Page 7 of Code Word (The Atrous #3)

He put his free hand up in a peaceful surrender. “Nothing. I’m just trying to paint a picture of what happened.”

I let out a sigh, trying not to be so damn defensive, so angry.

So hurt.

But then I noticed Luke and Madz up on the rise with the dogs and Luke was clearly talking, running his hand through his hair, but he was the one who was talking.

To Maddox. Not to me.

And that anger and hurt flared in my chest like a wildfire burning through me. “What the fuck?”

Roscoe’s line of sight went from me to them, back to me. “What’s wrong?”

“Why is he talking to him?”

Roscoe gave me a what-the-fuck look. “What do you mean?”

“Why is he talking to him?” I repeated. “And not me. Why won’t he talk to me? ”

I was so fucking mad—so fucking hurt—that I began to walk toward them, but Roscoe grabbed my arm to stop me.

I shot him and his hand a filthy look. “The fuck, Roscoe?”

Now it was his turn to sigh. “Blake,” he warned. “Let them talk. Isn’t him talking a good thing?”

In that moment, I realized a whole lotta things all at once.

Yes, it was good he was talking. But no, it wasn’t, because he wasn’t talking to me. And he wasn’t talking to me because he didn’t want me anymore.

And I didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but god, I hated how it made me feel.

Like my bones felt wrong.

Then I watched as Luke put his hands on his sides and leaned forward as though he’d just run some sprints, and Maddox put his hand around the back of Luke’s neck and pulled him in for a hug. And Luke went so fucking willingly.

My stomach plummeted to the ground, my legs felt all tingly, and my heart squeezed to the point of pain.

Christ, I wanted to cry.

What the fuck.

I couldn’t get my head around any of it. Or my heart.

And I certainly couldn’t bear watching it.

I turned and went inside, reminding myself to breathe because my lungs wouldn’t fucking work.

I knew then that I was leaving and Luke wasn’t coming with me. I just knew it. Like I knew that something had changed, and our friendship had gone past something it couldn’t return to.

I didn’t understand it, but I understood the hurt, and I understood that Luke didn’t want or need me around.

And the bottom line was, I guess, I didn’t need to know any more than that.

You said you’d give him the time he needed...

Yeah, that was before he broke up with me.

I stripped the bed and folded the blankets, put the fire out, and washed up, needing to do any fucking thing to keep busy.

When I heard the door open and close, I expected to see Roscoe or Maddox inside, but no, it was Luke.

He looked a fucking mess—pale, red eyes, and so fucking tired—and my first instinct was to go to him.

But I couldn’t.

When he saw my bag by the door, he shoved his hands into his hoodie and shrank back into himself, somehow making himself smaller.

“I just need a few days,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I just can’t...”

I dropped the folded duvet onto the bed. “Can’t what? Talk to me? Look at me?”

His face crumpled and he rocked back on his heels, but he swallowed hard and shook off his emotions. He tried to speak, couldn’t, then cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m sorry.”

My gaze cut to his, and so help me, I wanted to go to him. I wanted to hug him, to hold him tight, but he clearly didn’t want that.

“Me too,” I said, trying not to be so bitter.

So hurt.

“I don’t know what I did,” I said. “And I’m trying not to make this about me, but it clearly is, so...” I shrugged. “I guess I’ll see you—” I stopped myself from saying at home because... well, because it wasn’t my home. It was his. “I’ll be at the beach house.”

If you care.

If it means a damn thing.

He looked at the kitchen, the fire, anywhere but at me, and his chin wobbled.

I couldn’t fucking bear it.

I went to him, slid my hand to the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a half-assed hug, kissed the side of his head as some kind of goodbye, then picked up my bag and walked out.

Maddox and Roscoe were standing by the steps to their cabin, and they stopped talking when they saw me. I gave them a salute as I headed to my Range Rover, threw my bag in the backseat, and got in behind the wheel.

