Chapter 14

I suffer through McCormick's rendition of a Beach Boys' song, and every time he tries for that high note, my stomach threatens to regurgitate my burger. It's fucking painful to listen to. My ears aren't the only ones hurting. Most of the guys are sporting a grimace, except Stiles. He must be tone deaf because he's tapping his foot and bopping his head. For all of his bickering with McCormick, they sure do seem like two peas in a pod. I can't figure them out.

Brandt follows him with a song from the Top Gun soundtrack. The Bitches groan collectively, and I can't understand what they've got against Top Gun , 'cause it's a kick-ass movie, and the soundtrack is even better.

I glance at Riggs for what seems like the three hundred and ninety-seventh time, and he turns his head away quickly, which means he was watching me. Again . Every time I glance in his direction, I realize he's been watching me. The idea should excite me, but instead, it feels like I'm sitting in the timeout chair, like I've done something wrong.

For the life of me, I can't figure out what.

Brandi orders another margarita, chocolate this time, and I've got to put my foot down. "Slow down there, girl. You can't be drinkin' all that and drivin' home."

She giggles, and the sound grates my nerves. "I thought I'd come home with you."

Like hell. "Well, you thought wrong," I say point blank.

Mandy pats my shoulder discreetly, and I realize he's been paying attention the whole time, watching my back. I should feel grateful, but I only feel defensive. Slightly bitter. It's not his job to watch my back; it's Brian's, Warren's, and Ormen's. My crew. But none of them are here, and these guys are. I've got to let go of that bitterness and just be thankful someone's watching it at all.

Brandi takes offense at the coldness of my words and pouts her pretty stained lips at me. "Girl, that ain't gonna work on me. You can sit and hang with us, but I'm cuttin' you off on the alcohol."

She grabs her drink, blows me a kiss, and vacates her seat.

"Thank fuck," Mandy mumbles. "Is that the kind of girl you attract? Desperate and greedy? Just give me a heads up, so I know next time we hang."

Chuckling, I shake my head. "I usually have better luck than that. Must be gettin' rusty." His phone vibrates on the table and he checks the screen, his face stretching into a frown. "Who's that?"

He shakes his head. "No one." My snort says I don't believe him. Mandy sighs. "A friend. I invited him to join us, but he says he can't make it."

"Maybe he hates karaoke as much as I do."

He gives me a sardonic look. "He loves being the center of attention. Probably has a date or something."

"Why wouldn't he just say so?" Mandy shrugs, but I don't believe him. "You like this guy?"

Honest to God, his cheeks pink. This big, scarred guy blushes.

"He's…" Mandy lowers his head, and the hint of a smile teases his lips. "He's like C-4; small and explosive. He's got this pretty face, with blond hair, and the way he dresses…" he chuffs. "His clothes don't make no sense, but he loves to show off his body. He pretends to be empty-headed, but he's damn smart. And… he cares, you know? He doesn't stare at my scars when he talks to me, he looks me in my eyes."

Smirking, I shake my head. "Shit, you've got it bad. Did he friend-zone you?"

He finishes off his soda, slamming down his empty glass.

The truth dawns on me. "You've never tried to shoot your shot?" I ask incredulously. "Why the fuck not?"

His head snaps up, and the look in his eyes is as cold and hard as forged steel. "Look at me. Why would I saddle someone I like with this face?"

"Get the fuck outta here. Don't give me that shit, Mandy. He obviously doesn't mind. You just said he sees past them."

"It's easy for a friend to see past them, less so for someone who has to sleep with me."

I scoff at his bullshit logic. "You're fuckin' bent."

Mandy's gaze lands on Riggs. "When you follow your own advice, you can give it to me."

"Let's drink. I know you said you don't often, but tonight seems like a good exception." Fuck my meds. I need a drink, bad, and so does Mandy.

He glances at his phone again before slipping it back into his pocket. "Yeah, it does sound like a good idea. First pitcher's on me."

Three pitchers and two rounds of whiskey shots later, Pharo offers to drive us home. That's the big shouldered guy with the blond highlights in his dark hair. The guy with the golden eyes and the mysterious name. What's even more mysterious is the fact that he deploys several times a month. He says he's in the reserves, but that don't make no sense to me.

"Man, you killed that Garth Brooks song, ‘ Friends In Low Places ,'" Mandy gushes.

"Yeah, killed is the appropriate word," Pharo mumbles. "If either of you knuckleheads throw up in my truck, I'm gonna make you lick it up," he warns.

Mandy finds that funny and busts out laughing, and when he snorts like a pig, he makes me laugh along with him. We've got tears in our eyes by the time Pharo pulls up in front of our building.

"You need help getting inside?" he asks.

"Nah, we'll manner… manage," Mandy assures him.

Pharo pinches the bridge of his nose. "Christ."

Not gonna lie, managing my crutches while sloppy drunk is difficult, and even more so with Mandy hanging on me like he's helping. It takes two full minutes to get the key in my lock, but once we're inside, we collapse on my couch.

"It looks really good in here," Mandy observes, taking stock of my apartment. "You should've seen it when the last guy lived here."

"Was he a slob?"

Mandy laughs. "Hell no, the place was bare-bones. He owned a mattress on the floor."

I wait for him to finish, but he doesn't say more. "That's it?"

"That's it," he swears.

"Was he a crack addict?" I joke.

This time, his laugh is more sarcasm than humor. "Close, but no. He was addicted to pills and alcohol."

"Damn, sounds like a real head case." I put my hand over my stomach, trying to slow the sloshing waves of alcohol roiling in my gut.

"It was Nash."

"Yeah, Nash said he's an addict."

"No," Mandy clarifies. "The addict was Nash." He says it slowly, enunciating each word.

