God, this was a long night.
>> Ivy Langley continued from you should see me in a crown
She'd lost track of time ages ago; alcohol had that effect on her. Not that it mattered, not that anyone was home to be angry with her if she came back late or not at all. She didn't really have a plan there, now that she thought about it. Had she booked the limo for a round trip? Was she supposed to be staying at Bret's? Maybe she should have figured this out before she started drinking. Whatever. Worst case scenario she'd pass out on a couch somewhere and deal with it in the morning. Wait, whose house was this again?
She took another sip from her solo cup; she hadn't brought her own drinks for once, and unfortunately the party was primarily stocked with beer, but she'd found a bottle of vodka that had probably belonged to someone in particular but whatever, they'd left it unoccupied and that was their own problem. And there'd been some orange juice in whoever's-house-this-was's fridge, and that was good enough for her. She observed from her spot on a grotty couch against a far wall; her surroundings hadn't changed much in the hour or two she'd been here. It wasn't as crowded as prom had been, or that party at Mikki's a few months back for that matter, but it was a good size for someone's basement, like 20 or 30 kids, probs. The music was louder than it had been at prom, the dancing was a whole lot raunchier, and there were a lot more couples making out in spots that barely qualified as private.
It was a pretty typical party, in other words, though everyone was much better dressed.
She'd danced, she was sure, at some point. Or maybe that was at prom? It was starting to blend together. Her name being called as prom queen stood out in her memory like a spotlight, a moment frozen in time—the crown was placed on her head (where it still sat, not like she had anywhere else to put it), she'd danced with Connor Lorenzen and didn't hate it, and that was it. There'd been more dancing. There was food. Now she was here, and there was more dancing, and food. At least there was booze, this time.
What was the point of all of this? She'd already thought that dozens of times, since that moment, but it kept coming back to her. Like this was supposed to be some big capstone moment, but school started again on Monday, and there was still graduation and the senior trip to think about, so it just seemed kind of arbitrary, and yet it did still feel like an ending of some sort, and fuck, didn't she start drinking so she'd stop thinking this hard?
Myles was off somewhere. With his date, presumably, which was not an unreasonable place for him to be. But she missed his presence, which had been more or less constant during prom itself. Loneliness was an odd feeling to take to a party. She leaned back on the couch, idly sipping at her makeshift screwdriver. She should find Bret, maybe. He'd said he wanted to talk to someone, she thought, or something. That felt like a long time ago, but maybe it wasn't.
She wondered if he was avoiding her on purpose. They'd spent barely any time together, tonight, but who knew whose fault that was.
heaven help me for the way i am
how the hell did we get here (private)
heaven help me for the way i am
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Bret though prom had been good. Nothing special, but it had been enjoyable enough. After attending he was of the opinion that it was overhyped. But that didn't bother him too much, as far as probable last nights with his friends and peers on the team all together going it had been fun enough. Ivy had won prom queen with Connor as prom king, which had been a funny development. Bret wasn't bothered by it. The entire king and queen dance was just a fun little tradition. There was nothing more to it than that really. Plus, Ivy had been going on about winning queen for ages so Bret was glad it had gone her way. The alternative for his night was not worth thinking about. So in his overall assessment, it had been a good night.
He was stood at the island in the kitchen with Connor and a couple of other guys drinking a beer and discussing stuff. It was general talk about the schools they were going to and their college programs. Interesting enough, but they had been having variations of the conversation all night. The other main topic was their memories of games they'd played or trips they'd taken as a group. It was all classic end of an era stuff. The topics you spoke about when you knew you'd all be going your separate ways. Bret knew that he would see them again come Monday and over summer as well—they all lived in the same city after all—but the formality of prom made it all feel more official.
Ivy was around somewhere. He made a note to seek her out after he finished up his beer. He knew what she could be like if she didn't feel the correct amount of attention was being given to her. It was a hassle but it was one of the things you needed to be aware of. Connor had told him as much back when they had first begun talking in earnest. He had said it was advice rather than a warning, but Bret had quickly found out that he was underselling it. Regardless, he had done his due diligence, congratulating her on her prom queen win and allowing her to drag him onto the dance floor.
He took a quick look at the contents of his cup to find it rather light. Bret weighed up his options for a moment, then he reached out and cracked open another can of PBR to pour into it, he had time. As he did so he spoke.
"Remember the coach ride back from Memphis? When the tire went out as we were going through that national park and we got so bored waiting for them to fix it we started hiding each other's bags? Then we threw Beau's into that tree?"
He chuckled at the memory.
He was stood at the island in the kitchen with Connor and a couple of other guys drinking a beer and discussing stuff. It was general talk about the schools they were going to and their college programs. Interesting enough, but they had been having variations of the conversation all night. The other main topic was their memories of games they'd played or trips they'd taken as a group. It was all classic end of an era stuff. The topics you spoke about when you knew you'd all be going your separate ways. Bret knew that he would see them again come Monday and over summer as well—they all lived in the same city after all—but the formality of prom made it all feel more official.
