“And you look . . .” Fucking amazing. Perfect. Even better than on TV. “Drunk. What the hell are you doing here, Hunt?”
His grin was lazy, lopsided. “I’m on vacation.” He raised a finger to his mouth. “Shh, don’t tell anyone. Top secret.”
Devon braced his hands on the table and sank onto the bench seat on the other side of the booth, not sure his legs were going to continue to hold him up. “Vacation?”
Hunter lifted his glass. “You know I haven’t had alcohol in four years.”
Four years. Which was exactly how long it’d been since Devon had last seen him. He tried to take a breath, but the room seemed to have less air in it than a moment before. He ran through the reasons why Hunter could possibly be here right now. Drinking. In his bar.
The guy had become the poster child of clean living after a bad car accident in college. And over the last few years, the sports media had nearly canonized him for the turnaround. The congressman’s son. The stellar pitcher. The all-American guy with the beauty queen girlfriend.
Not that Devon had been paying attention. Or recording every game he pitched.
God, he was pathetic.
He cleared his throat, trying to come up with something to say. “Why are you drinking now?”
Hunter pointed at him, his finger wavering. “Good question.”
He followed up with a sage nod like he’d explained everything.
Fuck. The guy was hammered. The waitress probably hadn’t blinked at letting Hunter order a few glasses. He was big and broad—a guy who looked able to handle his liquor. But Hunter’s tolerance had always been low, and if he’d been sober for four years, that would only have made it worse. Devon grabbed the stem of Hunter’s half-empty glass, moved it to the side, and then replaced the spot in front of him with the flatbread. “You need to eat something, big man.”
The old nickname rolled off of Dev’s tongue before he caught it, and Hunter stiffened. Sober awareness flickered in his dark eyes, as if the words had snapped him temporarily from the wine haze. He shook his head. “Need to go.”
He shifted as if to stand, but Devon jumped up and put a firm hand on Hunter’s shoulder, pushing him back down. Their gazes locked for a moment, Devon looming over Hunter, the position dragging him back to memories he didn’t want to access right now, fantasies he’d conjured since. He shook them off and cleared his throat. “No way. Not until you eat something and sober up. Did you take a cab here?”
“Rental.”
“You’re definitely not going anywhere, then. Try to leave, and I’ll have my bar manager call the cops.”
Hunter’s expression soured at that, and he shrugged from beneath Dev’s touch. “I’m fine.”
“You’re wasted. Let’s not test fate to see if you can survive two drunk driving accidents. I think one may have been your limit.”
He looked away, grimacing.
Devon tucked his hands in his pockets, trying to keep his cool. “We’re about to close, and I’ll be here for a while getting everything wrapped up for the night. Eat and get your head clear, then we’ll figure out where you’re supposed to be and how to get you there.”
Hunter’s phone vibrated on the table, the screen lighting up with a text message. Hunter’s gaze shifted that way, his jaw flexing. A few messages looked to be unanswered.
Devon forced himself not to read what was on the screen, but he caught the name Macy. The girlfriend. “Someone looking for you?”
“She’s just checking that I got here okay,” he mumbled. “Can’t talk to her like this.”
“You could just text her back.”
He closed his eyes and squeezed his temples. “She likes to say goodnight in person every night. It’s her thing.”
“Well, it’s a shame how loud this bar is tonight. You’d never be able to hear her pretty voice,” Dev said, unable to hide the sarcasm in his tone.
Hunter looked up and glanced around at the now-empty bar. “What?”
Devon picked up Hunter’s phone. “What do you call her?”
“Huh?
“Pet name?” The words tasted bitter crossing his tongue, but he forced them past without a hint of emotion. “Sweetie, baby, sugar dumpling, what is it?”
Hunter glanced down at his flatbread and picked at the crust. “Sweetheart.”
