Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

50

Bennett

One Day Before

Ruby & Bennett are Thirty Years Old

Michael “Potato Face” Waters is the ghoul haunting my very existence. I must be cursed. Or maybe I drunkenly signed a contract with the Devil, and this was the result. Hell, maybe he’s Satan himself.

It might be odd to have a bachelor party at my local bar and theme park, but all I wanted was my best friends’ company and relaxation after the rehearsal dinner. We’re wandering around an empty version of The Honeycomb with drinks in our hands, laughing at memories of me, and devouring the food Landon catered for the event.

“Can we at least hire strippers?” Quinn begs.

“Out in Cedar Cliff? You think someone is gonna make the trek up these mountains?”

“What if they could though?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Bennett, sex work is a legit business, and they deserve to be compensated.”

“Quinn.”

“Okay, well, what about fun games after this?” Theo asks. “Go-karts? Axe throwing?”

“We have Honeywood.”

“We always have Honeywood.”

“Okay, I have Uno stashed in my office too,” I say. “Is that good?”

Lorelei grins at me, probably okay with a low-key party herself, but still bemoans, “God, Bennett, you’re so boring.”

Wedding planning is finally over, the guest list is finished, and all I need to do now is walk down that aisle.

Easy.

Except then the front door creaks open, and my ex–best friend and her new beau, Michael “Potato Face” Waters, waltz in, hand in hand.

I give a polite wave. He returns it.

I meet eyes with Ruby, who clears her throat and gives a small shrug, as if to say, Sorry, Pirate.

It’s hard not to smile at her, so I mouth back, He’s cool.

It’s not entirely the truth, but I’m just happy that she seems happy. Eventually, I make my way to the bar and hunch over my glass of whiskey. It’s there, away from the laughter, that I start to stew.

Since when are they together? How did they even connect again?

And why, out of all people, is it him?

I inhale sharply at the memory of him in Shop class. The way he claimed he’d go after her.

What a long con.

I don’t understand it either. Isn’t he the guy who was always skeevy? Isn’t he the guy who bullied Quinn? Since when is he the hero?

No. Think positively. You’re here. She’s here. That’s all that matters.

And who knows? Maybe he’s changed. Maybe she sees something I don’t. The best I can do is trust Ruby.

Orson leans across the bar, twisting his baseball cap around and darting his eyes over to Ruby, then back. “He seems nice.”

My eyes swivel to him, and I wonder if my face gives me away because my expression only makes him laugh.

“Have you said more than two words to him?”

“No.”

“Well, there’s still time to make a good first impression!”

I tip my tumbler to him. “Hilarious.”

Theo bops behind the counter, wrapping her arms around Orson’s middle and smacking a kiss on his cheek. He tugs her tight, and regardless that I’m still watching, he continues to stare in awe—maybe because she’s finally his, after too many months of pining. He’s been looking like a puppy dog for the past month since they went official.

I’m happy for them. Truly. I’m happy for all my friends. Theo and Orson, sure, but also Quinn and Landon. They’ve been together nearly a year now, and he keeps resting his chin on the top of her head like he’s her own personal guardian. Even Emory and Lorelei exchange little smirks back and forth. They’re more subtle about their love, but, God, you can tell it runs deep.

And there’s … Ruby and Michael, I guess.

I steal another glance at them again. She’s full-on laughing at something he said.

Christ, there’s no way he’s that funny.

“How’s Sulky here?” Theo asks.

Orson nods. “Ah, the worst of the seven dwarfs.”

“I’m not sulking,” I say. “I’m just enjoying the company of friends.”

“In a sulky position,” she adds.

“Not Sulky. I’m Bennett.”

Theo leans her forearms on the bar top. “Are you? Because I thought I was looking at a ghost of our friend.”

I shake my head, dragging down more of my whiskey.

“Come on.” Theo laughs. “Look! Even Quinn is talking to him.”