Ivy was around somewhere. He made a note to seek her out after he finished up his beer. He knew what she could be like if she didn't feel the correct amount of attention was being given to her. It was a hassle but it was one of the things you needed to be aware of. Connor had told him as much back when they had first begun talking in earnest. He had said it was advice rather than a warning, but Bret had quickly found out that he was underselling it. Regardless, he had done his due diligence, congratulating her on her prom queen win and allowing her to drag him onto the dance floor.
He took a quick look at the contents of his cup to find it rather light. Bret weighed up his options for a moment, then he reached out and cracked open another can of PBR to pour into it, he had time. As he did so he spoke.
"Remember the coach ride back from Memphis? When the tire went out as we were going through that national park and we got so bored waiting for them to fix it we started hiding each other's bags? Then we threw Beau's into that tree?"
He chuckled at the memory.
Connor Lorenzen tipped the plastic cup back and swallowed a mouthful of beer, the smile on his face matched by the rhythmic rising and falling of his shoulders as he silently chuckled at the memory Bret was referring to. Those had been the days - the days that made it all worthwhile. Football wasn't just about the games, after all. It was about the practices, the bus trips to and from games; the locker room camaraderie; the friends that they made along the way. All of that made up the experience that was high school football, and for many of them, it was the last hurrah. Those memories would sustain them for years to come, well into adulthood.
That Connor - and Bret, for that matter - would almost certainly graduate to the next level of memories just made them that much sweeter.
It wasn't the last hurrah. They were just getting started.
((Connor Lorenzen continued from you should see me in a crown))
Gesturing with his cup, Connor swallowed the remainder of his beer and nodded at the story. He remembered that particular trip well, so he continued.
"Oh, lord. He looked everywhere for that damn thing. Y'all had him around the bus, across the road, into the ditch..."
He looked down at the beer, and chuckled again.
"Meanwhile I'm standin' - leanin' against the tree, just watching it all happen. He didn't even think to check. Just figured I wouldn't be in on it!"
Connor took another sip from the cup, and then waggled his finger at Bret.
"But then, you remember when he found it, right? He tried to talk Wyatt into boosting him-" His recollection was cut off by another laugh. Beau hadn't been the most assertive of folks - kickers usually weren't, so watching him try and talk Wyatt Carter into giving him a boost so he could climb into a tree had been like trying to dig out of jail with a limp noodle and a damp paper bag.
Connor shook his head, looking at his friends and teammates around the table. This had been an interesting night, no doubt. Prom had been - by all accounts - a success. He'd somehow managed to be named prom king with Ivy as his queen, and Madison hadn't skinned him alive once he'd found her post-dance. She hadn't been enthused, of course, but she'd kept her frustration to a minimum, which had made the remainder of prom enjoyable. He'd been sure to spend the majority of his time with Madison, and he wasn't entirely sure, but he figured that it made things that much better in her eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings, and even though him and Ivy had history, it was just that. Madison was the one whose feelings were most important to him now.
Once prom had ended, the lot of them had made their way to the after-party, a simple thing for him considering that the after-party was taking place at his own home. His parents were out of town on business, and they'd put anything truly expensive or valuable under electronic lock and key. This wasn't Swiftball part two, by any stretch. The only people he'd invited had been his close friends, football teammates, and a few other random friends that he thought might have been responsible.
He just wanted something small and enjoyable, not rowdy and raucous. So here they were. Thankfully with the reduced number of people and the size of his house, the partygoers weren't tripping over one another, and the vibe was perfect. The right people were here, and he couldn't imagine things going any better. Furrowing his brow as he tried to recall the end of the story, he gestured at Bret.
"How did he end up gettin' it down? I think I was laughin' too hard, I honestly don't recall."
That Connor - and Bret, for that matter - would almost certainly graduate to the next level of memories just made them that much sweeter.
It wasn't the last hurrah. They were just getting started.
((Connor Lorenzen continued from you should see me in a crown))
Gesturing with his cup, Connor swallowed the remainder of his beer and nodded at the story. He remembered that particular trip well, so he continued.
"Oh, lord. He looked everywhere for that damn thing. Y'all had him around the bus, across the road, into the ditch..."
He looked down at the beer, and chuckled again.
"Meanwhile I'm standin' - leanin' against the tree, just watching it all happen. He didn't even think to check. Just figured I wouldn't be in on it!"
Connor took another sip from the cup, and then waggled his finger at Bret.
"But then, you remember when he found it, right? He tried to talk Wyatt into boosting him-" His recollection was cut off by another laugh. Beau hadn't been the most assertive of folks - kickers usually weren't, so watching him try and talk Wyatt Carter into giving him a boost so he could climb into a tree had been like trying to dig out of jail with a limp noodle and a damp paper bag.
Connor shook his head, looking at his friends and teammates around the table. This had been an interesting night, no doubt. Prom had been - by all accounts - a success. He'd somehow managed to be named prom king with Ivy as his queen, and Madison hadn't skinned him alive once he'd found her post-dance. She hadn't been enthused, of course, but she'd kept her frustration to a minimum, which had made the remainder of prom enjoyable. He'd been sure to spend the majority of his time with Madison, and he wasn't entirely sure, but he figured that it made things that much better in her eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings, and even though him and Ivy had history, it was just that. Madison was the one whose feelings were most important to him now.
