Chapter Warnings: +18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, verbal fights, sexist implications, one slap across the face, and Jake being Hangman.
The story behind how you started ego-checking some of the cocksure pilots at Hard Deck is less interesting than one might think.
It all started with a game.
You weren't kidding when you told Jake you were a library-loving geek who'd rather spend her time deep in the stacks. That was the plot of your entire post-secondary experience. You didn't know how to flirt. You stayed clear of frat parties and cliquey groups. And if a guy tried to flirt with you, you ran for the freaking hills without a backward glance.
You only decided to take that bartending job in building H's damp, dark basement because you were dead-ass broke. But the thing about being a bartender on a University campus is that there were moments when you had nothing but time on your hands.
You had to get creative.
Looking back, you would blame the writer-orientated part of your mind that decided to create that little game of making up stories for the people who regularly visited the miserable bar.
The quiet girl, always sitting in the back corner, cramming for a test or writing a paper. Did she like the ambience, or was she avoiding the library? Or was she trying to work up the nerve to ask out one of the bussers, waiting for the perfect meet cute?
Maybe the nerds who gathered every Friday at the arcade-style game consoles playing Pac-Man needed to leave their dorm because Friday nights tended to be the one night everyone liked to party.
Those popular girls sitting around a table with their $5 cocktails, lowcut tanktops, and jean shorts, always on their phones gossiping over the latest social media posts from their favourite celebrities. Did they have Regina George in their ranks? Which one was sleeping with the other's boyfriend? How much blackmail did they have on each other?
Which one would murder the other first?
That little game you invented for yourself got you out of your shell. It also made it easier to deal with the persistent football jocks who'd try to flirt with you for a free shot.
Ridley would always get a kick out of it whenever you told her. You'd always imagined her curling up in a ball and kicking her feet back and forth while she squealed in laughter over the phone.
"Be a character in one of your freaking stories. Or better yet, act it out! You're a damn writer, Lizzie."
She was right. So you did.
You'd never forget the laughter of that football jock when your rejection of his flirting attempts to weasel a free drink out of you resulted in his childish reply of, "Well, nobody's perfect, Sweetheart, least of all you."
"I never said I was," you had said with a smile.
You must have said something right because a few minutes later, Penny was introducing herself and chatting you up, asking if you wanted a better job bartending.
You were all too happy to leave. But nothing could have prepared you for the hotshot, ego-driven, and stupidly horny Top Gun pilots who frequented the Hard Deck.
Between remembering their drink order or what side of the room they tended to gravitate towards, you needed more than your little guessing game to figure out their tells. You did pick up little things about them, though.
The WSOs were the kindest; ironically, they stood out in the crowds. Always a kind smile, never a bad thing to say about anyone.
The female pilots were always badass. At least, you thought so. Strong. Always commandeering the room the second they walked in. Always nice, no question about it. But mess with them; you got schooled hard.
They were the literal definition behind the saying, 'Do no harm, but take no shit.'
And with each new group that came in, the male pilots, the single flyers you had called them, paled compared to those jocks. They never changed. A pair constantly vied for first place with each new group that came through the Top Gun program.
Always a pair of males. Women always knew there was more at stake than a freaking trophy.
Those guys talked to you. Well... properly flirted at you.
That's where your little game came in handy. Picking out the little things about them, letting your mind do the creative parts next. It's how you turned Jake down so quickly that first time.
But the guy currently approaching the bar? He did not fit the bill of any regular customer you had seen in a while.
Tourists came and went without question. They stood out like a pack of flies, unsure where to go, with friendly faces and always asking what the best places were. They tipped great, and they never returned.
This guy?
Not a tourist.
He was from out of town. The plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots were unusual for a California bar. It was also how he gaped at the walls and ceiling, taking in all the Navy memorabilia Penny had collected over the years. If you hadn't been paying attention, you could have sworn there was a look of distaste on his face with each new item he saw.