Devon gave him a stiff smile. “Great.” He started typing and reciting the words for Hunter. “Hey, sweetheart, got into town a little late and am grabbing a bite to eat. Really loud in here so I can’t call. Miss you already.” He showed the screen to Hunter. “That work?”
Hunter’s gaze met his, some of the bleariness clearing as their stares held for a few seconds too long. “Add ‘I love you.’”
The simple words jabbed right into Devon’s side, twisted. “Of course.” He finished the message, pressed Send, and tossed the phone on the table. “Problem solved. Now eat. I’m going to send over a cheese and cracker plate, too. And some coffee.”
Hunter opened his mouth like he was about to protest, but Devon leveled him with a look that shut him up. Dev would’ve normally gotten some satisfaction from silencing Mr. Powerful Baseball Star with a simple look, but he couldn’t enjoy it.
Whatever reason Hunter was here wasn’t a good one. You don’t pop up back into someone’s life after years of radio silence to have a drink and a round of shoot the shit with your former college roommate—especially not with the gay roommate who let things go too far the last night you saw each other.
“Everything okay?” Paul asked as Devon cruised past him. “Want me to call him a cab?”
Dev slowed his step and turned to look at the booth he’d left. All he could see was the back of Hunter’s baseball cap. He loosened his necktie. “No, I’ve got him. He’s an old friend. I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”
Paul’s eyebrows scaled up his forehead. “To his home or yours?”
“It’s not like that.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, leaning on his elbows. “He’s gorgeous.”
“And straight.”
And engaged.
And famous.
And here.
This was going to be bad.
Chapter 3
Hunter stood a few steps down the sidewalk, inhaling the crisp night air and trying to get his head clear as he watched Devon lock the back door of the restaurant. Hunter had sat in the place for a good hour and a half and had eaten what he could. He could see straight again, but his muscles were in knots. What the fuck had he been thinking driving here and blindsiding Devon like this?
His original plan had been to lie low, to just see the place and maybe catch a glimpse of Devon—satisfy his curiosity. But his nerves had taken over, and he’d ordered a glass of wine . . . and another . . . and another. He’d never had problems with addiction. He’d given up alcohol after the accident as a PR move. His father had wanted an “action plan” so that his constituents could see he was handling the situation with his errant son, and he wanted to make sure no baseball teams would be scared to take a look at Hunter. But tonight Hunter had seen the appeal in drinking away the worries. He’d been feeling no pain by the time he’d gotten up enough nerve to ask for Dev.
Then he’d seen him and all had gone to shit. Parts of his former best friend still looked like the guy he remembered. His sable brown hair was still a little too long, though he’d ditched the bright purple streaks he’d had in college, and that tilted smirk still said he knew more than he was letting on. But this version—the suit, the air of authority, the way he took up space in a room—was a lot more sophisticated and refined. Dev had grown up while Hunter had continued on being what he always had been, a ballplayer, a congressman’s son—suspended animation. The space between their orbits had always been broad, but now it felt like they inhabited different galaxies. He shouldn’t be here.
Dev turned and tucked his hands in his slacks, eyeing Hunter. “I still can’t let you drive. You realize that, right?”
&
nbsp; “I can call a cab.”
Devon frowned. “Where are you staying?”
“Uh, it’s some kind of spa place. The Creekwater? Something like that.”
Devon sniffed. “It’s the Creekwood. Pretty swank setup I’ve heard. Great honeymoon spot. Meeting your girl there?”
“No. She sent me out here to get some time away. She has a friend who works there who’s supposed to set me up with whatever I need.”
“Right now all you need is a bed so you can sleep it off.” He glanced over at a tired-looking Nissan. “It’ll take forever to get a cab down here. I can park your rental in an employee space and no one will mess with it. The hotel can set you up with a cab in the morning to come back and pick it up.”
“You don’t have to—”
Devon held his hand out for Hunter’s keys. “No, I don’t, but you apparently came out here for some reason, so you may as well tell me why. You can talk while I drive.”