Once prom had ended, the lot of them had made their way to the after-party, a simple thing for him considering that the after-party was taking place at his own home. His parents were out of town on business, and they'd put anything truly expensive or valuable under electronic lock and key. This wasn't Swiftball part two, by any stretch. The only people he'd invited had been his close friends, football teammates, and a few other random friends that he thought might have been responsible.
He just wanted something small and enjoyable, not rowdy and raucous. So here they were. Thankfully with the reduced number of people and the size of his house, the partygoers weren't tripping over one another, and the vibe was perfect. The right people were here, and he couldn't imagine things going any better. Furrowing his brow as he tried to recall the end of the story, he gestured at Bret.
"How did he end up gettin' it down? I think I was laughin' too hard, I honestly don't recall."
Bret laughed along with Connor as he replayed the memory in his head. It was a very specific type of memory, one that only mattered to the people who were around for it. If they told the story to anyone else it would have been met with a blank look and the question of it was supposed to be funny. It only mattered to them because they had happened to be there, for anyone else it was a totally unremarkable story that was the same as many others they had probably heard before. The context of the story was everything after all.
Bret took a sip of his newly filled drink before responding to Connors question.
"In the end, I think me and Ace took pity on him and helped him get it."
Bret raised the cup to his lips and took another gulp.
"It was a good one though, I don't think he would have found it."
Bret swirled the liquid in his cup around a bit as he thought about things for a little bit.
The after party was in full swing, but it was far more relaxed than both what prom and swiftball had been. God forbid they had another swiftball on their hands. It was Connor's house though, so practically every guest knew the rules. Don't fuck about and don't be a stupid dickhead or the entire George Hunter High defense would be escorting you out. Still, Bret felt like something was missing, it was only a little something but he thought it would really give the party that special feeling it seemed to be lacking. Was it a suggestion he would normally make? No. But call it the alcohol he had already consumed or the feeling of the night itself, something in the air made Bret thing it was something worth doing.
"Hey Connor," He said as he rested his cup on the table. "Your parents must have a pretty nice liquor cabinet right?"
Bret took a sip of his newly filled drink before responding to Connors question.
"In the end, I think me and Ace took pity on him and helped him get it."
Bret raised the cup to his lips and took another gulp.
"It was a good one though, I don't think he would have found it."
Bret swirled the liquid in his cup around a bit as he thought about things for a little bit.
The after party was in full swing, but it was far more relaxed than both what prom and swiftball had been. God forbid they had another swiftball on their hands. It was Connor's house though, so practically every guest knew the rules. Don't fuck about and don't be a stupid dickhead or the entire George Hunter High defense would be escorting you out. Still, Bret felt like something was missing, it was only a little something but he thought it would really give the party that special feeling it seemed to be lacking. Was it a suggestion he would normally make? No. But call it the alcohol he had already consumed or the feeling of the night itself, something in the air made Bret thing it was something worth doing.
"Hey Connor," He said as he rested his cup on the table. "Your parents must have a pretty nice liquor cabinet right?"
The smile on his face never left as he nodded, laughing along with Bret. That had been a hell of a story for those involved, and had ended up starting a running gag on the team in which Beau's belongings were regularly pilfered on team outings. By the end of the season, the hapless kicker had just leaned in to the joke, and they'd started taking bets on how long it would be until he could find his bag.
Beau wasn't here, come to think of it. He probably should have been invited, but Connor hadn't gotten around to it; neither had anyone else. He didn't even remember seeing the kicker at prom. Had he been there, with a date, or alone; did he even have other friends who weren't on the team? All questions that bothered Connor for a couple of seconds, and all were questions that he was more than happy not to know the answer to. What mattered was the people who were here, the ones who rated in the scheme of the high school experience. Had he been there, Connor wouldn't have objected, but his presence - or lack thereof - was barely noticed by anyone.
A teammate, he was, but a friend, he was not.
Purging the thoughts from his mind after only a few seconds, his attention went back to the man in front of him - who was here, who was his friend. Who had just asked him a question. Smirking, he nodded in the affirmative.
"You bet. They've got a few." He set his cup on the counter and started to count them off with his fingers.
"There's the bigger one with all the cheapo stuff. Then the wine cellar," his eyes darted to the side as he tried to remember, "the gift cabinet, the special occasions cabinet, and then the 'Connor if you ever take anything out of his one I will tan your hide and make you pay for it' one."
Looking conspiratorially at Bret, he gestured to the door out of the kitchen.
"I'm not willing to risk life and limb, but I think this qualifies as a special occasion, don't y'all think?"
Waiting a moment for Bret to follow, he set off down the hallway towards a small study that was next to the locked garage door. This was supposed to be his mother's office, but she barely ever used it - most of her work was done via her phone or her laptop, and she was often away on business. Taking a look to ensure no one else was following too closely behind, he opened the door, and closed it behind Bret as he followed him into the study. The room was sparse, only a few photographs on the wall, and unlike the rest of the house, it didn't have a whole lot in the way of decoration or accoutrement. Stepping over to a mahogany liquor cabinet, Connor opened the door and gestured to the bottles with a flourish.
