like it one bit. She shouldn’t be teaching anyone lessons; she’s done way worse.
But Amelia. She’s smarter than I am. Even if I failed, she wouldn’t have. Unless she wanted to? That’s a dumb ass thought, but I can’t stop myself from thinking it.
Alcohol.
Yup.
That and music is what I need right now. I need to blackout and get the fact that I’m going to be a father out of my head.
Can you imagine what my brother will think? My sister? The guys on the football team? Dad. I mean, I guess they wouldn’t be super surprised since I am me after all. But still. I can’t be a father. I’ve seen my dad worry and suffer. I’m not cut out for that. I mean, maybe in the future but certainly not now. Not at twenty-one years old.
I get to the house a few minutes later and am more excited than I should be about being greeted by a bunch of strangers. They pat me on the shoulder. They try to talk to me about the game and whatever else, but I’m not paying too much attention.
Cutting the people trying to talk to me short, I head straight toward the kitchen where cold beers and liquor await. I don’t even know what to drink first.
Looking around at all the drinks that have been compiled, I pick the strongest thing I can find and just down it straight from the bottle. When I start feeling buzzed, I allow myself to take in my surroundings again. The house is full, just as it usually is for a victory party. I’m not feeling like a winner right now.
I take another gulp then bring the entire bottle with me to the living room.
I find the guys and pretend to listen to the jokes and stories they tell. I try to enjoy the moment, the lightness that comes from being buzzed because, I know that when I wake up tomorrow, a hangover won’t be the worst thing I’ll be facing.
“You need to stop!” I hear someone yell. I stop to look at who says that and that’s when a punch lands on my mouth. Instantly, I taste the blood. I look down and see one of the hockey guys beneath me and remember that’s what I’ve been doing—fighting. Why do I always do this? Why is it always a hockey player? Why do they keep coming back? Man, I have a lot of questions.
I dodge a punch then throw one of my own. I’m not sure how this fight started, honestly don’t remember much of today already. All I know is picking fights with hockey guys seems to be Drunk Nick’s favorite thing to do. Sober Nick wakes up hurting from it. Not that I’m not strong or tough, because I am, but hockey players aren’t a walk in the park either. They give me a run for my money, even though I catch them at the end.
He flips over so I’m caught under him. His hand raises and just as he’s about to hit me straight in the face again, someone pulls me him away while someone else pulls me up.
I turn back and am greeted by a familiar face. “Lincoln?” I say out loud. Shocked that the rookie would show up to the party. He rarely parties with us.
Before he has a chance to answer, the hockey guy stands up and charges at Aron, I guess angry that he got in the way of our fight. I take a page from our defense and tackle the guy back down to the ground. No one hurts the quarterback, that’s the rule.
I hear the sounds of people screaming, but I’m wrestling back and forth for the upper hand in this fight, so I can’t focus on what they’re saying. Multitasking is hard when you’re this drunk. I finished more than one bottle tonight, that’s for sure.
I glance around the room briefly when the sounds get louder and louder. I realize others are fighting too. I guess I started a brawl. Thank goodness there’s no furniture here to get damaged. Honestly, I’m not even sure why we care about the furniture so much. It’s not like it’s expensive.
It could be the alcohol or a black eye starting to form, but my vision suddenly becomes blurry. I’m pulled from the floor again and dragged somewhere by someone. I try to wiggle out of their hold but a second person joins them in holding me and I can’t break