Hunter scrubbed a hand over his face and dropped his keys into Devon’s palm. Is that why he’d come out here? To talk? He didn’t know anymore. He watched as Devon relocated the rental and then followed Dev to the Nissan. He pulled open the creaky door and folded himself inside. The seat groaned beneath him.
Devon got into the driver’s seat and stabbed the key into the ignition, his profile tense. “If you need more leg room, you’re going to have to shake the handle beneath the seat a little. It’s temperamental.”
Hunter reached between his thighs and grabbed the bar, trying to adjust the seat. It slid back with a hard jolt. “Your suit looks like it costs more than this car.”
Devon glanced over, his blue-eyed gaze flicking down to Hunter’s loose, wide-legged pose before snapping back upward. “The customers see the suit. They don’t see what I drive. Got to allocate the money where it counts the most, right?”
Hunter shrugged. “I guess.”
Devon’s lip curled. “What the hell am I saying? Like you would know anything about allocating money. I’m sure you have assistants for your assistants who do that for you.”
The little jab stung. It was one he wouldn’t have expected from Devon. Dev had been one of the few who hadn’t looked at him as a silver-spooned rich boy or the popular athlete in college. He’d gotten to know him, Hunter, not the son of Tom Riley, not the star pitcher. It’d been one reason why they’d become such fast friends. But he had to remind himself that this wasn’t the Devon he used to know. This was a Devon he’d hurt. A Devon he’d cut out of his life.
Devon turned onto the mostly deserted city streets and headed toward the on ramp for the highway. Music played low in the background, but Hunter couldn’t focus on anything besides the fact that he was in Dallas in a car with Devon after all this time. How many times had they ridden just like this, laughing about things, giving each other shit, or singing along to the radio? An old ache opened up in his chest—one where friendship and comfort and other warm things used to reside. He rubbed the spot with the heel of his hand.
Devon peered over, expression shuttered. “So, you gonna to tell me why you’re here?”
“I told you. My fiancée sent me out here to take a vacation.”
“Not why you’re in Dallas, Hunt, why you were in my bar.”
A thousand answers jumped to his lips. Because I needed to see you. Because I’ve missed you. Because I couldn’t not. “I need a best man for my wedding, and Macy thought you’d be a good choice.”
A brittle laugh burst out of Devon at that. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Hunter turned away, staring out the windows as the car picked up speed and merged onto the highway. He imagined the vehicles whizzing by crashing into each other and piling up. He still had nightmares that looked like that.
“You’re serious? The girl you’re marrying wanted you to come find me to be your best man?”
He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “She heard we were close.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Devon muttered.
“She doesn’t know that stuff.” He shifted in his seat. “No one does.”
“I’m surprised you’re even admitting there was stuff. I figured all of that would’ve been obliterated in that convenient memory loss the accident caused.”
Memory loss? Hunter wished. He hadn’t forgotten anything about the accident. Hadn’t forgotten the way the alcohol had dulled the fear, or the way the roads had swayed in his vision, how the tree had looked much farther away than it actually was. Hadn’t forgotten that feeling that his life was ripping apart right down the middle and he was going to have to jump to one side or be eaten up by the abyss between.
And he also hadn’t forgotten about waking up in the hospital with Devon by his side. Dev had been crying, his eyes puffy as he slept with his head propped on Hunter’s hospital bed. The comfort Hunter had felt having him there had been unparalleled, and he’d reached out to stroke Devon’s head. But then Hunter’s father had stormed in and saw the simple exchange, took in Devon’s purple-streaked hair, his clothes, made his own assumptions. His dad had been so rude to Devon, telling him only family was allowed in. Dev had told him he was a friend, but Hunter’s father had said, “My son doesn’t hang out with people like you. I suggest you stay away from him.”
When Devon had walked out, Hunter tried to protest but the pain meds made his speech fall apart and not make sense. All he’d gotten out was that Devon was his roommate, that he didn’t want him to leave, and that he needed his dad to call him back.