But what irked you was the sense of familiarity you couldn't place while looking at him. Blonde hair and a sharp face. Something in how he carried that toothpick between his teeth, not in the way god forbid fucking Tyler had, but as if it was a piece of grass. Also, in the way he walked.
Then he openly leered at a woman's ass as she walked by, and it all made sense.
Ah, a Wham, Bam, Thank You, Mam.
He sat in the empty chair directly in front of you, still watching the women's retreating form. You didn't want to serve him, but a tiny part of you hoped your assumption had been wrong.
It had been a while since you had to rebuff flirty advances; the newer pilots going through the Top Gun Program hardly said anything to you except smile and relay their order.
You suspected Jake was behind it.
"What can I get you?" you smiled at the guy. He slowly pulled his eyes away with a sly grin. The second he caught sight of your face, his mouth stretched even wider as he leaned forward on the bar.
"Your number and the name of a good hotel."
You should have known better.
If it looked like a duck, it quacked like a duck, too.
Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you straightened the line of shot glasses under the bar, not once looking up as you answered him. "Well, I can answer one out of two of those questions, but I'm afraid the only hotels around here are resorts. There is a bed and breakfast about ten minutes down the road that will give you a good deal."
"Will they give me a good deal if I mention your name?"
"Only my friends know my name, and you are simply a customer sitting at my bar wanting a drink?" you raised your eyebrow, tapping your finger against the bar.
He made a show of thinking about it, rocking his shoulders back and forth. He finally nodded, leaning forward to answer you.
"Whiskey. Straight."
You recognized his accent as you reached beneath the bar to grab the bottle. It was more pronounced and slightly more profound, but without a doubt, he sounded like Jake.
Good old southern Texas Charm.
Normally you'd engage in small talk, but you wanted nothing more than to leave this asshole alone. Thinking he'd leave it be after you poured him his drink, you slid the glass forward and then made your way over to the other side of the bar.
The words he called out after you made you stop in your tracks.
"You must get attention all the time. Having your pick of the litter each year."
You whipped around, offended. " Are you calling me easy?!"
He shrugged. "I'm just saying a good-looking woman like yourself, in this place... you clearly aren't sticking around because of the pay."
Oh, you wanted this guy gone. That could have been one of the most double-standard comments you had ever received. Old Liz would have sputtered, maybe run into the back fridge and asked one of the other bartenders to handle it.
You now? No chance in hell. If he were going to give it, you would give it right back. You weren't going to play the boyfriend card. You could fight your own battles, and something told you even if you told him you had a boyfriend, he'd think you were lying. He seemed like the type that wouldn't take no for an answer.
"You've got some nerve." You crossed your arms, matching back to him from the other side of the bar. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not here because I'm looking for attention or have trouble finding a date. You've spent all of two minutes sitting at this bar, talking shit, while I've been fighting the urge to point out your confusion regarding basic anatomy."
He raised his eyebrows at your reply. "My confusion?"
You leaned forward, resting your arms upon the bar, eyeing him sourly. "Is your mouth your asshole, or are you just one?"
It was one of the more cruder remarks you had ever responded with. But this guy was trying to go for gold. Unphased, he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up. "Hey, no need to be aggressive. You should take it as a compliment. I never called you anything derogatory."
You huffed, pushing yourself away from him, rolling your eyes. "Calling me good-looking, then proceeding to say I'm only working here because it's 'easy to access' is still calling a woman a slut. You don't need to say the word to imply the meaning."
You ripped the dishrag from your shoulder, running it under the tap, muttering more to yourself, "There's no way that shit works on women."
"It does on the women back home," he answered you.
"Oh, so are you staying? Don't tell me you're a new pilot at Top Gun."
They'll beat that attitude right out of you.
"Oh, I'm just passing through. I figured I'd scout out the area. I heard this was a Navy bar. Don't understand what all the fuss is about."
You didn't answer him. Opening your mouth only led to him replying, and the quicker he finished his drink, the faster he'd leave. He took your silence as a means to continue.
"Still playing hard to get?"
"You ask me a question. I might choose not to answer."
"Wow. Subtle."
