Page 88 of Unlocked Dive

I need this day to be over. I need it to never end.

“Take me to bed, Coen. Please?”

37

Byrd

“Byrd.”

I know that voice.

What the fuck is James doing in our bedroom? Echo better be under the covers and not flashing his ass, or I might have to kill my friend despite the pounding in my head. And why is my face wet?

I open my eyes. A dimly lit room that is definitely not my cabin swims blearily into view, framing the bulky shoulders and brunette head of my ex-brother-in-law.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Clancey called me.” James jerks his head at the graying bartender, who gives me a wry smile and a shrug. Traitor. “The question is, what areyoudoing back in the old neighborhood getting plastered by yourself on a Sunday night?”

Fuck. Everything hurts, but when I try to close my eyes again, all I see is an empty pillow with an Echo-shaped imprint marring the 1600 thread-count cotton like a bitter haunting.

Reality isn’t much better, though. James’s coffee-colored eyes are rich with concern, and I’m pretty sure the puddle under mycheek is whiskey. At least it smells like the good stuff. I lift my head from my arms and squeeze the bridge of my nose in a futile attempt to stem the throb settling in behind my eyes.

“What time is it?” If I’m already halfway to hungover, it’s probably too late to make the drive back to Mendo, even if I was in any condition to navigate the dark and twisty deathtrap of the 128.

“Ten past seven.”

“You’ve been camped on that stool since noon,” Clancey adds, oh so helpfully, and exchanges a significant look with my friend. Assuming we’re still friends. I haven’t talked to him since the semi-disastrous visit when Echo—

“Give me another shot of Basil, Clance.” If I’m stuck in the city for another night, I might as well see if I can crawl back into oblivion. Thinking is clearly a terrible idea. “Please.”

“I think you’re all good, buddy,” James says, laying a hand on my back. “Why don’t you come crash at my place and let me get some food into you.”

“Not afraid the guy who likes dick might try something if you bring him home drunk?”Shit. I’m not usually this good at being an asshole. The lines around James’s mouth tighten under his short beard, but he only shakes his head and gently tries to pry me off the barstool.

“I think I can handle you.”

I let him drag me to my feet but only make it as far as the first empty high-top table. The surface is blessedly whiskey-free, and I slump wearily into the matching chair before burying my face in my hands.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble through my fingers. “I’m a shitty boyfriend.”

“You’re not my boyfriend. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you were a shitty husband to Lara, either.”

“Lara? I’m talking about Echo.”

He sighs and slides into the tall chair across from me, signaling Clancey over my shoulder. “The kid? Sorry.” He lifts his hands in apology when I level a glare at him. “Theguyyou were…”

“Fucking. We were fucking each other.”

“Okay, man. It’s cool.”

Clancey appears and sets a glass of ice water in front of me and a pint of dark beer in front of James.

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s wrong. We weren’t just fucking. I…he was—Goddammit.” Ice clinks and water sloshes over my fingers as I shove the glass away.

“You were in a relationship?”

“I’m fucking in love with him.” I slam both hands down hard enough that the table tilts alarmingly as the matchbooks holding it level shoot out from under the leg to skitter across the floor. James grabs both glasses before they topple.