Page 67 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Gonna buy the lady a shot, since it seems to be her poison of choice tonight.”

The burn of the shot numbs the significance of today’s date and yet does nothing to ease the shock to my system when I glance around and meet the ice in Easton’s eyes.

I should have expected him to be here. It’s the postgame hangout, after all. But I could have handled him if things had stuck to the plan—just Penski and Cameron and me taking a few shots in my brother’s honor on his birthday. Yet another piece of my history that I keep tucked away.

But things didn’t stick to the plan.

Because now I’m seated across from the one man I want to be nowhere near but can’t ask to leave, considering he’s Penski and Cameron’s teammate.

“That was two,” Cameron says with a nod. “Two more and Ford would be pleased.”

“Pour me one.”

I look across the table, and just the sight of him disgusts me. “No.” I snap the word out, causing Penski to nudge my knee under the table.

Santiago just stares at me. The mixture of his dark features, the dim light of the bar, and the fact that he’s in the corner of the booth (thank God) so the shadow of the wall falls over his face makes him seem like the asshole I’ve conjured up in my mind.

And keeps him out of Easton’s line of sight.

Because if there is ice in Easton’s glare at seeing me here with members from the opposing team—or maybe just men in general—then seeing Santiago here would set him off.

No doubt.

Because it sure as hell set me off when he walked in and sat down with us. I protested, told the boys that this was a ritual we’ve always done with just us—the only ones who really knew my brother—but they said it was harmless for Santiago to stay.

But he’s anything but harmless. Not with his curious eyes always watching me. Measuring me. Making it clear he wants me.

The neck of the bottle of tequila clinks against the shot glass as Penski pours Santiago the shot.

“To Ford,” Cameron says, lifting his glass. “It’s been three years without you, brother. It feels like a fucking lifetime since I’ve heard that laugh of yours. Fuck you for leaving us. We miss you.”

“Fuck you, Ford,” the three of us murmur in unison, and then we toss back the shot. This time, the burn is a little less, but the memories are still painful as ever.

In fact, something about this year’s get-together to remember and curse Ford for leaving us behind seems so much harder than the last two.

Maybe it’s because what started out as a promise one drunken night when they were trying to make me feel better over my brother’s death is tonight reminding me that next year I might have to perform two of these memorials instead of just one.

I raise my shot glass. “To my brother,” I whisper as the tears threaten. “You have no idea how much I miss you right now. How much I need your friendship and advice. How, if you were here, I wouldn’t think everyone leaves. What I’d give for one more hour to lie in the long grass at Dad’s and pretend we were the only ones left on Earth. I miss you.”

“Fuck you, Ford,” we say in unison, but when I finish my shot, as my head grows fuzzy and a lone tear slides down my cheek, I add in a whisper, “I love you.”

“I guess shots are the order of the night.” Easton’s voice snaps me from my melancholic fog, and for a split second I forget we have eyes on us. I forget that we are supposed to be trainer and player. Relief floods through me from the presence of the one person I’ve unknowingly started to need.

But just as quick as the relief is the reality that slams into me like a wrecking ball. That Santiago is here. Across from me.

This is trouble.

But Easton’s eyes hold mine, search my face, and when he notices the lone tear sliding down my cheek, he shoots an accusatory glare to Penski and then Cameron. But when his gaze shifts, when he comes to the person cloaked in the shadows of the bar, his expression morphs from curiosity to rage.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” His voice is a growl of unrestrained fury as he pushes his way to the table, testosterone raging and temper raw.

“It’s not what you think.” The words blurt out of my mouth as Penski shoves up from the table, sensing chaos is about to unravel, and steps between Easton and Santiago just as Tino and Drew arrive.

“Not what he thinks?” Santiago chuckles in a low, baiting tone that makes me realize what exactly I’d just implied.

“Leave her the fuck out of this.” Easton tries to push Penski out of the way, his fists clenched and body vibrating with a rage so palpable it rolls off him and slams into me.

“Easy now, Easton.” Penski pushes against Easton’s chest as Drew pulls back on his good shoulder. They can try all they want to prevent the fight, but it’s been brewing for so long I’m not sure anything can stop it now.