You turned, a hand on your hip. "You can't honestly expect me to speak to you, a complete stranger, after the way you just undermined my job because I'm not giving to your attempts. There is nothing to get."
He smiled, holding out his hand. "George Seresin. There, not a stranger."
Well, shit.
You wanted to hang your mouth open like a fish. You were staring down Jake's brother.
Now you understood Jake's reaction to Janet's warning. His anxious behaviour in the back of his truck. His lost-in-thought stares or the way he couldn't stop looking at you and Sadie when he came home from work this week.
George Seresin was a very unwelcome, uninvited and long-awaited guest.
Something snapped in your stomach, a twinge of weariness that Jake didn't confide in you. Then again, your slight disappointment was overshadowed by something greater.
Clearly, you were fated to ego-check both Seresin brothers while standing behind this bar. Because the idea came without warning, without doubt, or any sense of hesitancy.
George Seresin was at the Hard Deck.
He was right in front of you, trying to flirt with you without any idea who you were.
And he was sitting in the best spot in the entire place.
It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
You stepped backwards, turning to lean up against the bar. As you did with Jake all those months ago, you took the rag and started to wipe.
"So let me get this straight," you said, dragging the damp cloth around his glass, not once looking up. "I tell you my name in some effort to prove we are not strangers. I'm supposed to forget about your 'comments,' so you can use that good old Texas charm to woo me into your bed with a promise of a good time?"
You finally looked up, George only staring back at you with a heated smoulder.
"Something tells me none of those loose cannons cannot even promise you a good time. A quick roll in the sheets before they let some brass monkey in a fancy suit tell them where to shoot. You look like you could let loose for once in your life."
You froze, losing your grip on the rag and fingers twitching. Scanning Jake's brother, you leaned against the bar, resting your weight on your elbows, throwing the fabric over your shoulder as you got inside his bubble. You never once broke eye contact as you pinned him down.
George bought it, hook, line and sinker. He was so focused on you and your face that he was oblivious to everything and everyone around him, including how your hand slowly reached up toward the rope hanging from the top of the bar.
The second he looked at your lips, you tugged.
Cheers and music flooded the Hard Deck when everyone heard the distinct ring of the barbell. You guessed the song right away: old habits dying hard. Slow Ride, its distinct beat letting you know Jake was here and he had seen the whole thing.
George reeled back, shocked as a few people came up and slapped him on the back, thanking him. You laughed softly at his reaction, pushing yourself away to help the few customers you knew who would take advantage of the free drink.
You had never rang the bell for someone like him. George Seresin would be the only exception.
"What the hell just happened?" he called after you. You didn't bother turning around, flinging your hand to gesture over your head, "Read the sign!"
George followed the direction of your hand, landing on the piece of wood dangling by the silver chain.
You disrespect a lady, the navy, or you put your cell phone on the bar, you buy a round.
You had already helped a few customers when he managed to tear his eyes away to glare at you heatedly. You turned to face him with a gleeful grin. Instead of asking him which one he thought you rang him out for, you started teasingly singing along to the chorus.
You hadn't done that in a while. It felt good.
"What did he do to warrant that?"
You smiled up at Jake as he approached the bar. He never took his eyes off you as he leaned on his elbow against the top of the bar beside George.
"What do you think?" you laughed at him.
Jake smirked. "I'd say he didn't take no for an answer."
"He did a little more than that. Tell him to put his cell phone on the bar, and he'd get three out of three."
"Ouch," Jake dramatically drawled. He finally turned his head, nodding once in his brother's direction. "Hi, Georgie."
You stiffed a giggle.
George huffed, jutting his chin out in your direction. "This one is trouble."
"Don't I know it," Jake said, looking back at you. "Pulled the same trick on me the first time I met her. Only she didn't ring the bell. Guess I did something right, considering she let me come back."
George glanced between you and Jake several times, and you could see the gears grinding in his head.
"Hi," you beamed at him, walking over and holding out your hand. "Elizabeth Beck. Your brother's girlfriend. I guess we aren't strangers after all."
