee.

Within ten minutes, I am headed down the long, paved driveway that leads back to Angel's parents house which sits about a quarter of a mile off the roadway. Parking the car around back, I head straight for the small gray-sided guest house that sits several feet behind the main house.

Angel moved out of the main house after we graduated high school. I still remember how it took her weeks to convince her parents to let her move out here. She insisted that living in the guest house would give her a semblance of freedom while still remaining safely at home. I think her mom was sold from the beginning. It was her dad she really had to convince.

The front door swings open before I even reach the landing, and Angel appears in the doorway. Her shoulder length black hair is pinned back away from her face and she's wearing the ugliest pink pajamas I've ever seen. She's owned them for as long as I can remember and I swear as often as she wears them, it's a wonder they are still in one piece.

She gets one good look at me as I approach and immediately opens her arms, wrapping them around me the moment I reach her.

"You look like s.h.i.t." She squeezes me tightly before releasing me.

"You're one to talk," I bite playfully, pushing past her into the house.

I cross the small s.p.a.ce to the corner where a fluffy gray couch is pressed against the far wall. Collapsing on top of it, I let out a frustrated groan, rubbing my hand across my forehead.

"That bad huh?" She appears next to me, flopping down to my right.

"Worse." I turn my face toward her, just now noticing the bottle of tequila in her hand.

"Wanna talk about it?" She smiles, dangling it in front of me.

Snagging the bottle from her hand, I quickly cross to the opposite wall that houses a small, galley style kitchen. Pulling down two shot gla.s.ses from the cabinet like I have so many times before, I set them on the counter before filling each one to the rim.

"First, we drink." I hand Angel her shot when she comes to stand next to me in the kitchen.

We clink gla.s.ses and drink our shots in unison.

Only a friend like Angel would let me show up at her house this late on a weeknight with no explanation and immediately start drinking with me. No matter what else happens, at least I have her.

My friends are something I will never take for granted. At the end of the day, when all of this is said and done, they may be all I have left.

Chapter Fifteen.

Gavin "Oh s.h.i.t, this has trouble written all over it," Decklan says, exiting his apartment to find me and Paxton lounging at the bar, a bottle of scotch sitting directly between us.

"Where's your old lady?" Paxton leans forward to refill his gla.s.s.

"Asleep." He flips his eyes between the two of us. "Like you f.u.c.kers should probably be," he says, sliding out the stool next to Paxton before taking a seat.

"Because you're f.u.c.king one to talk." I lean forward, grabbing a rocks gla.s.s from the other side of the counter before sliding it down the bar toward Deck. "Now shut the f.u.c.k up and have a drink with us," I say.

"Didn't you hear?" Paxton interjects. "Deck here is too good to hang out with us now."

"f.u.c.k you," Decklan huffs, snagging the bottle of scotch off the bar before filling his gla.s.s.

"No really, it's cool," Paxton continues. "Trade your brothers in for a chick. We see how it is."

"What can I say; she smells better than you f.u.c.kers and is much better to look at, too." He gives Paxton an evil grin before swigging down the contents of his gla.s.s.

"I'm hurt. Are you saying we're not pretty enough for you?" I chime in.

I love getting the opportunity to bust Decklan's b.a.l.l.s. I get to do it so little these days.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." He laughs, refilling his gla.s.s. "Seriously, though, what the f.u.c.k are you guys still doing here?" His question prompts me to look up at the clock for the first time in a while.

"f.u.c.k, is it really four in the morning?" I turn wide eyes on Paxton who just shrugs before taking another drink of his scotch.

"We were just bulls.h.i.tting," I finally answer his original question. "Why aren't you in bed yourself?"

"Couldn't sleep." He takes another long drink.

I know immediately that he must have had another nightmare. He's had them for years, since the car accident he was in when he was seventeen. His fourteen-year-old brother Conner died in that accident and it has haunted him ever since. I remember right after the accident, they were so bad he would wake up screaming b.l.o.o.d.y murder in the middle of the night. Scared the s.h.i.t out of me the first couple times it happened.

"Thought you said they were better?" I ask, not bothering to ask why he can't sleep given that I already know.

"They are," he agrees, "but every now and again one will hit me pretty hard. It's shifted a bit, though. Now instead of seeing Conner's face, I see Kimber's. f.u.c.ks with me every f.u.c.king time. I'm like some crazy f.u.c.king parent waking up to make sure my baby is still breathing." He shakes his head, taking another long drink.

"I think I know what might help you get some sleep." Paxton's eyes light up as he reaches into the front pocket of his casual b.u.t.ton-down shirt, moments later pulling out a joint.

"Where the f.u.c.k did you get that?" I throw my head back on a laugh.

I haven't smoked pot since I was probably nineteen or twenty. I don't know why, just kind of outgrew it I guess.

"Matt gave it to me," he says, referring to one of our part-time bartenders.

"Figures." Deck shakes his head, reaching for the joint. "Matt would be the one to be giving away drugs in our bar." He holds it up in front of his face and inspects it for a long moment. "Guess we shouldn't let it go to waste." He looks down the bar to me.