I watch as Quinn does in fact converse with Michael. Even her sneer is kept at bay through Landon’s consistent rubbing of her shoulders. And then, suddenly, they’re laughing too.

Okay, he’s got to be hiding a joke book or something. This can’t be real.

“She looks like she’s in pain,” I mutter.

“But friendly pain,” Orson adds.

I watch Michael and Ruby, and the moment I sigh, Ruby makes eye contact with me. Always reading my mind. My lips tip up into a half-smile.

Whispering something in Michael’s ear—in a secret way that used to be ours—Ruby breaks apart and walks over to the bar. She lands in the stool next to mine.

My smile grows wider. “Hey, you.”

So does hers. “Hi there.”

From those few words, I can feel myself settle into the seat—the feeling of our weird tether loosening after being pulled taut for so long.

It’s nice to have my friend here.

Theo’s eyes dart between us. “I’m gonna go do … something,” she says, gathering Orson’s hand in hers as he asks, “What? Why?” before she tugs him behind her and they both wander off.

Then, there were two.

Ruby and I exchange little smiles and matching exhales, resulting in joint laughter.

“You know, I have those clown strippers on hold,” she jokes. “Whenever you want them.”

“I’m tempted.”

“I figured. Which is why they’re already on their way.”

“Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure I could handle one more hour without them.”

“You’re gonna get the lap dance of your life, Bennett Shaw. I’m talking honking noses and squeaky shoes.”

“Do they keep the shoes on?”

“You bet they do.”

We both burst into laughter. Our exhales are little puzzle pieces connecting once more.

But then he walks over.

I turn away just a moment too late, so I don’t miss the way he smiles at her, how his hand lands on her back. How his gaze lingers on those freckles of hers.

“Congratulations, Bennett,” he says. “Love the hair.”

I swivel on the barstool, my arm leaning on the counter. “Thanks, man.”

“Y’know, I never thought I’d be at your bachelor party.”

“Funny how life happens.”

“Funny,” he echoes.

It’s still tense between us after all these years, and part of me wonders if that will ever change.

I take another swig.

Ruby looks between us, nodding slowly.

I didn’t register that all three of us stopped talking. Awkward. I was just reveling in the silence and lack of Michael-ness in the air.

Ruby claps her hands together once. “Well, this is so uncomfortable that I could die, so could you two try not to kill each other while I use the restroom?”

Michael chuckles, and I swear he thinks he’s so cool when he says, “Don’t miss me too much, Red.”

I roll my eyes.

“I’ll try my best,” she teases, leaning in so close that her nose just barely touches his. It’s a move she used to do with me, the kind that isn’t followed with a kiss, but a genuine smile.

I wonder if I’ve been replaced.

Good. She deserves a best friend.

Though my foot taps on the barstool faster.

I stare into my whiskey.

“So …” he says. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah.”

“Feeling like a jailed man?”

I laugh. Typical bro talk. I’ve never been one to buy into it. Those old newspaper cartoons of men shackled at the altar always made me uncomfortable. Where’s the punch line?

“No,” I correct him. “I love my fiancée.”

He nods slowly, as if he doesn’t believe me. Which makes my fist clench tighter around my drink.

“Sure,” is all he says.

This guy …

I clear my throat. “So, Ruby seems happy. How long has this”—I motion between him and the spot where Ruby just stood—“been going on?”

He sniffs, straightening his posture and puffing out his chest. “A year maybe? Sort of?”

“Happy for y’all.”

There’s a pause before Michael says, “No, you’re not.”

I side-eye him. His head is tilted to the side. Michael swirls his own tumbler, looking into the cup with a half-smile.

“Pardon?”

“You’re trying. Which I appreciate. But I’m here,” he says, “with your girl.”

“She’s not my girl.”

“Sure. I just find it funny that we’re at your bachelor party.” He gives an exaggerated shrug. “And, well, you can’t stop looking at my date.”