George stared down at your hand, then gritting his teeth, knocking back another gulp of whiskey. He spat out his following words with the glass still to his lips, "So you are real. Jake, there's no way you're dating her."
You didn't try to hide the snark from your voice as you lowered your hand. "You thought I was imaginary? Sorry to disappoint."
George still chose to ignore you. "What's the matter, little brother? Need your girlfriend to speak for you?"
Jake stiffened, and it took everything in you not to ring the bell once more. Cause you knew if you did, Jake would be the one to help throw George out, and you didn't know what repercussions he could face.
"At least he has a girlfriend," you scoffed. "I can't imagine you've ever had a meaningful relationship with how you treat women."
You spied his empty whiskey glass, grabbing it firmly.
"Wham."
Sliding it across the bar's smooth surface, you caught it in the palm of your other hand.
"Bam."
Reaching into the pocket of your apron with your free hand, you slapped his bill down in front of him, rounds and all, attempting your best version of a Texan accent.
"Thank you, Mam."
Not wanting to waste more time on him, you turned to Jake, slightly worried. Some of you didn't know how to act around Jake when he was like this. When he was so... Hangman.
You gently touched his wrist, murmuring softly, "I'll see you in a half hour?"
He twisted his arm in your grasp, sliding his hand down so he could gently squeeze yours. But his eyes screamed a different, intense, unsettling story as if he was assessing you for any threat.
"Sure."
You tried not to let it bother you, his non-chalent reply. Trying not to frown, you let go of his wrist to serve another customer, calling out as you walked away, "It was nice meeting you, Georgie!"
Jake watched you go with a slight turn of his head, proud you one-upped his brother but wishing you didn't leave him alone.
He knew why George was here. What he wanted him to do. No amount of smirk, cockiness, or even Hangman, could save Jake from this. George was the grave reminder that no matter where the Navy sent him, whether in California or on the other side of the world, there was no end to the metaphorical leash the 'hell bringer' had on both of his sons.
George scraped his chair back to stand. "Come on, little brother," he gruffed out, tossing his credit card onto the bar. "We need to have a chat."
—-
With Ridley's Jean jacket in hand and your bag, you placed them on the bar as you greeted Jimmy after finishing your shift. "Can you watch these for a second, Jimmy? I'm just going to the bathroom before I find Jake. We're going to pick Sadie up from Penny's and take her out for dinner."
The older man smiled. "She's feeling better?"
You nodded. "Mild concussion. She was okay after a few days and back at school. Bummed about not being able to play in soccer playoffs, though. Hence the trip."
"That girl loves her soccer. What a shame."
"Jake's is making it easier on her. I don't know what I would do without him."
He tilted his head towards the bathroom hall with a knowing grin. "Go get ready for your date."
You blushed, walking away, calling over your shoulder, "It's not a date!"
After freshening yourself up, you took a few moments to stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You saw the famous callsign board hanging on the wall behind you. You scanned the names from the mirror, looking for Jake's, doing a double take when you couldn't find it. You turned, properly facing the wall.
Like the sign in the bar, it was a piece of wood with the words engraved into the top, "Ladies Beware: Navigate the Hard Deck with Care!" and underneath that, "Pilots who fly solo." Several metal slots were glued to the surface, designed so she could easily slide plastic slate with a pilot's callsign into place.
You recognized a few, even Rooster's, though his was listed way further down, out of harm's way. But Jake's was nowhere to be found.
Then you realized - Penny had taken his name off.
She didn't do that for a lot of people. You could only recall one other instance when she removed a pilot's callsign from that board. She prided herself on it, so much so she never removed Maverick's at the top of the list, even after they got back together.
You needed to tell Jake.
With a hint of a smile, you eagerly walked out of the bathroom to find him. He was standing with George at the pool table, the elder Seresin brother lining up a shot as he spoke. As you approached them, you honed in on Jake, realizing he looked uncomfortable. Stiff, shoulders square, and his fists were clenched tight.