"Voila. Pick your poison."
Beau wasn't here, come to think of it. He probably should have been invited, but Connor hadn't gotten around to it; neither had anyone else. He didn't even remember seeing the kicker at prom. Had he been there, with a date, or alone; did he even have other friends who weren't on the team? All questions that bothered Connor for a couple of seconds, and all were questions that he was more than happy not to know the answer to. What mattered was the people who were here, the ones who rated in the scheme of the high school experience. Had he been there, Connor wouldn't have objected, but his presence - or lack thereof - was barely noticed by anyone.
A teammate, he was, but a friend, he was not.
Purging the thoughts from his mind after only a few seconds, his attention went back to the man in front of him - who was here, who was his friend. Who had just asked him a question. Smirking, he nodded in the affirmative.
"You bet. They've got a few." He set his cup on the counter and started to count them off with his fingers.
"There's the bigger one with all the cheapo stuff. Then the wine cellar," his eyes darted to the side as he tried to remember, "the gift cabinet, the special occasions cabinet, and then the 'Connor if you ever take anything out of his one I will tan your hide and make you pay for it' one."
Looking conspiratorially at Bret, he gestured to the door out of the kitchen.
"I'm not willing to risk life and limb, but I think this qualifies as a special occasion, don't y'all think?"
Waiting a moment for Bret to follow, he set off down the hallway towards a small study that was next to the locked garage door. This was supposed to be his mother's office, but she barely ever used it - most of her work was done via her phone or her laptop, and she was often away on business. Taking a look to ensure no one else was following too closely behind, he opened the door, and closed it behind Bret as he followed him into the study. The room was sparse, only a few photographs on the wall, and unlike the rest of the house, it didn't have a whole lot in the way of decoration or accoutrement. Stepping over to a mahogany liquor cabinet, Connor opened the door and gestured to the bottles with a flourish.
"Voila. Pick your poison."
Of course, when Bret had asked the question he had already known the answer. He'd been to Connor's before so he knew his friends' parents had a good collection of liquor, what he hadn't realized was the number of different cabinets they possessed. It was extravagant. He thought he should have been prepared for that, after all, he had been to Ivy's house numerous times but Connor's family seemed to be a level above that. They were rich enough that they didn't even need to draw attention to it or didn't realize the extent of it.
Still, when Connor opened up one of the fancier cabinets Bret wasn't going to say no. He peered in and looked at the bottles all stood on display. The truth of the matter was that he had no idea what he was looking at, the luxury brands had always eluded him as something his dad would sometimes buy at the end of a family meal to celebrate a special occasion. Bret himself had never had the opportunity to partake but had always wanted to. Now with the option available to him, Bret found himself with no idea what to do. Then he saw it. A bottle sitting proudly in the center of it all. It made his decision all too easy.
"Only one possible choice isn't there?" He said with a grin as he reached in and withdrew the bottle of George T. Stagg. He had heard about it through his father mostly. A bottle of whiskey that was produced once a year in a limited quantity. Bottles could go for around five hundred dollars he had said. That meant he was looking at the only real opportunity he had to try something like it. Bret wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"What do you reckon? Glass of this each?"
Still, when Connor opened up one of the fancier cabinets Bret wasn't going to say no. He peered in and looked at the bottles all stood on display. The truth of the matter was that he had no idea what he was looking at, the luxury brands had always eluded him as something his dad would sometimes buy at the end of a family meal to celebrate a special occasion. Bret himself had never had the opportunity to partake but had always wanted to. Now with the option available to him, Bret found himself with no idea what to do. Then he saw it. A bottle sitting proudly in the center of it all. It made his decision all too easy.
"Only one possible choice isn't there?" He said with a grin as he reached in and withdrew the bottle of George T. Stagg. He had heard about it through his father mostly. A bottle of whiskey that was produced once a year in a limited quantity. Bottles could go for around five hundred dollars he had said. That meant he was looking at the only real opportunity he had to try something like it. Bret wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"What do you reckon? Glass of this each?"
Nodding in approval, Connor reached down to the bottom of the cabinet and opened the glassware drawer, withdrawing two glasses and placing them on top of the bureau. Truly, he wasn't exactly the biggest liquor drinker in the world. Being underage certainly had a thing or two to do with that, but when he did go out and imbibe, beer was usually his weapon of choice. His father, on the other hand? He knew his stuff. Many a time, he'd called Connor into the study to try some new scotch or bourbon that he'd gotten his hands on, and each time, it had burned going down, Connor had hidden his grimace, nodded, and given a vapid appreciation of the drink. Bret wanted to try the George T. Stagg? He could have at it. Connor hadn't seen where that particular bottle had come from, but the reverence that his pal affixed to the bottle, he guessed it must have been good.
"Good choice; very good."
Taking the bottle from where Bret had set it down, Connor uncorked the bottle of whiskey, blinking as the strong smell emerged from the end of it. Tilting the bottle, he poured two generous servings, one into each glass, and replaced the bottle, grabbing the cork and pushing it back in to the bottle. Picking up the glass closest to him, Connor held it in front of him, mentally readying himself for the burn.
