CHAPTER TWO
1998 Words
Wes pushed open the door to his apartment, the hinges creaking like they were auditioning for a horror movie. As he stepped inside, the stillness hit him. No sound, no movement, just the faint hum of the fridge and the distant noise of traffic outside.
“Home sweet home,” he muttered, tossing his keys onto the counter with a clatter.
The fridge door opened with a groan. Inside, the culinary landscape was bleak: a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in crinkled foil, a sad-looking apple, and an expired yogurt that was probably plotting its own rebellion. Wes grabbed the sandwich like it was the last slice of dignity in his life.
He chucked it into the microwave, punched a few random buttons, and flopped onto the couch. A cold beer from the coffee table found its way into his hand, condensation dripping down the can. He took a sip, wincing.
Just as he was about to mourn his life choices, the door swung open, and in walked Carter, his best friend and, more often than not, his worst influence.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the king of solitude,” Carter announced, kicking the door shut behind him. “What’s with the vibe? Did someone steal your Netflix password again?”
Wes glanced at him. “The vibe is called ‘Tuesday,’ Carter. Welcome to it.”
Carter made a beeline for the fridge, his nose wrinkling as he peered inside. “Seriously, man? Half a sandwich and a yogurt that looks like it’s growing legs? Do you live here or just haunt the place?”
“I’m sorry, Martha Stewart,” Wes shot back, leaning further into the couch. “Not all of us have the energy to turn leftovers into a five-course meal.”
The microwave beeped. Wes groaned but didn’t move.
“Ah, yes, gourmet dining,” Carter said, retrieving the sandwich. He inspected it like it was some rare artifact. “You know, this might be the saddest thing I’ve seen all week, and I walked past a clown crying on the subway yesterday.”
“Are you just here to roast my life, or do you have an actual reason for showing up?” Wes asked, taking another sip of his lukewarm beer.
Carter shrugged, plopping down next to him. “Both, obviously. But mostly, I came to tell you that you’re a disaster and I’m taking you out tonight.”
Wes raised an eyebrow. “Out? As in, outside? With people?”
“Yes, Wes, with people,” Carter said, rolling his eyes. “It’s this thing normal humans do. You might’ve heard of it—socializing?”
“Hard pass,” Wes replied, sinking further into the couch. “I’ve got everything I need right here. Beer, questionable sandwich, and zero expectations.”
Carter shook his head, grabbing the beer can and sniffing it. “This beer is older than your lease, and that sandwich could double as a weapon. You’re coming out, end of story.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m leaving this couch,” Wes said, smirking.
Carter stood up, tossing the sandwich back onto the counter. “Bold of you to assume you have a choice. Get dressed. I’m not spending my night babysitting your self-pity marathon.”
“First of all, it’s not self-pity,” Wes said, standing up reluctantly. “It’s self-preservation. Second, if this ends with karaoke, I’m never speaking to you again.”
“Noted,” Carter said with a grin. “Now hurry up. You smell like despair and microwaved bread.”
Wes sighed, grabbing a jacket from the back of the chair. “This better not be one of your ‘adventures.’ I still haven’t recovered from the last one.”
“No promises,” Carter said, already heading for the door.
As Wes followed him out, he muttered under his breath, “This is how I die. Death by Carter’s bad ideas.”
“Relax,” Carter called over his shoulder. “If you die, I promise to give a killer eulogy. Something about you being tragically unremarkable.”
Wes couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet, here we are,” Carter replied, holding the door open. “Now move it, couch potato. Adventure awaits.”
And just like that, Wes found himself dragged back into the chaos that came with being Carter’s best friend.
They got into Carter’s car—a beat-up, ancient contraption that looked like it had been through several wars and lost every single one. Wes sighed deeply as he plopped down in the passenger seat, gripping the handlebar for dear life.
The car hadn’t even lurched out of the parking lot before the handlebar snapped clean off in his hand.
“What the h*ll,” Wes muttered, staring at the broken piece of plastic like it had personally betrayed him.
“Oh, please,” Carter scoffed, glancing over with a smirk. “Like you aren’t used to this old junk by now.”
“Used to it? This thing’s a death trap. I’m shocked it hasn’t been declared a biohazard yet,” Wes shot back, tossing the broken handlebar onto the backseat, which was already littered with empty coffee cups, receipts, and what might’ve been a fossilized french fry.
Carter rolled his eyes as he cranked the engine—twice—before it grudgingly sputtered to life with a noise that sounded like a dying walrus.
“So,” Carter started casually as they rolled onto the street, the car rattling ominously. “I heard you got nabbed by a bunch of cops at Feng’s. That true?”