The closer you got, the more you heard of their conversation, and when you heard Sadie's name fall from George's mouth, you froze. Hearing him utter her name, especially in that hardened tone, was a punch to the gut. The urge to hide behind one of the support pillars in the middle of the room at the last second was too great to ignore, and you made yourself as small as possible.
You had stumbled upon a conversation you weren't supposed to hear. George's voice accompanied the sound of the eight-ball scattering the balls across the table.
"Come on, man," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "Think about it. She threw her whole life away for her niece. She's tied down now, and you deserve someone who can give you more than that."
Jake remained silent. George continued, encouraged by his lack of protest. "You're a Navy pilot, for crying out loud. You could have anyone you want. Why settle for a girl with so much baggage?"
You weren't stupid. You knew enough about George to realize he was the golden child, the favourite used to getting his way. George would only see you as Jake's attempt to one-up him on something.
"You know why I'm here," you heard him say firmly. "Dad doesn't approve. He wants you to know if you continue on with her, you will never be welcomed back home."
You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. There would never be a time when you asked Jake to choose you over his family, even with what you knew. You wanted to go out there, but this was Jake's battle. Storming out to threaten anything but a kick to the balls was out of the question.
But when Jake finally spoke, his words were like shards of ice piercing your skin.
"Yeah, you're right."
A strangled noise escaped from you, a sound of raw pain and disbelief. You clapped your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sob threatening to escape. George's reply triggered the blood rushing through your ears, the pain in your forearm from your nails biting hard into the skin.
"You know I am," he laughed, another clack of the pool balls sounding out. "
There was only one way you saw this - Jake played you like he played those other bartenders.
You couldn't hide any longer. You pushed yourself away from the pillar, swerving around to confront them.
"So Sadie and I were just a game to you?"
Jake turned sharply, shock in his eyes. "Liz," he held his hands out in front of him. "It's not what..."
"Not what?" you said heatedly, tears streaming from your eyes. "I heard plenty!"
He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat, confronted with your beat red face and tears. You were not supposed to hear all that.
The shock on his face was not enough to erase the sting of his words.
"Come on, Liz. You don't understand... it's..."
"What's there to understand, Jake?" you interjected, your voice seething with a volatile mix of pain and anger. "That I'm just another one of your bartenders?"
"Liz, don't."
"Enlighten me, Jake." You crossed your arms. "Tell me all the reasons why. That bringing me flowers wasn't a game. That getting close to my niece wasn't a game. Asking me to give you a chance, taking me out on a date."
You sobbed. "Taking me up in that damn plane."
The thought was erupt, tearing itself from the deepest part of your mind. You couldn't help it, the words spilling out in blinded anger. "Was my grief an opportunity for you to get into my pants? Telling me it would be alright so you could leave me high and dry? Telling me it was going to be okay?"
There was a sudden shift in his expression, his gaze hardening. As if a switch had been flipped, the warm, understanding man you knew disappeared, replaced by a stranger draped in defensiveness and sarcasm.
"Oh, excuse me," he declared. "I didn't realize I was your knight in shining armour, rushing to your rescue the second you need all your problems fixed. The girl who never had a relationship, thinking a man would solve all her issues."
The words hit you like a physical blow, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Jake's harsh gaze didn't match his usual soft and protective demeanour. It was like looking at a stranger, someone you didn't recognize. The man before you was not the Jake you'd fallen for.
This man reminded you of your father.
Was this his plan all along? You racked your mind, searching for any indication this had been coming. But what only stood out was Rooster's words echoing in your head where you found none.
Did you really only add your name to the list of women Hangman had pursued?
Because here and now, those months of working through the trauma of losing Ridley didn't matter.
Was anything about this past year even worth it? The moments you worked through when you would avoid anyone mentioning her because acknowledging her in the past tense was too much. Avoiding the things that reminded you of her. Till helped you through it.
She would know what to say right now. She would be the one beating his ass with verbiage and scathing remarks. She would nail the moment and get it right.
It hit you, the hidden weight of how desperately you missed her.