"Here's to makin' it all the way through," another thought tugged at him, "and to all the business y'all know we'll be takin' care of in the years to come."
He grinned. Considering where the two of them were planning to go to school, their paths were undoubtedly not finished crossing, and he hoped that through it all, they'd stay in touch. Wyatt may not have been serious about football, but he knew that Bret was. It always helped to have an ally in difficult circumstances - and he counted Bret among his.
"Good choice; very good."
Taking the bottle from where Bret had set it down, Connor uncorked the bottle of whiskey, blinking as the strong smell emerged from the end of it. Tilting the bottle, he poured two generous servings, one into each glass, and replaced the bottle, grabbing the cork and pushing it back in to the bottle. Picking up the glass closest to him, Connor held it in front of him, mentally readying himself for the burn.
"Here's to makin' it all the way through," another thought tugged at him, "and to all the business y'all know we'll be takin' care of in the years to come."
He grinned. Considering where the two of them were planning to go to school, their paths were undoubtedly not finished crossing, and he hoped that through it all, they'd stay in touch. Wyatt may not have been serious about football, but he knew that Bret was. It always helped to have an ally in difficult circumstances - and he counted Bret among his.
Connor uncorked the bottle and the smell was immediate. It was pleasing to him, it felt like a job well done after a long hard week. They had earned this. The servings Connor poured out were slightly on the larger side, but that didn't particularly matter. It was a celebratory drink between friends after all. If there was ever a time to be generous it was for something like this.
Bret accepted the glass and swirled it slightly as Connor gave an informal toast of sorts. Connor grinned after he had finished and Bret smiled in return. It was simple, but there was a meaning and depth to the words. They both knew what was to come in their futures. Bret had always felt that he and Connor understood each other. Their move to college wasn't going to change that. They had always known that it was going to happen. They were both heading north and would be on schools that were bound to meet.
They would see each other again.
"I can't wait."
They clinked their glasses and began to drink.
Bret accepted the glass and swirled it slightly as Connor gave an informal toast of sorts. Connor grinned after he had finished and Bret smiled in return. It was simple, but there was a meaning and depth to the words. They both knew what was to come in their futures. Bret had always felt that he and Connor understood each other. Their move to college wasn't going to change that. They had always known that it was going to happen. They were both heading north and would be on schools that were bound to meet.
They would see each other again.
"I can't wait."
They clinked their glasses and began to drink.
Time passed.
Ivy would approximate half an hour if asked, but she had nothing to go on for that besides intuition. She'd had her eyes on her phone the whole time, but she'd barely noticed the time except as a meaningless string of steadily increasing numbers. Her drink had been drained and refilled, and even when she'd stood to refill it her steps had been a bit wobbly, so she imagined she must be quite drunk. It was always oddly hard to tell, when you were sitting alone, just how intoxicated you really were. But she kept drinking regardless. Throwing up was more or less a non-issue, she hadn't done it in years; more likely she'd just nod off, and Bret would have to carry her home.
Bret, right. He was still here, somewhere, without her, and however long it had been felt like an awfully long time to leave your date alone. Was she supposed to go find him, then? She was pretty sure he'd been the one who'd left her here, though. And said he'd be back. And wasn't back. And she missed him. At least, in theory.
She missed not being alone, which basically meted out to the same thing.
Wyatt was around, somewhere; she'd studiously avoided him all night, not because she was nervous or because she was risking anything (where was Bret to notice?), but because Faith had of course invited him, and he had of course said yes. Ivy hadn't forgiven her yet, mainly because she'd arbitrarily decided to forgive her when her toenail was fully healed and it wasn't quite there. It was probably for the best. Again, she was quite drunk. Her record with being inebriated and being around Wyatt Carter was pretty clear.
So, Bret. She wanted Bret. Or the concept of him, at least. It was enough to drag her off the couch and yes, okay, the room was wobbling, but not too badly. She'd fail a sobriety test, but she could walk unassisted. She stumbled a little, but it was only a little, so it was basically fine. It took a bit of idle wandering to find him, or rather them, him and Connor, and it was only then that it occurred to her that this was Connor's house, wasn't it. Hadn't she told herself earlier she was finished with him? And here they were.
She found herself instantly unreasonably annoyed with the both of them. How dare they be here together. How dare they be... friends. God, what was she upset about? But it was something. It was right on the tip of her tongue.
"Hi, Connor," she said sweetly, before diverting her gaze from him to Bret. "Bret, darling. Have you been here this whole time?"
Ivy would approximate half an hour if asked, but she had nothing to go on for that besides intuition. She'd had her eyes on her phone the whole time, but she'd barely noticed the time except as a meaningless string of steadily increasing numbers. Her drink had been drained and refilled, and even when she'd stood to refill it her steps had been a bit wobbly, so she imagined she must be quite drunk. It was always oddly hard to tell, when you were sitting alone, just how intoxicated you really were. But she kept drinking regardless. Throwing up was more or less a non-issue, she hadn't done it in years; more likely she'd just nod off, and Bret would have to carry her home.
