Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 68

Nick throws his arm around his shoulders, startling him out of his thoughts. Harry can smell the whiskey on him, practically seeping from his pores, and he fights the urge to glare at his best friend. It's his bachelor party, and he's practically stone cold sober. He should be making bad decisions, and Nick should have to be reigning him in. He can't help being pissed that it's turned out to be the other way around.

"Check her out, H," Nick says, gesturing over with his beer, and Harry's gaze wanders to the stripper laying back against Paul, her hips grinding slow circles against his as his hands glide smoothly over the flat expanse of her stomach. "This is probably the last time you're going to see a woman naked. Enjoy it while you can."

Nick snickers, taking a swig of his beer — and Harry has had enough, not just of Nick, but of everything. The wedding, this party, Olivia, Eleanor. All of it. He glares at his best friend. "What the fuck is your problem man?"

Nick's eyes widen, looking at Harry over the mouth of his bottle. "Huh?"

"You've been riding my ass all fucking night. Snarky comments about how this is the last night I'll ever have fun, and how I'm never going to get laid again. You got something to say to me, Nicholas, just fucking say it," Harry barks and Nick's brow furrows, anger burning in his hazy eyes.

"Dude, I'm fucking kidding! Just because you have some kind of fucked up insecurity about what you're doing-"

"I do not!" Harry exclaims, and just then, his phone lights up on the table, Eleanor's name flashing on the screen again, and Nick rolls his eyes — flopping back in his chair.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? The warden is gonna throw you in solitary if you don't answer," Nick spits, and Harry glares at him. He pauses for a moment, seemingly holding his tongue — but his lack of sobriety doesn't allow him to hold it for long. "You know I don't fucking get it, H. She already doesn't fuck you, she has no goddamn respect for you. What else could she possibly do to fuck up your life if you didn't answer your phone tonight?" Nick mocks, and Harry can feel anger and hurt burning deep inside him. "Would she call off the wedding?" he snorts. "Not much of a loss there, if you ask me."

Harry stands so quickly, his chair tips backwards and his hands are closing around Nick's shirt, dragging him up and out of his own chair. The table tips, and empty bottles and glasses crash to the floor. The crowd around them seems to explode back from them in a ripple, clearing the space. Nick's hands flail for a moment before making hard contact with Harry's chest, shoving him backwards and off balance and he stumbles, releasing Nick's shirt and reaching for the table to regain his footing.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Nick yells and Cristiano is behind him in an instant, his arm around his chest. "Get the fuck off me!" Nick hollers, struggling, and there's no one to hold Harry back, no one to keep him from hurting his best friend — this fact being the only thing that keeps his feet rooted to the floor. "So this is how its gonna be?" Nick calls, anger and hurt blazing in his dark eyes. "You're gonna get your boys to hold me down?"

He scoffs, shrugging Cristiano back violently, adjusting his shirt that had twisted around his body in the scuffle. All eyes are on them as he steps slowly up to Harry, his chin tipping up defiantly as Harry stands at his full height, nearly a head taller than his best friend. Harry's jaw is locked, green eyes hard as steel, and even though he's tensed, ready for a fight, he doesn't want this and wishes he could take it all back. A pang of sadness buries itself in his chest at the disgust on his best friend's face as he shakes his head at him.