Suddenly, you were that girl again, starting her first shift in that basement bar, wondering what to say to the students who saw you as a mere bookworm with no character or class - because you couldn't compare to the girl sitting in the corner writing her paper, actually having the courage to ask that busboy out.
Or the geeks in the corner cheering as hard as they did when they beat their high score on the console, uncaring of strange looks. Or that girl, finally standing up to her 'so-called friends' when one had been spreading rumours and crude remarks about her to the others behind her back.
He really did leave you out to dry.
"Stay the fuck away from my niece," you managed to gasp through your tears. "And stay the fuck away from me."
You wanted to believe your assumption that Jake was merely putting on a front. Hangman, his alternate self, was his attempt at protecting himself.
You had a hard time doing so.
There, plain as day, across his face was the most condensing grin you had ever seen as he dramatically drawled out slowly, "No fucking problem, sweetheart."
You didn't believe in thinking about everything you regretted throughout your life. Ridley was the only exception; if you had done more, moved back home after school, or gone to the police the day you kicked Tyler out, maybe she'd still be here. You couldn't change what had happened in your life, so spending time thinking about it in the present wouldn't do you much good.
So it was no surprise to you when you followed through with your knee-deep reaction, your hand coming up out of nowhere, open and firm, slapping Jake hard enough across the side of his face, his head turning with the force of it.
You knew you shouldn't have. You weren't a violent person by any means. Next to Tyler, you never had raised a hand to anyone. You were too hurt to care you just slapped him.
That should have scared you shitless.
Rather than voice the obvious, you remained silent, allowing every repressed thought, every buried emotion to resurface.
Ridley - dead.
Sadie - hurt.
Tyler - lurking.
Bradley - damaging.
It was all too much.
George's figure stood out from behind Jake amongst your blurry vision, tears creating a vignette in your line of sight. You tore past Jake, sticking your finger out only to push George square in his chest. He stepped back at the force, hand shooting out to balance himself against the pool table.
Jake wouldn't have done that had George not shown up. Had he not played with Jake's emotions.
"You need a fucking ego check and to grow the fuck up," you seethed at him. "I don't know whose got your balls on a very tight leash, but you have no right to go around and fucking up other people's relationships."
George didn't answer you, taking his hand off the table to stand properly. You pressed him again. "Does it give you some sick fucking pleasure to hurt your brother? Daddy loves me best, so I'm going to remind everyone just cause I can?"
George was still avoiding your heated glare, fixating on his football ring, twisting the piece of metal back and forth. It only pissed you off further.
"My eyes are over here, Jackass! Have the decency to look me in the fucking eyes when I'm talking to you."
If nobody had been watching when you slapped Jake, you clearly had their attention now. Even with the music blasting from the speakers, every conversation in the Hard deck had gone quiet. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you couldn't care less.
You were too far gone.
George slowly cocked his head to face you. Your breath was harsh, your body jolting with each gasp as you gave in to the anger. "My sister died, and I took in my niece. What's so fucking wrong about that? That I threw my life away, that I have no future?"
He shifted on his feet, about to transfer the pool stick into his other hand, when you reached out and snatched it out of his grasp, tossing it behind you with a clack.
"You're damn right I did! That's what you do for people you love. I would sacrifice my entire life so she could have hers. And I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I will stay on the other side of that bar for the rest of my so-called miserable life, getting catcalled and dealing with assholes like you if it gives her the best shot with the shitty hand she's dealt. You, George Seresin, have no right to judge the choices I've made in my life."
Your breathing was harsh, ribs aching with effort. Every vein, every pore, was consumed with pure white rage. And yet, you still found yourself growling out, "You have no right judging your brothers either."
Even after breaking your heart, you still stood up for Jake.
"He risks his life every single time he goes up in that jet just so the whole world can fucking survive. So you can go on day in and day out and let your father control what you want to do with your life. So you can gallant around letting someone who has lived their life decide what you do with the rest of yours? So Jake's here for you to bully and control every time he comes home? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
The burning sensation in your cheeks mirrored the fire in your eyes, unshed tears making them shine brighter. The salty sting of tears blurring your vision did little to diminish the searing gaze you levelled at George.