Bret, right. He was still here, somewhere, without her, and however long it had been felt like an awfully long time to leave your date alone. Was she supposed to go find him, then? She was pretty sure he'd been the one who'd left her here, though. And said he'd be back. And wasn't back. And she missed him. At least, in theory.
She missed not being alone, which basically meted out to the same thing.
Wyatt was around, somewhere; she'd studiously avoided him all night, not because she was nervous or because she was risking anything (where was Bret to notice?), but because Faith had of course invited him, and he had of course said yes. Ivy hadn't forgiven her yet, mainly because she'd arbitrarily decided to forgive her when her toenail was fully healed and it wasn't quite there. It was probably for the best. Again, she was quite drunk. Her record with being inebriated and being around Wyatt Carter was pretty clear.
So, Bret. She wanted Bret. Or the concept of him, at least. It was enough to drag her off the couch and yes, okay, the room was wobbling, but not too badly. She'd fail a sobriety test, but she could walk unassisted. She stumbled a little, but it was only a little, so it was basically fine. It took a bit of idle wandering to find him, or rather them, him and Connor, and it was only then that it occurred to her that this was Connor's house, wasn't it. Hadn't she told herself earlier she was finished with him? And here they were.
She found herself instantly unreasonably annoyed with the both of them. How dare they be here together. How dare they be... friends. God, what was she upset about? But it was something. It was right on the tip of her tongue.
"Hi, Connor," she said sweetly, before diverting her gaze from him to Bret. "Bret, darling. Have you been here this whole time?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Sitting in that room with good company and a good drink was the pinnacle of the night for Bret. It was pleasing in its simplicity. Nothing fancy, just two friends enjoying each others company. They spoke about the future and reminisced about the past. It was what you'd expect two people to do as the buzz from prom died down, but that only made it appeal to Bret more. There was something to be said for it. The drink was indeed good, he had made the right decision. Although Bret supposed that considering they were raiding one of the special drinks cabinets any choice he made would have been the correct one.
Unfortunately, the door opened and the privacy of their conversation was invaded. It wasn't that Bret didn't want to see Ivy—that wasn't the case at all—but he was enjoying his time with Connor. At the same time, he did remember that he had intended to go and find her. He had decided on staying to talk for another beer and that had led to Connor's offer of a private drink and conversation. So while Bret had intended to go find her, he did admit that he had been sidetracked, somewhat by choice.
There was a lot of baggage that came with dealing with Ivy, and when she stumbled into the room it was clear to Bret that he was in for one of those nights. The nights when Ivy indulged her worst habits and had too much. The nights when she sought out drama. The tone of her voice was a giveaway, as were how she phrased the question. It was immediately clear to Bret that he needed to tread carefully. He'd need to use the right words in the correct order, but what those words were and what order they needed to be in would be hard to gauge. It all depended on whether Ivy sincerely wanted to make it an issue. He hoped not, he wanted to have a good night. So he played it safe.
"Yeah sorry, Connor and I were just having a drink and reminiscing about our time on the team and I lost track of time. I was meaning to come and find you."
Unfortunately, the door opened and the privacy of their conversation was invaded. It wasn't that Bret didn't want to see Ivy—that wasn't the case at all—but he was enjoying his time with Connor. At the same time, he did remember that he had intended to go and find her. He had decided on staying to talk for another beer and that had led to Connor's offer of a private drink and conversation. So while Bret had intended to go find her, he did admit that he had been sidetracked, somewhat by choice.
There was a lot of baggage that came with dealing with Ivy, and when she stumbled into the room it was clear to Bret that he was in for one of those nights. The nights when Ivy indulged her worst habits and had too much. The nights when she sought out drama. The tone of her voice was a giveaway, as were how she phrased the question. It was immediately clear to Bret that he needed to tread carefully. He'd need to use the right words in the correct order, but what those words were and what order they needed to be in would be hard to gauge. It all depended on whether Ivy sincerely wanted to make it an issue. He hoped not, he wanted to have a good night. So he played it safe.
"Yeah sorry, Connor and I were just having a drink and reminiscing about our time on the team and I lost track of time. I was meaning to come and find you."
I was meaning to come and find you.
Of course he was. But he hadn't, had he?
She didn't have to make this a thing, of course. It would be all too easy not to make this a thing. She could reach out her hand, and he'd take it, she was sure; she heard the care taken in his word choice and knew that, as was almost always the case, he was trying not to make things difficult. Walking on eggshells not out of fear but out of what always felt like a lack of respect. Proof of how little he cared about how she actually felt. She remembered, briefly, that whole ordeal with Tyrell Lahti, how reluctant he'd been to do anything about it, how quick he'd been to change the subject, to lie to her face, for the sake of not making things difficult. And maybe he was right. Maybe that whole thing was a terrible idea. Maybe Ivy still dwelled some nights when she couldn't sleep on what might have happened, how much worse things could have been, how nonchalantly Wyatt had mentioned that Tyrell had had a knife.
