Page 11 of Flashback for the Forward

All the dreams we had of playing for the Surf together died with him.

He was so much more than my teammate, my best friend. He was more like my brother.

Born on the same day, only a minute apart in the same hospital, we’d known each other our whole lives. We did everything together, shared all our secrets.

Well, except one. And the guilt of that betrayal gnawed at my insides.

I’d had the chance to come clean as I sat at his bedside only a week ago to say goodbye. But when he relayed his dying wish, I’d clammed up, not wanting to taint our last moments together.

How could I tell him that I’d not only been dating his little sister behind his back, but that I’d ended things because I wasn’t willing to risk our friendship if he ever found out? That I’d broken both of our hearts, when he was dying, asking me to look out for her once he was gone?

He had no clue what he was asking of me. Keeping my distance was the only thing stopping me from begging Bridget to take me back. Hell, I’d been ready to say “fuck it” and fall to my knees at her feet when she called me ten months ago, only to have my world blown apart when she sobbed down the line that they’d found a cancerous tumor in Russ’s brain and it was terminal.

After the promise I’d made to Russ on his deathbed, I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

How could I honor that request when “platonic” would fly right out the window the minute I laid eyes on her? He’d asked me to keep watch over her as a friend, not as a lover. But I’d always been helpless when it came to Bridget. There was no question that we’d pick up exactly where we left off, and there would forever be a black cloud of betrayal casting a shadow over our relationship.

My fist came down on the bar top, regret washing over me that I hadn’t told Russ the truth before it was too late.

“Another round?” the bartender asked, drawing my attention.

Thank God I played juniors in Western Canada, where the legal drinking age was nineteen. At twenty, I was about five months too young to consume alcohol in my home country, and it was much needed on a day like today.

I blinked up at him through gritty eyes. There was no doubt I looked like a fucking mess from hours of crying. “How much for you to leave the bottle?”

The guy hummed, topping up my glass but keeping a firm grasp on the fifth of whiskey. “Sorry, kid. If you want to drink yourself to death, you’ll have to do it somewhere else. You’re cut off after this.”

Grunting, I downed the liquor in a single gulp. I was so numb that I didn’t even feel the burn of it sliding down my throat.

“Rough day?” a feminine voice asked from nearby.

I turned my head to find a pretty blonde seated three barstools away, her blue eyes filled with concern. She couldn’t have been much older than me, perhaps a student at the nearby university.

“The worst,” I replied.

“If you want to vent, there’s something cathartic about telling your problems to a stranger you’ll never see again.”

Swirling the ice in my empty glass, I confessed, “My best friend died today.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

I ducked my head in acceptance of her condolences. “We knew it was coming. I flew home last week to see him one last time.” Rubbing at my chest, I tried in vain to get the ache beneath my sternum to subside. “But it still hurts like hell.”

A sniffle sounded from the girl. “My sister was killed in a car accident a few years back. I wish I could say it gets easier, but I’d be lying. When you lose someone you love, a piece of you gets buried with them.”

Dropping my head back, I blew out a heavy breath. “I miss him already.”

She lifted a finger, signaling the bartender. “Tim, can I get one of whatever he’s having?”

The guy—Tim—folded both arms over his chest. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?” Her voice took on a sugary-sweet quality as she batted her eyelashes.

“The minute my back is turned, you’re gonna slide that drink across the bar. I’ve already let him have more than I should, and am gonna have to call a cab to make sure he doesn’t get behind the wheel tonight and get either himself or someone else killed.” He gave her a pointed look. “You should understand that better than anyone else.”

It struck me what he was implying. “Drunk driver hit your sister?” I asked.

She released a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”