"My sister believed everyone deserved a chance. That people cared, regardless of what they did or who they were. I had forgotten that until my niece invited Jake to a barbeque, till she invited him on a hike because he was being treated differently. Despite what I heard and everyone telling me otherwise, listing off why I shouldn't. That he will hurt me and my niece, and I still gave him a chance."
Squaring your shoulders and balling your hands to fists at your side, you take a step forward, a dangerous glint in your eyes. You lean towards him, your face close enough to feel his breath, your jaw clenched and muscles tight.
"You are the first person ever to prove my sister wrong," your voice is dangerously low, underlying anger accompanying each word. "You sure as hell don't deserve that sentiment."
As you stepped away, George lifted his head to glance around the room, everyone's eyes pinning him down. The older Top Gun instructors had stood at their tables and chairs, arms crossed. Some of the current students in the program also stood, the others sending him the most scathing glares they could manage. Even some regulars who weren't aviators were casting him a scornful glance.
You spun, ready to leave him in embarrassment and escape this literal fucking mess, when you caught Jake's bewildered gaze, his mouth hanging open in slight shock.
You weren't sure whether it was that look or the dying embers of your outburst that made you spin back around to snarl, "So, leave your brother the fuck alone! Live your own goddamn life without judging others for the choices they make! Cause you sure as hell don't know what it means to sacrifice something for those you love. If you need an example, look around this goddamn room."
Jake reached for your wrist as you charged toward the front door. The second you felt his touch, you shook your hand loose, a wrenching sob tearing through your chest.
"Don't fucking touch me!"
You didn't bother seeing his reaction to your remark, rushing to grab your bag and Ridley's jean jacket off the bar.
The skin around your wrist burned from his touch, the rough callouses once a comfort but now felt like coarse sandpaper. You wanted to get under a shower or jump in the sea, hoping to remove the feeling of every memory, kiss, and word.
God, you let him touch you. Do things with you.
You were going to throw up.
God forbid you didn't want to walk home. But you needed to go, be anywhere but here, and you didn't have your car. Barely keeping it together as you took off toward the door, you had half a mind to look up to watch where you were going, deaf to Jake's shouts of your name.
There was Bradley, sitting in the first booth by the door. His brow furrowed as you made your way over to him, probably having witnessed the ordeal. You were too upset even to question why he wasn't marching across the bar, ready to knock Jake to next Sunday.
It had been weeks since the fight, with no communication in between. But it was a distant memory compared to this.
It didn't matter what he implied. It didn't matter what happened in your hallway.
It didn't matter.
It didn't matter.
It didn't matter.
You just needed your friend.
With each step you took toward him, your shame only grew greater. You couldn't even look him in the eye when you stopped, standing next to his side of the booth, hugging yourself tighter.
"Can you take me home, Bradley? I don't want to be here anymore."
Bradley's opportunity to act smug had finally arrived. But he didn't do anything other than frown. Standing up from his booth, he threw a few bills onto the table before blocking everyone's view of you. He placed a comforting hand on your back, gently pressing you forward as he uttered quietly, "Of course I can, Liz."
You kept your head down as you stepped towards the door, but Bradley, so willing to help you without so much of an 'I told you so,' made whatever resolve you had crumble. Your knees wobbled, and your heart dropped into your stomach. You fell, and Bradley's arm whipped out, gripping your hip and pulling you tight to his side to support your weight.
Burying your head into Bradley's shoulder, you hid your face. You didn't want to see the looks of everyone in the Hard Deck, whether pity, concern, or applause, as another wave of tears wrecked your body.
Closing your eyes seemed better than reliving the truth.
And because you kept them shut, you didn't see George place a hand on Jake's shoulder, preventing him from going after you. Nor did you see the look of devastation wreck his face; the weight of every wrong decision he had ever made coming back to haunt him.
Whether Jake turned on a dime to punch George square in the jaw, you heard none of it. You hadn't even bothered to turn back to look as Bradley carried you out the front door.