My blood pressure beats under my temples.

“She’s just my friend.”

“Hey, I’m not implying anything, big dog.”

“Big dog?”

“Kidding.”

His hand collides with my shoulder in a light gesture that might be innocuous if coming from Emory or Landon or Orson. But with Michael? I don’t like it.

“Right. Though tell me something. How’d this even happen?” I ask.

Michael’s face falls, and for a moment, I think he might feel some form of remorse.

“You got engaged,” he admits. “And I was simply there.”

“What?”

“I was at the bar that night. And I drove her home. Y’know, you really shouldn’t have dropped by after.”

My stool screeches out from under me as I stand. We’re similar height, but I’ve got a good bit of bulk on him.

“That was you? She was drunk.”

Michael’s hands shoot up in mock arrest. “Nothing happened!” And then, with a playful laugh, he adds, “Jeez, why do people keep thinking the worst of me?”

But I don’t care if he’s joking. My jaw is grinding. The nerves shoot through me like buzzing bees, zipping in and out, unable to be contained.

“Then, why were you there?”

“Because she needed someone,” he answers. “Because …” And then he grins that stupid, cocky grin, as if he’s just checkmated me. “Because you shattered her heart and I didn’t. And you know what? I’m pretty good at reminding her of that every day.”

It all happens in the span of a blink.

A blink.

My barstool is knocked over. My arm rears back. And there’s a crunch against my knuckles right as my fist collides with Michael’s very punchable face.

And what follows is overwhelming guilt.

Good God. I’m thirty years old, and I just punched a guy in the face. For my best friend. The woman who isn’t my future wife.

“Bennett! What the hell?!”

I don’t know who yelled that. I’m honestly not sure who’s holding my shoulders back either.

Landon runs over to help Michael from where he stumbled onto the floor. Quinn, who I’m pretty sure barks out a laugh, then quickly tamps it down, grabs a paper towel because Michael’s nose is gushing blood like a fountain. And then there’s Ruby, ginger hair tucked behind her ears, staring at me from the restroom hallway.

She rushes past our small crew, landing by his side. Her hands roam over his face, and her thumb swipes over his swollen cheek.

I feel awful.

Orson hands Michael a bag of ice across the bar, and he takes it.

“Jesus,” Ruby hisses. Her head whips to me. “Bennett, are you serious right now?”

I hate how her eyes collide with mine, furious yet concerned and disappointed.

Disappointed.

Yeah, me too.

“No, no,” Michael says, wagging a finger while holding the bag of ice to his eye. “I actually deserved that punch. Let’s not get angry at the groom.”

My eyebrows rise, and shame slides through me again.

Well, points to him for that, I guess.

Ruby, with one arm wrapped around his waist, sighs. “Are we done here? Should we leave?”

Michael glances at my face, eyes darting between mine, then looks back at her with a crooked smile.

“Nah, things were just getting good,” he says with a boyish laugh. “I’d love another whiskey actually.”

“What happened?”

“You know what? I was being a dick,” Michael says. “Couldn’t help myself. Old habits and all.”

Ruby snorts. “Michael …”

And, damn it, if I don’t like the guy for that.

I snort out a reluctant laugh and cross my arms. “I mean, I actually feel a lot better.”

“Honestly, I do too,” Quinn says with a laugh.

“Me three,” Landon adds.

“Wow. Thanks, everyone. Really feeling welcome here,” Michael groans, eyes widening and blowing out a breath.

He leans against the counter, and his lips curl into a smile.

His chin dips toward me. “Sorry. We good, man?”

The thing about punching someone in the face is that it humbles them real quick. And the thing about being the punchee is that your fist rams through the veneer of a man’s cockiness, energy gets released through that hit, and you can finally see him for the dude that he is.

He’s not my favorite man, but he could be worse.

I hold out my palm, which Michael shakes with a firm grip, and some wordless truce slips between us.

A truce that says, You’d better take care of her.