But who cared who had been right, in the end? That didn't matter. What mattered was she'd messaged Wyatt and he'd been ready to go in moments. He hadn't regretted it, injuries and all, and while Bret had never admitted it she could tell from his suspicious silence in the days that followed that he hadn't forgiven her. It felt like he'd forgotten, but forgiven? Never.
It was her fault, but that didn't matter, either.
She didn't have to make this a thing, but maybe she wanted to. Maybe she wanted to wrest a fucking emotion out of him for once. Maybe she just wanted to set something on fire. She glanced at Connor and remembered their dance, suddenly, remembered her own realization, the sudden clarity that none of this fucking mattered anymore.
"Oh, hon, it's fine. You're havin' such a good time here an' all."
Her smile widened, just a bit.
"I'm sure Wyatt's around here somewhere. He'll keep me company."
It was all over, anyway.
Of course he was. But he hadn't, had he?
She didn't have to make this a thing, of course. It would be all too easy not to make this a thing. She could reach out her hand, and he'd take it, she was sure; she heard the care taken in his word choice and knew that, as was almost always the case, he was trying not to make things difficult. Walking on eggshells not out of fear but out of what always felt like a lack of respect. Proof of how little he cared about how she actually felt. She remembered, briefly, that whole ordeal with Tyrell Lahti, how reluctant he'd been to do anything about it, how quick he'd been to change the subject, to lie to her face, for the sake of not making things difficult. And maybe he was right. Maybe that whole thing was a terrible idea. Maybe Ivy still dwelled some nights when she couldn't sleep on what might have happened, how much worse things could have been, how nonchalantly Wyatt had mentioned that Tyrell had had a knife.
But who cared who had been right, in the end? That didn't matter. What mattered was she'd messaged Wyatt and he'd been ready to go in moments. He hadn't regretted it, injuries and all, and while Bret had never admitted it she could tell from his suspicious silence in the days that followed that he hadn't forgiven her. It felt like he'd forgotten, but forgiven? Never.
It was her fault, but that didn't matter, either.
She didn't have to make this a thing, but maybe she wanted to. Maybe she wanted to wrest a fucking emotion out of him for once. Maybe she just wanted to set something on fire. She glanced at Connor and remembered their dance, suddenly, remembered her own realization, the sudden clarity that none of this fucking mattered anymore.
"Oh, hon, it's fine. You're havin' such a good time here an' all."
Her smile widened, just a bit.
"I'm sure Wyatt's around here somewhere. He'll keep me company."
It was all over, anyway.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Bret didn’t immediately react when Ivy finished speaking. It was probably the alcohol. There was something wrong with the way she spoke to him. An edge to her voice, there was a hidden meaning. Slowly but surely Bret’s brain caught up and put the pieces together.
All the rumours he had been studiously ignoring and dismissing had turned out to be more than just empty words uttered in a hallway. If he was interpreting the implication that was being made correctly.
He looked over at Connor and then back to Ivy. Setting his drink down with a sigh Bret focused on Ivy. There was so much he could say but chose not to. There wasn’t any real option.
“Are you actually doing this?”
All the rumours he had been studiously ignoring and dismissing had turned out to be more than just empty words uttered in a hallway. If he was interpreting the implication that was being made correctly.
He looked over at Connor and then back to Ivy. Setting his drink down with a sigh Bret focused on Ivy. There was so much he could say but chose not to. There wasn’t any real option.
“Are you actually doing this?”
What kind of fucking question was that?
Yes, she was doing this, whatever on earth that was supposed to mean. She had come up with a sequence of words custom-made for destruction, purpose-built for a moment in time that would only happen this once, for the day that made the past four years feel like a distant memory. Well, when she thought about it like that, it sounded awfully well-thought-out. Not at all like a spontaneous decision made in a bout of irrational irritation. And, she supposed, it wasn't. Maybe it didn't have to be now, or here, or like this, or with those words, but it was going to happen one way or another from the moment Wyatt's lips had brushed hers. And Ivy Langley was not the sort of person to allow things to end on anyone else's terms.
She had two goals, then. One was so obvious and so basic as to not be worth mentioning. An inevitability. Easy enough to do with far fewer words, or a text message, or even a go-between if she was feeling lazy about the matter. She'd put the thought out of her mind, but Connor's words at prom had reminded her of the very obvious—she didn't plan on starting college with this particular albatross around her neck. They had the whole summer to break up, of course. But if she did it now she had time for the smoke to clear before she shipped off to Durham. It'd be awkward for a little while, perhaps, but she had plans for the summer.
Some niggling voice in the back of her head told her that maybe, just maybe, if she had designs on Wyatt it would have been easier on him if she'd broken up with Bret without mentioning his name. She was too drunk to give that much acknowledgment. Her other goal required it, anyway.
It was a test, of sorts. A test to see if she had been right in her assessment of his apathy. A test to see if his face contorted in anger, or pain, or something, if he screamed at her, hell, if he hit her, even, that would be a perverse victory. Proof that he cared too much. Which made it his fault in the end, didn't it? If he cared so much, he could have shown it, and then none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have fallen into Wyatt's arms if she truly thought Bret loved her.
If she thought that was likely, though, she wouldn't have bothered.