"Nash was your neighbor?"

"Yup," he says, popping in the p.

"You make ball buddies of all your neighbors?"

"Yup," he repeats in the same tone.

"Damn, I thought I was special."

His hand finds mine, and he squeezes. "You are; just don't tell the other two. I tell them the same thing."

Fucker is laughing at me. "I feel a little sick."

He turns his head toward me. "Maybe you need another drink? Hair of the Dog!"

"I think I should switch to water." I reach for my crutches, intending to get a bottle of water from the fridge. Hobbling to the kitchen is a struggle, and I'm nearly breaking a sweat as I pass the breakfast bar. A wave of nausea and dizziness hits me hard, and my legs buckle beneath me. My ass hits the ground, hard enough to knock the wind from me.

"You okay?" Mandy calls.

I make a miserable groaning sound. "I think I broke myself."

"That doesn't sound good."

No shit. I try to roll my weight to my left side, but that just makes me dizzier. "I'm stuck."

"You mean you've fallen and you can't get up?" he asks before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

"I'm serious, help me."

With a loud groan, Mandy rises to his feet and shuffles into the kitchen, but he's not the savior I thought he was. He fucking trips over my leg and falls flat on his face—on top of my body. Mandy is a big fucker, and I feel his weight crushing me like a building collapsing on its foundation.

In this metaphor, I'm the foundation.

"Ow! My leg!" It's throbbing and feels like I've been stabbed through the knee by a sharp needle. That can't be good. "Get off me."

"I can't," he laughs.

"It's not funny. Get off me. I can't breathe. You weigh a fuck-ton."

"I know," he laughs harder. "I seriously can't get up. I think I might piss myself in a minute."

"Motherfucker, if you piss on me after nearly breakin' my leg again, I'll kill you."

"Looking forward to it," Mandy wheezes through tears of hilarity.

I don't know why it seems funny, because it's not at all , but his laughter is contagious, and now I'm laughing. Tears seep from my eyes and roll down into my ears.

"What the fuck do we do now?" I ask.

"Don't know," he sighs.

Mandy shifts his weight, and the stabbing pain in my knee subsides. We lay like this for a minute or two, neither of us speaking, and I realize we're not going anywhere, anytime soon.

"I think the reason that guy didn't tell you he had a date was because he didn't want to hurt your feelings or upset you. Maybe he didn't want to blow his chance with you."

"I doubt it."

"No, really. If he friend-zoned you, he'd be very clear that he was goin' on a date, so you'd understand the rules."

"What rules?"

"You know, not to cross the line. He didn't tell you 'cause he wants you to cross it."

"That sounds like terrible advice. I think you're trying to fuck me over."

"Why would I do that? You're my ball buddy." I reach up to pat his back in a friendly gesture.

"Do you think?" He sounds hopeful.

The last thing I want to do is take that from him, even if he did crush me under the weight of his body. "I really do. You should call him."

"No! Drunk dialing is a terrible idea."

"Yeah, usually," I laugh.

"You gonna tell Riggs you like him?"

I lead with a snort. "He'd have to be stupid not to know. I think I've been pretty obvious."

"Did he friend-zone you?" he asks.

"Worse; he patient-zoned me."

Mandy sighs and I realize his fingers are playing with the strands of my hair. "Love stinks."

"Damn! We should have sung that at karaoke instead of the friend song." "I could never outsing Adam Sandler," he jokes.

Eventually, Mandy rolls his weight off my body, and I can breathe again. "What happened to your face?"

"Same thing that happened to your legs. War."

"I hate war."

He turns on his side to face me, and there's no laughter in his eyes anymore, just sadness and pain. "Me too."

I think about Brian, his face flashing through my mind, and my lids grow heavy. The mental snapshot turns fuzzy around the edges until it fades to black.

When they open again, I'm face-planted in a puddle of my drool. Bright sunlight streams through the kitchen and living room windows, burning my retinas. Everything hurts. Cold, hard linoleum is no substitute for a soft bed. Beside me, Mandy groans and raises his head.

"Tell me we didn't fall asleep on the floor."

"We fell asleep on the floor."

"I told you not to tell me," he curses.

"I'm too tired to take orders." It takes all my strength to roll to my back so I'm not breathing my drool. "Help me up."

"Shit, I need help myself." He struggles to sit up, his back popping in several places. "Damn, I pissed myself." Mandy gives a tired laugh, but can't execute it fully.

"You're moppin' that shit."

"Whatever," he mumbles, huffing and puffing as he rolls to his knees to get his feet beneath him.

When he's standing straight and tall, he offers me a hand. "Come on, let's get you to the couch."

"Fuck it. I'll just crawl there. It's easier than standin'." I crawl on my belly like a wounded soldier, pulling my weight with my arms across the carpet. When I reach the coffee table, I brace one hand on it and one on the couch cushion and pull myself up. "The fuck did we drink?"

"I don't remember," he says, shaking his head. "This is why drinking is bad." He wags his finger at me.

"No shit. That was a terrible idea you had. You're a bad influence on me."

"It was your idea!" Mandy argues.

"I don't think you can prove that, so I can blame you if I want."

Mandy huffs. "I'm going home to shower. Are you gonna be okay?"

"I guess. But you're comin' back later to mop my kitchen."

Before he leaves, he shuffles to the kitchen, opening the cabinet where I keep my meds, and takes out a handful for me. Then he grabs a cold bottle of water from the fridge and places everything on the coffee table. "Here, this should help. You want coffee?"

"Nah. Maybe after my shower." He nods and moves to the door. "Hey." When he glances back over his shoulder, I add, "Thanks for bein' my buddy when I needed it."

"Don't mention it." He opens the door and turns back. "Seriously, don't mention it. Especially the part about the piss."