“Exactly. All these kids straight out of college eagerly looking to one of the best players in the league who was teaching them not the best way to manage their money, nor social responsibility. Instead, they were learning how to manipulate the people closest to them.” Troy shakes his head in disappointment.
“Then why did you stay friends with him?” I challenge.
“I didn’t. Not really,” he hedges.
“Yet, you were going to stand up for him at our wedding.”
“I was because I assumed you were happy.” His eyes hold mine when he asks, “Have you watched any of the videos making their way around the internet?”
“Living through it the first time was enough. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Understandable. If you had, you would have seen me call Bryce out for being such a complete asshole.”
“Excuse me?” I’m flabbergasted.
“What was the last thing you remember from that night?”
It’s like a punch to the stomach when the memory hits me. “You.”
“What about me?”
“You're saying you never cheated on anyone because you never…overlapped…women,” I paraphrase.
Troy pulls out his phone and scrolls his finger from left to right before handing it to me. “Press play.”
Nausea churns in my gut as I recognize the setting. It’s Bryce’s backyard the night of the engagement party. I try to shove his phone back at him. “I don’t want to watch this.”
“You need to,” he insists.
“No, I don’t.”
“You do, because I need you to know I’m not an asshole.” The words lay between us, casting one of the many shadows the castle boasts as part of its brand.
I look down at the screen for a long minute before pressing play. That’s when Troy’s voice comes through the speaker, loud and clear as if the past him were sitting in front of me instead of trapped in the permanent legacy of the internet.
“I refuse.”
“What?” Bryce squawks. “What do you mean you won’t stand up for me? You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“Because you’re a piece of shit, Parry.”
“What? Why?”
“Maya deserves someone better than you.”
Bryce scoffs. “Maya knew who she was marrying.”
“Did she? Does she know about all your other women?”
“She’s smart.”
“That’s right. And one, five, ten years from now—hell, five minutes—I want her to know I didn’t stand by and sanction you knowingly ruining her life.”
“Fuck you, Walsh!”
“No, go fuck yourself. It might be a novel experience if you use your hand instead of filling some random hole.”
Bryce’s face is puce; he’s so livid. “If you think I’m not going to marry her, you’re crazy. She loves me. She always will.”
