Jake tips his chin. “What’s with the new guy?”
Heather huffs. “That’s Travis, and he’s having just as great of a day as you two,” she says, then walks away to help another customer.
Jake and I drink in silence for a moment, both of us in our own head. Wallowing in our own self-pity one beer at a time. The TV above the bar is playing highlights from last night’s game.Thisis my normal. This is safe territory. No breeding ground for heartbreak.
“You should go,” my brother says finally.
“To the party? Fuck no.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a Valentine’s Day party, and,” I can’t believe I’m saying this, “even if I wanted to go—which Idon’t—it’s not fair to her.”
“What’s not fair?”
“She just got out of a relationship. She doesn’t need some asshole who…” I trail off, not having the words or desire to finish that sentence.
“Who what?”
I drain my beer. “I need to move.”
“Or you could just go to the party.”
“Not happening.”
“It’s eight-thirty. Party started at seven. You could swing by, make an appearance, leave after ten minutes.”
“OrI could stay here and drink until I forget this entire day.”
Jake studies me for a long moment. “You know what? Fine. Stay here. Be miserable. Keep pushing away anyone who might actually give a damn about you.”
“Jake—”
“I’m serious. You want to know whyI’mstill single? Because I watched my brother shut down completely after one bad experience. I thought to myself, if someone as loyal and grounded as you could get destroyed like that, what chance do I have?”
His words hit harder than I expect.
Heather appears with another round we didn’t order. “On the house,” she says. “For the Harrison brothers’ pity party.”
“We’re not—”
“You are.” She leans on the bar. “But what do I know? I just watch sad men drink away their feelings every February 14th.”
She walks away again, and Jake raises his beer. “To Valentine’s Day. The worst fucking holiday ever invented.”
I clink my bottle against his, but my heart’s not in it. I keep thinking about Molly asking if she’ll see me tonight. That teasing smile. The hope in her voice.
The way she felt in my arms for those few seconds.
“I’m an idiot,” I mutter.
“Yep,” Jake agrees, patting me on the shoulder. “But you’re figuring that out, which is progress.”
I check my phone. 8:47 PM. The party’s been going for almost two hours, she’s probably given up on me showing up. Hell, she’s probably talking to someone else by now. Someone who doesn’t have my baggage, my anger, my inability to—
“Go.”
I turn to my brother. “What?”