"Light the s.h.i.t up," I say, seeing no reason not to. "f.u.c.k it."

"And here I thought you f.u.c.kers had gone soft on me," Paxton quips.

He throws his head back on a laugh when Deck lights the joint and takes a deep inhale, his eyes widening as he tries to hold it in without coughing. Finally after several long moments, he lets out a stream of thick smoke, the smell of weed instantly filling the s.p.a.ce.

"f.u.c.k. I forgot how good that s.h.i.t tastes," he says, pa.s.sing the joint to Paxton who hits it like a pro before handing it to me.

"Oh s.h.i.t," I mutter, looking at the joint in my hand wondering what in the h.e.l.l I just got myself into.

"Don't be a f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.y. Hit it already." Paxton shoves at my shoulder.

"I got this," I rea.s.sure him, lifting the joint to my lips.

I take a deep inhale, trying my d.a.m.nedest not to cough as I struggle to hold the smoke in my lungs. I finally blow it out slowly, feeling the familiar buzz already starting to creep its way in.

We continue to pa.s.s the joint around until there is nothing left but a little roach too small to even hold between our fingers, by which point I'm beyond just being high. I feel like I just smoked myself stupid.

My surroundings seem to shift and everything slows down around me. I look over at Decklan and immediately bust out in laughter. His eyes are completely bloodshot, and he's squinting like he's having trouble keeping them open.

"Holy s.h.i.t." He starts laughing, too. "I'm f.u.c.king stoned."

This is all it takes for Paxton too, and the next thing I know we are all laughing like a bunch of teenagers.

We spend the next hour reminiscing on all the times we used to sneak out into the woods behind Paxton's dad's house and smoke, and all the crazy s.h.i.t we used to do after getting high.

Over time the laughter falls away, and I find myself in the middle of maybe one of the most intense conversations I've shared with Paxton and Decklan in a very long time.

I listen to Paxton talk about his mom, how hard it was to watch her slip away little by little, the cancer killing her from the inside out. I listen to Deck talk about how terrified he is that he's going to f.u.c.k things up with Kimber, and how he finally finds himself wanting a family of his own. It's the first time I've ever heard him mention kids, but I don't miss the way his face lights up as he talks about the possibility of being a father.

I have felt a distance between all three of us for a long time now and it feels so good to just sit together and hash out all our s.h.i.t. Sometimes you just need to f.u.c.king say s.h.i.t out loud to get it the f.u.c.k off your chest.

When the conversation starts to taper off, I take a deep breath and finally say my own piece.

"I think I'm in love." Harlee's face flashes through my mind the way it seems to do a hundred times per day.

"Tell us something we don't already know." Paxton turns toward me, his mouth turned up in a wide smile.

"Wait, what?" I retort.

"Dude, you're about as obvious as they come," He continues, Deck nodding in agreement behind him. "I knew almost instantly that this was gonna be the girl." He pauses. "The girl who finally woke you the f.u.c.k up," he clarifies.

"How could you possibly know that when I'm just realizing it myself?" I hate that apparently, I'm that f.u.c.king transparent.

"You're so caught up in Harlee, dude; I'm surprised you can see what's happening right in front of you," Decklan chimes in.

"Cause you're one to talk," I counter.

"He can't see what's happening," Paxton says to Decklan, agreeing with his prior statement before turning toward me. "For f.u.c.ks sake, you're b.a.l.l.s deep over this girl and she still has a f.u.c.king boyfriend."

"Not after this past weekend, she doesn't." I finish off the last of my scotch in one drink.

"She ended things with him?" Decklan seems surprised by this news.

"I mean, she hasn't said as much but yeah, as far as I can tell they're done. I don't need her to confirm that she's told him. She said she wanted to be with me. I'm gonna take that as she's made her choice."

"Okay then." Paxton shakes his head in disagreement.

"What the f.u.c.k is it?" I question, not liking his reaction.

"All I'm saying is you better get that s.h.i.t in writing. Lock it down that you're exclusive at least. For all you know she could be playing you both. Some women like to see how far they can push a man before he finally reaches his breaking point." He refills his gla.s.s and takes a long gulp.

"Why do I get the feeling we aren't talking about Harlee anymore?" I eye him curiously.

Something is up with him. I can't believe I just now noticed, but it's blaringly clear.

"I'm just saying." He shrugs like it's nothing.

"f.u.c.k that." I shake my head. "What the f.u.c.k is going on with you?"

"Nothing," he insists. "Really it's nothing." He looks between me and Deck.

I open my mouth to push for more but refrain when I hear a throat clear, snapping me from the fog I feel like I've been in for the last couple of hours. Looking toward the door that leads up to Decklan's apartment, we all freeze when we realize Kimber is standing in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her pretty face turned up in a playful scowl.

"Seriously guys?" She steps toward the bar, letting the door swing closed behind her. "This place smells like a fraternity house." She crinkles her nose.

"That's my fault." Paxton immediately takes the heat.