Tossing my bag onto the bed, I examine my room. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, it all looks exactly the same as it did when I hauled ass out of Asheville in the middle of Spring Break. My bed is neatly made, corners tucked in, with the afghan my grandmother knitted folded at the bottom. My football trophies line the shelves on the light brown wall adjacent to my bed, and my desk sits empty except for a few pieces of paper stacked neatly in the corner.

I grimace when I take it all in. I assumed my parents would have repurposed, or at least repainted, this room. It’s not like I’m here all that much. I’d be perfectly fine sleeping in the guest room, but it appears they want to keep my childhood room exactly like it is, stuck in a weird sort of time capsule.

Luckily, neither of them are home right now, and I couldn’t be more grateful. The in-person lecture about taking off when I was last home can be put off for just a bit longer. To say they weren’t amused with my sudden need to leave is an understatement. They don’t understand why I allowed Tonya to affect me.

But, they don’t understand. They were married for a few years before they had me. As soon as they found out Tonya was pregnant they wrote her off as a troubled girl that should have known better. Apparently in the eyes of Mom and Dad, it only takes one to get pregnant. I can’t help rolling my eyes at the thought. The real reason they are pissed is because we aren’t together anymore, and I asked for time. They are more worried about how that makes them look than they are about the well-being of their grandchild.

I’m not sure how they even sleep at night without a care in the world about how Layla is doing. People may think I’m living the dream at school, but they would be wrong. I spend most nights regretting my choices. Wondering if things would be different had I not been such an asshole to Tonya for so long, even when I was trying to get her to take me back.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I sit on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. There’s nothing to do here. This town is too damn small. I’m pulling up my contacts when I get a notification that Tonya has shared something on her Facebook profile. Call me a stalker, I don’t really care.

I pull up the app to see what Tonya has posted today. The first image is Layla sitting in a baby swing with the biggest, toothless, smile I’ve ever seen. I feel a stab of pain in my gut, wishing I was there to see it in person. I scroll further down and want to throw my phone across the room. It’s a picture of Layla, Tonya and Reaf cuddled together on the hammock her parents have in their backyard. The caption says “ready for summer fun.”

It’s almost like she is trying to shove her happiness in my face. I know that’s ridiculous. She doesn’t do it on purpose, but it’s a sucker punch just the same. I don’t have anywhere to run away to this summer. I’m going to have to deal with this eventually. But not right now. I’m going to take a nap and see what the guys are up to tonight. There’s no use sitting in my room moping over something I can’t control.

* * *

“This town sucks,” I groan into my beer. There’s absolutely nothing to do here. We could go to Dallas, but it’s not like we could drink anywhere there. I just want to forget. I don’t want to feel anything right now. We end up in one of the fields we used to throw our high school parties in. The same spot where I screwed up and Tonya walked out of my life.

My mood didn’t improve after the nap. I’m still groggy and frustrated over the whole situation. Maybe frustration isn’t the right word, it’s more fear than anything else. How am I supposed to face Tonya and her new little family unit? I’m going to have to figure something out or this summer is going to be a game of evasion.

“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” Dylan yells from the fire pit. “You’re being all dramatic staring off into space.”

“Nothing, man,” I reply. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

Randall jumps in. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about her.”

I jump off the truck’s tailgate, beer sloshing out of the can and over my hand. Damn, that’s all I need is to smell like booze when I finally make it home.

“Lay off him, Randall,” Marshall calls out. “He has a lot of shit he’s gotta deal with.”

“I don’t think anyone asked for your input, Marsh,” Randall shoots back.

I’m not exactly sure how my group of friends actually functions. We’re all so different from each other. Well, Marshall is definitely the most mature. I think the rest of us have some growing up to do. These guys have my back, even when they are giving me hell.

“Shut up, guys. I’m capable of dealing with my own problems. I don’t really need your opinions.” I rub my hand across my forehead, but not before seeing Marshall’s shoulders sag in defeat. He’s the only one who told me what an ass I was being to Tonya. It used to bug me because I thought he had a thing for her, but really, he’s the only person that’s brave enough to call me on my bullshit. I just don’t take his advice very often.

Dylan is busy trying to get a fire started. He’s hunched over, strategically placing small limbs on top of each other. “You got a lighter?” He asks.

“Um, no,” I answer. I’m not sure why he thinks I would have one, I don’t smoke. “Why are you building a fire anyway? It’s too damn hot for that shit.”

“So, we have some sort of light, dumbass,” he argues. “I’m all for being one with nature, but I’m not taking my chances on not being able to see the animals that come out at night.”

“Pansy,” I mutter, taking another swig of my beer. I won’t admit it, but I completely agree with him. I want the light, but not the heat that comes with it. The air is already hot and heavy, a sign that we’re probably about to get a summer storm.

That realization sends a pang of sadness through me. Tonya and I loved watching the storms roll in, especially at night. We would park down an abandoned gravel road and watch the lighting spark through the sky. My arms wrapped around her while she leaned against my chest, Brantley Gilbert or Dustin Lynch crooning through the speakers, admiring the storm raging around us.

I chug the rest of my beer, tossing the empty can in the bed of the truck, and grab another one. I’m halfway finished with this can before I signal Marshall to toss me another one. He raises his eyebrow, silently questioning me. I nod, reaching my hand out to accept the new can. The need to drown out the pain right now is more important than the hangover I’ll have tomorrow.

* * *

A few hours have passed. The fire is slowly dying down, the crickets are chirping, and we can see glimmers of lightning in the distance. It’s been great catching up with the guys. We’ve played football together for as long as I can remember, from peewee all the way through high school. Then we went our separate ways. The only person who checked up on me was Marshall, but only to make sure I wasn’t doing anything stupid. He’s the brother I never had.

We’re also very drunk, except for Marshall since he’s the responsible one. We start cleaning up our mess. We don’t want to lose access to this field. The owner doesn’t really care if we use it as long as we pick up afterward.

Just as I’m throwing the last of the cans in a bag in the bed of the truck, Dylan yells, “Let’s get tattoos.”

Marshall is already shaking his head. I can’t tell if he’s amused or frustrated. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

I feel bad for the guy. He usually ends up being the one that babysits our drunk asses. I need to work on being a better friend to him. Maybe that will help me figure out how to be a part of Layla’s life.

I’m just drunk enough to agree with Dylan. “Hell yeah, let’s do this.”

“There’s no point trying to talk y’all out of this, is there?” Marshall asks.

Randall pipes in, “Nope. Might as well get in the truck and start driving it toward Dallas.”

We all pile into his truck. The seats are leather, and sticky from the Texas heat. Marshall turns on the radio, and Sam Hunt is singing about cruising down a dirt road. This night is about to get interesting.

It only takes us about thirty minutes to get to southeast Dallas. Music can be heard drifting out of bars, some of them from a stereo system while others are live. There are people all over the sidewalks, bar hopping, and finding restaurants that are still open to fill their late-night appetites.

We pull into a parking lot, paying the fee, and stumble out of the truck. We have no idea where we should go, so we start walking, joining the throngs of people. We pass tattoo shop after tattoo shop before coming to one called Life in Ink.

We peek inside in the windows and it doesn’t look like they are too busy. Dylan opens the door while Marshall hangs back to make sure we aren’t getting into any trouble. I know I shouldn’t do this. I know it could get me into trouble with my coaches. Right now, all that matters is doing this with my friends. If we’re going to do something stupid, we might as well do it together.