Page 11 of The Has-Been

“How’s practice going?” I ask, trying my best to sound like I’m not struggling to ask the question. Brennan leans sideways, and even with his heavy eyelids, I can see the surprise in his eyes from my question. But he doesn’t answer me right away, as an unseen woman slides into the seat next to him.

I scoff, blowing out a puff of air as he turns his back to me, focusing his attention on her. Emptying my water, I swallow the room-temperature liquid as the smell of beer fills the air around me, practically dancing on my tongue as I reminisce about the yeasty taste.

An unknown woman approaches me, “Hey, I’m Emery.”

I cast a quick glance before she reaches out a thin hand, and I hesitantly meet it.

She’s pretty, no denying that. But with her thick layer of makeup and spiderwebbed lashes, she’s not the type I usually gravitate toward.

I can’t help picturing sun-kissed skin and dark hair—probably streaked with natural caramel highlights this time of year.

Aubrey.

That fucking annoying voice in my head whispers: the only features you’re attracted to are hers.

And this woman, this stranger, she sure as hell isn’t her.

“Liam,” I eventually greet. The stranger smiles softly, raising her brows as I fight to think of something else to say to her.

God, I’ve lost my touch.

Then again, when was the last time I hit on a girl?

Don’t answer that, my subconscious tells me. But an answer screams out of me regardless: Aubrey.

Under the bar, Brennan smacks my leg, and I hurriedly clear my throat. “Uh, want a drink?” I ask as Brennan reaches behind to give me a thumbs up.

“Vodka soda.” She says to the bartender, who turns away and starts the order.

“Too good for a beer?” I jest, wishing I hadn’t said those words.

They feel wrong. Like they belong to someone else.

Someone she’ll never be.

“So, are you a freshman?” The woman asks.

I rub at my chest, pulling the fabric of my hoodie that is suddenly too tight against my skin. Clearing my throat, I shove her drink towards her. The bar is so loud, becoming a constant pulse thumping in my skull. My fingers find my eyes as I press down, trying to get the pounding to stop.

When I remember that she asked me a question, I finally reply, “No. A senior. Well, I guess a junior, technically—I don’t know, it’s complicated.” I manage poorly.

Why the fuck would I say that?

I watch her take a slow sip, her eyes dancing around the bar. Probably asking herself, of all the men here, why in the hell she decided to approach me.

Before I can stew on it anymore, the girl tilts her head and says, “Wait…” Her eyes narrow on me, “Was that you on the screen a second ago?!”

My eyes slam closed as I run a hand across my face.

Here. We. Fucking. Go.

A heavy weight settles over my shoulders, physically altering my posture as I stand from the barstool.

“Wait! OH MY GOD! It totally was you! You’re Liam Anderson!” she exclaims, her hand finding my shoulder. “Talk about disgusting! Your leg was like, backward! How can you even walk after something like that? Wait—I have to ask…how bad did it hur—” she begins, but I walk away before she’s done talking.

Brennan calls after me, but I wave him off.

I’m already gone, a world away, pulled back to that night when everything was taken from me.