Maddox was on his way to my cabin before I even started the engine.

Guess Luke got Maddox in the divorce then.

I would have laughed at that if it didn’t hurt so fucking much.

Because Jesus Christ, that’s what this felt like.

A divorce. A breakup.

I threw the Range Rover into first gear and drove out of there, Roscoe’s sad face the last thing I saw before the tears came.

My place in Malibu was just as I’d left it a few days ago.

Just a few days ago?

God, it felt like weeks.

The house was huge, mostly large, very open, very white spaces. The mass of glass walls that fronted the ocean filled the main living area and kitchen with as much warmth as the winter sun allowed.

The cleaners had been in, but there were no reminders of my week here with Becca and her friends, and for that I was glad.

I needed to call her, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I stared at my phone, at the missed calls, unread texts, and I just couldn’t face any of them.

Maddox, Jeremy, Becca, my mom.

Madz and Jeremy would be calling about Luke, so that was a real big fucking no. Becca would be calling about us or maybe about her brother, and I honestly couldn’t deal with that right now.

Not even my mom’s gentle questions about life. She always circled back to Luke somehow, or Becca, or what the band was doing, and yeah...

Everything was just a big old nope.

The silence and stillness of the house felt like a lesson, a punishment, adding insult to injury.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been alone.

As a kid, maybe?

Since then, I’d had the guys. From fourteen years old, I’d always—always—had the guys, my posse. I was one of five, always. I had the tattoo on my wrist to prove it.

Atrous forever.

Five equal parts of one whole.

Yeah, right.

It didn’t feel much like that right now.

I ran my fingertip across the black ink of the Atrous tattoo we all shared, expecting it to hurt when I touched it.

It didn’t.

It should have.

It should have seared me, as if I’d torn right through the skin. Something, anything to match the burn in my chest.

It was so fucking ridiculous.

It felt like heartbreak, and maybe in some weird way it was.

When relationships and marriages fall apart, there’s a litany of sorry to hear that s and condolences and commiserations.

Sometimes even a congratulations.

But what about when friendships end?

What exactly is the protocol for when a best friend decides it’s over?

How does the one left behind deal with that ?

What the fuck was I supposed to do with my life without my best friend?

I could barely remember a time in my life when Luke wasn’t with me. Certainly not in the last twelve years. He was never more than an arm’s length or a quick text away.

And now I was just expected to do what, exactly?

Be on my own?

Because I no longer had Luke. Maddox was clearly on Luke’s side, and Jeremy would side with Maddox always. Wes was busy with his new family, and...

And I was here, all alone in my too-big house that felt like a hotel more than my home, and there wasn’t one person outside of Atrous I could call.

I was alone.

Could I call Becca or my mom? Sure. But they weren’t who I wanted to speak to. They’d ask questions I didn’t know the answer to.

I could call up an LA A-list party and fill every inch of this house with people, music, and booze.

But not one of those people gave an actual fuck about me; they’d come only for the hype, to be seen, to make a list on Entertainment Tonight of partygoers at Blake Acosta’s Malibu mansion, where they talked about how drunk Blake was without any of the Atrous boys around, and maybe Luke would see it on the TV and maybe he’d feel hurt for not being invited.

Fuck!

I rolled my eyes at myself.

I hated that fake Hollywood shit, and I hated myself for even thinking of doing that...

But getting drunk sure sounded like a really good idea.

And yep, we had that pact where we’d sworn we’d never drink alone. We’d never do shit to deal with the pressure, to escape...

Well, that was an Atrous promise, and Atrous was over— Luke and I were over, and Maddox took his side. The pain behind my ribs reminded me that Atrous was done with me.

I went to my bar, found myself an unopened bottle of expensive Icelandic vodka, and cracked the lid. Not even bothering with a glass or ice or a mixer, I put the bottle to my lips, and breaking the first Atrous promise we ever made together, I closed my eyes and drank.