28. Aiden

Chapter Twenty-Eight

AIDEN:

The Trophy Club was buzzing with the usual reckless energy of a small-town Friday night, but Aiden felt like he was suffocating. The air was so humid it felt like little shocks of lightning might spark under the roof any minute. His mind was raging. His thoughts tumbled together in a slush of half-formed emotions, drowning out the clink of glasses and the dull roar of a dozen conversations. The scent of beer and fried food mingled in the air, churning his acidic stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, but the idea of forcing a cold, greasy onion ring down his throat made him want to puke.

He leaned heavily against the pool table, bloodshot eyes narrowed in concentration as he lined up his next shot. His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated from too much booze and too little sleep. He'd been camped at the bar since he'd been sent home from work early that afternoon. Celia had taken one look at his green complexion and unshaven chin and declared him so hungover he'd become a liability. The irony wasn't lost on him—he was just too far gone to care.

"Hey, you gonna make that shot or just stare at it all night?" Jake called, kicking back and nursing a beer at a sticky four-top. His pool cue rested across his lap, nearly taking out his girlfriend, Cherilyn, as she approached with a basket of burgers.

Aiden shot him a glare but said nothing. Jake had a temper that Aiden usually managed to avoid with a few lighthearted jokes, but after a week of barely any sleep, he didn't trust himself to open his mouth.

He hadn't spoken to Seth since he'd left the barn that disastrous morning. He'd hitched a ride down the mountain with Riley and switched his cell phone to mute. When that didn't work, and he found himself waking every hour to check his missed calls, he blocked the number. Then he threw his phone across the room and shattered the screen.

He wasn't a fool; he knew if he dared to listen to Seth's voice, he'd go running back into his arms. It was all he wanted—all he'd ever wanted. Seth owned him, body and soul, from the moment he'd pulled over and grinned at Aiden from behind his mirrored sunglasses. He was everything to Aiden; he'd given him love, belonging, and a sense of purpose. How had Aiden thanked him? By ruining his life.

Every nasty thing his mother had ever said about him was true. Seth had confirmed his very worst fears about himself. It didn't matter if Seth wanted him or forgave him. Aiden didn't deserve it. He never had.

He took a deep breath, the smell of smoke and sweat stinging his nostrils, and took his shot. The balls clacked together loudly, pinballing against the frame, and the eight-ball rolled lazily toward the corner pocket before stopping short.

"Dammit," he muttered, throwing his pool cue toward the rack. It clattered so loudly that every couple at the nearby tables turned to look. He flipped them all the bird but immediately regretted it when it reminded him of Tessa.

He could still hear her muffled voice as he'd approached the barn to check on them: Aiden's still the same guy he was a decade ago. Living like some party boy in the worst trailer park in town.

What was so wrong about that? Not everyone was smart or ambitious enough to do more than tread water. If he kept expectations low, no one would ever be disappointed.

He grabbed his beer from the edge of the table and took a long swig, wishing for a chaser, but Pete had cut him off the hard stuff hours ago.

"You're off your game, Doyle," Buck Carson remarked in passing. It was said casually, with a smirk that passed for teasing from a mean-spirited cuss like Buck, so Aiden ignored him and went to retrieve his pool cue off the floor. Buck shouted after him, "Where's your babysitter? Seems like McCall's the only one who can keep your head on straight."

"Let it go, man," Aiden said, chalking his cue with more force than necessary. The powdery residue clung to his fingers, and he wiped them on his jeans. "You were always jealous of Seth. It's not a good look."

"Jealous?" Buck belted out a laugh with so much force he snorted. "Why would I be jealous of someone like him?"

"Because he can out-ride, out-rope, and out-calf any cowboy in this place," Aiden shot back. "He's the real deal, and you know it. Not some hick who flipped a coin between cowboying and being a trucker."

"Maybe folks used to think he was hot shit," Buck acknowledged with a shrug. "But they were wrong, weren't they? Only a damn fool would kill off his entire herd because he couldn't read a package."

Aiden clenched his teeth so hard they creaked. "He didn't."

"What?" Buck looked confused.

"I said he didn't kill his fucking herd!" Aiden yelled. "I did! Okay? I did!"

A few heads came up at a nearby table, but Aiden mean-mugged them until they looked away. The music didn't screech to a halt, and the world didn't stop turning. Buck opened his mouth and then froze, as if he couldn't think of a single thing to say, so he closed it again and just stared, flabbergasted.

"Your shot!" Aiden yelled, turning toward the table where Jake and Cherilyn were whispering together in hushed voices.

To hell with them. To hell with everyone. Seth had been trying to protect his reputation, but what reputation did Aiden have to lose? He was a party boy with a vapid smile, only suitable for heavy lifting and making up the numbers. People kept him around for a good time, nothing more than that, so he'd give them what they wanted. He laughed louder, talked more, and drank with such reckless abandon that his vision began to blur at the edges. But no matter how hard he tried to lose himself in the chaos, he couldn't change who he was or what he'd done. The pain of Seth's betrayal lingered, a constant reminder of what he'd lost and what he didn't deserve to get back.

Cal had been watching him from the corner table where he was grabbing a bite with Tucker Grace, but now he tossed his crumpled napkin onto his plate and shoved back his chair. "You should slow down, man," he said, watching with concern as Aiden pounded down another beer. "You're going to drink yourself into a stupor."

"Ain't like I've got many brain cells left to lose," Aiden drawled, leaning on his pool cue and almost losing his balance.

Cal grabbed him by the elbow to steady him and lowered his voice. "Look, I know something's been eating at you for a few days, but this isn't the way to handle it. Talk to me."

Aiden spread his arms wide to encompass all of himself, inviting Cal to take a good look, and said, "You kidding? Look at me. Not a care in the world, no one and nothing to depend on me. Hell, I haven't even got my own horse. I'm living the dream!"

"Bullshit," Cal said bluntly. His gaze was shrewd when he said, "This isn't you, Aiden. Whatever's going on with you and Seth, you aren't gonna find the answer at the bottom of a bottle."

Aiden flinched at the sound of Seth's name. It was practically a Pavlovian response by this point, a sudden jolt of yearning and shame so strong he could barely meet his friend's eyes. He felt lost, adrift in a sea of anger and confusion, and the only thing that made him feel better was knowing that he was living up to exactly the expectations everyone had for him.

"Save it, ol' son," he drawled, clapping Cal on the back. "I'm only looking for a good time."

Cal didn't argue, but Aiden felt his eyes burning into the back of his head as he stumbled drunkenly toward the restroom. The crowd seemed to swell and then settle into muted whispers. He tuned it all out. It was good practice for the future; the whole town would be talking about his confession by morning.

He didn't see the attack coming until it was too late.