He’d pulled the container of spaghetti toward himself and was halfway through a bite, sauce on the corner of his mouth, fork clinking clumsily against the cardboard.
I stopped short.
“Brandon,” I said, then paused. I could’ve just killed him right there. Could’ve just finally snapped. Instead, I asked, “Did you drive here?”
He shook his head, chewing. “Nah. Took a cab.”
“Okay,” I said. I set the water down in front of him. “Drink this.”
He did, obediently, spilling a little on the coffee table before laughing again.
“Sorry,” he said, not really looking at me.
I sat down beside him, leaving a careful space between us, I didn’t trust myself, not to strangle him. The candle flickered quietly in the corner.
“I thought tonight was date night,” I said eventually. My voice sounded calm, but it took effort.
“It was,” he replied, getting up. “I mean, it is. I just… went out after work. Lost track.”
Brandon kept talking.
“I didn’t get that promotion,” he said, now pacing unevenly in front of the couch, “I swear to you, everyone in that room thought it was mine. Everyone. They were already congratulating me before the meeting even started.”
I stayed quiet, watching him carefully.
“And then my boss stands up there,” Brandon continued, his voice rising, “with that stupid tight smile he gets when he knows he’s screwing someone over, and he says Dave’s name.”
I frowned. “Dave?”
“Yeah. Dave,” he snapped. “The guy who’s been talking about quitting for six months.”
He laughed, without humor. “Can you imagine that? They give the promotion to the bastard who was halfway out the door.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration pouring off him. “I’m sitting there thinking, this has to be a joke. It has to be.”
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.
“Afterward,” he went on, slurring just slightly now, “my boss pulls me aside. Tells me upper management really appreciates my work. The fucker says, I’m next in line. Next in line.” He scoffed. “Like that’s supposed to make it better.”
He shook his head, jaw tight. “I busted my ass for that place, Claire. And they hand it to him.”
This was the most candid I’d ever heard him. Usually he kept things guarded, filtered. Tonight, there was no filter at all.
I understood why he was angry. I really did. But the way his voice kept rising, the way his hands wouldn’t stay still, made my stomach tighten. I didn’t like being around angry drunk people. I never had.
His hand tightened around the glass.
“And I’m supposed to just take that?” he scoffed. “Smile and wait my turn?”
Before I could answer, he picked up his glass and hurled it across the room.
It shattered against the wall.
The sound was sharp and violent, glass exploding outward. I shielded my face where I stood, my heart slamming hard enoughto make my vision blur. For a second, I didn’t remember how to move.
Then someone stepped in front of me.
A solid presence. Broad shoulders. A body placed deliberately between me and the mess.