Instead she stared at him as he put the pieces together and reacted with a steady voice and meaningless words and she knew in her heart she'd been right the whole time.
"Yes."
She had cared about him, once. She was starting to think, from the feeling that gripped her stomach, that maybe she still did. Not enough to change her mind. Not enough to regret anything. But enough.
"I think I am."
Yes, she was doing this, whatever on earth that was supposed to mean. She had come up with a sequence of words custom-made for destruction, purpose-built for a moment in time that would only happen this once, for the day that made the past four years feel like a distant memory. Well, when she thought about it like that, it sounded awfully well-thought-out. Not at all like a spontaneous decision made in a bout of irrational irritation. And, she supposed, it wasn't. Maybe it didn't have to be now, or here, or like this, or with those words, but it was going to happen one way or another from the moment Wyatt's lips had brushed hers. And Ivy Langley was not the sort of person to allow things to end on anyone else's terms.
She had two goals, then. One was so obvious and so basic as to not be worth mentioning. An inevitability. Easy enough to do with far fewer words, or a text message, or even a go-between if she was feeling lazy about the matter. She'd put the thought out of her mind, but Connor's words at prom had reminded her of the very obvious—she didn't plan on starting college with this particular albatross around her neck. They had the whole summer to break up, of course. But if she did it now she had time for the smoke to clear before she shipped off to Durham. It'd be awkward for a little while, perhaps, but she had plans for the summer.
Some niggling voice in the back of her head told her that maybe, just maybe, if she had designs on Wyatt it would have been easier on him if she'd broken up with Bret without mentioning his name. She was too drunk to give that much acknowledgment. Her other goal required it, anyway.
It was a test, of sorts. A test to see if she had been right in her assessment of his apathy. A test to see if his face contorted in anger, or pain, or something, if he screamed at her, hell, if he hit her, even, that would be a perverse victory. Proof that he cared too much. Which made it his fault in the end, didn't it? If he cared so much, he could have shown it, and then none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have fallen into Wyatt's arms if she truly thought Bret loved her.
If she thought that was likely, though, she wouldn't have bothered.
Instead she stared at him as he put the pieces together and reacted with a steady voice and meaningless words and she knew in her heart she'd been right the whole time.
"Yes."
She had cared about him, once. She was starting to think, from the feeling that gripped her stomach, that maybe she still did. Not enough to change her mind. Not enough to regret anything. But enough.
"I think I am."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
And that was it.
She didn't need to say it out loud because they both knew what she meant. She wasn't exactly being subtle about it. Here he was, best friend on one side and his girlfriend in front of him. Although he supposed Ivy was his ex-girlfriend now. There was a mixture of emotions he felt as he considered that. He wasn't sure how he felt about it all. He supposed that he'd be able to process it in more detail once he was alone. But since he was at a party there wasn't much chance of that. Plus his instincts were instructing him to take a very specific set of actions.
The drink sat on the side, forgotten as Bret stood there, entirely focused on Ivy. There were lines that weren't supposed to be crossed and Bret had always been taught how to behave the right way. He had always been consistent with that and even with the alcohol he had consumed that wasn't going to change. His eyes were set on Ivy as he asked his second and final question.
"How long has it been going on for?"
She didn't need to say it out loud because they both knew what she meant. She wasn't exactly being subtle about it. Here he was, best friend on one side and his girlfriend in front of him. Although he supposed Ivy was his ex-girlfriend now. There was a mixture of emotions he felt as he considered that. He wasn't sure how he felt about it all. He supposed that he'd be able to process it in more detail once he was alone. But since he was at a party there wasn't much chance of that. Plus his instincts were instructing him to take a very specific set of actions.
The drink sat on the side, forgotten as Bret stood there, entirely focused on Ivy. There were lines that weren't supposed to be crossed and Bret had always been taught how to behave the right way. He had always been consistent with that and even with the alcohol he had consumed that wasn't going to change. His eyes were set on Ivy as he asked his second and final question.
"How long has it been going on for?"
She hated him. She did. She could hate someone and want them at the same time. She did it near constantly. Maybe she'd been doing it for longer than she thought, who knew. It wasn't like it mattered anymore.
"A few months."
She could have lied. Acted like it was longer, to hurt him worse. Acted like it was less time, to lessen her own culpability. But the ship on making him suffer seemed to have sailed, and what did she care about what she'd done? She wasn't sorry. It was clear from his tone he didn't expect her to be. She might have been sorry, had things gone differently, at least sorry she hadn't been a little nicer, tried a little harder, but no. She refused.
Her eyes slid away from his, her arms crossed. Defensive.
That was it, then. Her thought process was piecemeal. She wanted to lay down.
"A few months."
She could have lied. Acted like it was longer, to hurt him worse. Acted like it was less time, to lessen her own culpability. But the ship on making him suffer seemed to have sailed, and what did she care about what she'd done? She wasn't sorry. It was clear from his tone he didn't expect her to be. She might have been sorry, had things gone differently, at least sorry she hadn't been a little nicer, tried a little harder, but no. She refused.
Her eyes slid away from his, her arms crossed. Defensive.
That was it, then. Her thought process was piecemeal. She wanted to lay down.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."