But his father had leaned close to him, eyes steely, and his low voice full of threat. “If you think I haven’t figured out what’s going on, you’re sorely mistaken. And I don’t care how injured you are right now, son. If you so much as look that boy’s way again, I will leave you here on your own with the medical bills, the drunk driving charges, and your college tuition bill without looking back. You will not humiliate me over some twisted hormones. That boy is trying to bring you over to his disgusting ways, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen.”
Hunter had always known what awaited him if he rebelled against his dad. All the security, everything he’d known, would’ve disappeared. He’d seen his father cut people out of his life, including family, for much more minor offenses. And in that moment, Hunter had been terrified at the thought of being on his own at twenty years old, facing the unknown and possible criminal charges with no money in his pocket and no place to go, especially when his leg was shattered and he had no idea if the one thing that was supposed to be his ticket out from under his family’s thumb, his athletic ability, was going to be taken away.
He’d wanted to be the kind of guy who would be brave, who would tell his dad to take his money and fuck off, to not let anyone lay judgment on him or Devon. But when Devon had tried to sneak in a visit the next day, his dad intercepted. And when Devon had looked Hunter’s way, questions there, Hunter closed his eyes like he was still out of it from pain meds and hadn’t said a damn word.
The abyss had opened up and he chose a side.
Watching Devon walk away that last time had scooped his fucking guts out, but he’d taken the coward’s way.
A part of him had always known it would end badly with him and Devon. The secret had been hovering over him like a black rain cloud from the moment he and Dev had moved into the same room at the frat house. If Hunter’s father had known his roommate was openly gay, he would’ve pulled the plug on that from the start. But Hunter had kept it all a secret that whole year. He’d been in California, thousands of miles away from the critical eye of his family, and he’d been determined not to be like his father. He’d spent too many years watching his father judge and categorize people like he was some divine authority. Growing up, Hunter hadn’t even been allowed to have friends whose parents fell under a certain income bracket.
So when Devon had strolled into his life, Hunter embraced him. The kid had been kicked out of his family for being gay, the frat was more than a little uncom
fortable about it, and Hunter wasn’t going to be another asshole to judge him. He’d volunteered to room with him at the frat house when all the other guys were freaked out by it, and he’d made a point to not just be friends with him but to be completely comfortable around him. To be free.
They’d become friendly and affectionate. If Dev playfully flirted, Hunter had dished it back out. They’d shared a room, had become best friends, and hadn’t drawn any weird lines. After a while, the other guys in the frat had seen how at ease they both were and became relaxed, too. It’d been perfect.
Until Hunter had gotten his head all screwed up about it and crossed the boundaries of friendship. “I didn’t forget.”
Dev’s jaw twitched. “So you’re telling me you came all the way out here after four years of not speaking to me to ask me to be in your wedding? That’s bullshit. And if it’s not bullshit, then you’re an even bigger asshole than I thought.”
“I don’t want you to be in my goddamned wedding. I just—I was here. I thought I’d come to see you.” He hated the way his voice sounded—seeking, defensive.
Devon’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel, restrained anger evident in each curl of his hand. “Is this like the AA thing where you go say sorry to everyone you pissed off before you move forward? Tie up everything in neat bows before you walk down the aisle and into happily every after?”
“What? No.” He took off his cap and raked a hand through his hair.
“Or maybe you just need one more time with a guy before the big day to make sure any of those rogue gay urges are fully out of your system.”
He stiffened at the stinging tone and suggestion. “No, I—fuck, never mind.” He slouched in the too-small seat, pulling his hat low over his eyes, and glared out the window. “Just get me to the resort. I shouldn’t have shown up tonight. This was a mistake.”
“Heh.” Devon sniffed. “You seem to make those a lot around me. Guess some things haven’t changed.”
Hunter leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, remembering the last time he’d uttered that same phrase. No, some things hadn’t changed.