Wes groaned, leaning his head back against the seat. “Yep. Boss had to bail me out and everything. It was a whole scene.”
“That explains the mood,” Carter said, glancing at Wes with an amused grin. “What’d you do this time? Accidentally jaywalk into a high-speed chase?”
“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Wes deadpanned. “Feng, that douchebag, wanted to mess with me and my crew. I just had to give him a lesson, you know?”
“Well, did you?”
“Not nearly as satisfying enough. But I did. Cops came though. Probably some of Feng’s men who cowered up and decided to hit 911. It was all cleared up, but not before I spent five minutes in a cell with a guy named ‘Snake’ who kept trying to sell me a tattoo gun and some other douchebag who’s trying to jam said tattoo gun into my eye.”
Carter burst out laughing. “Snake? Please tell me you got his number. I’ve been meaning to get something inked. Maybe ‘Bad Decisions’ across my knuckles.”
Wes gave him a look. “You’re the last person who needs a tattoo that screams ‘arrest me.’”
“Fair point.” Carter chuckled as he turned the wheel, the steering column groaning in protest. “But seriously, though, haven’t seen you hitting the bars lately. What’s up with that? You turning into a hermit or something?”
“Been kinda busy,” Wes admitted with a shrug. “There’s this new project I’m handling. Big deal, tight deadlines. Plus, I’ve got this new investment thing going on.”
Carter raised an eyebrow, keeping his eyes on the road. “Investment? Please tell me this isn’t one of those ‘buy property on the moon’ scams.”
“Of course not!” Wes protested, sounding just a little too defensive. “It’s 100% legit.”
“Uh-huh,” Carter said skeptically, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And let me guess: some guy in a cheap suit handed you a brochure with clip art and promised you’d double your money in a week?”
“Would you relax?” Wes snapped. “It’s not a scam. I’ve done my research. This is a solid opportunity.”
“Right,” Carter said, smirking as they hit a pothole that made the entire car bounce like it was trying to take flight. “Well, when you lose all your money, you can always crash on my couch. Assuming my couch doesn’t end up like this car and fall apart first.”
Wes groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Remind me why I’m friends with you again?”
“Because I’m the only one who can drag you out of your depressing little bubble and make you live a little,” Carter replied, grinning.
“Or kill me in this death trap you call a car,” Wes muttered, gripping the edge of his seat as the car let out another ominous rattle.
“Potato, potahto,” Carter quipped. “Now sit back and enjoy the ride. Adventure awaits!”
Wes stared at him, unimpressed. “If this adventure involves you hitting another pothole, I’m calling an Uber.”
“Fine by me,” Carter said with a laugh. “But you’re paying for it. My investment is this car, and I’m sticking with it.”
Wes groaned again, silently regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.
When they pulled up at the strip where the city’s nightlife thrived, Wes wasted no time getting out of Carter’s rickety excuse for a car. He didn’t even wait for Carter to turn off the engine, let alone fix his perpetually broken door handle. He headed straight for the bar like a man on a mission.
Carter jogged after him, grumbling, “You could at least pretend to enjoy the ride.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Wes shot over his shoulder, weaving through the crowd that spilled out onto the street.
As soon as Wes approached the entrance, the two hulking security guards at the door perked up.
“Wes!” one of them called, grinning. “Back again, huh? Thought you were laying low.”
“Something like that,” Wes replied with a casual nod.
The other guard stepped aside, unclipping the velvet rope. “Go on in, man. Good to see you.”
Carter, trailing behind, raised an eyebrow. “Really? The velvet rope treatment? I can’t take you anywhere.”
Wes smirked. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Carter.”
Inside, the atmosphere was electric—neon lights flashing, music thumping, and laughter echoing through the crowded room. As soon as Wes walked in, heads turned.
“Wes!” someone shouted from across the room, a group of guys lifting their drinks in salute. A couple of them came over for fist bumps, and Wes obliged with the kind of ease that only came with experience.
Meanwhile, a group of girls in shimmering dresses gravitated toward him like moths to a flame. “Wes, it’s been forever!” one of them said, her hand brushing his arm.
He winked at them but didn’t slow down, making a beeline for the bar. The crowd parted for him, like they somehow knew this wasn’t the night to slow him down.
The bartender, a lanky guy with a full beard and a quick smile, noticed him immediately. “Wes! Long time, no see, man.” He was already reaching for a glass.
“Hey, Todd,” Wes said, sliding onto a stool.
“Let me guess,” Todd said, pulling out a bottle and starting to mix a drink. “Your usual, right?”
Wes nodded. “You know me too well.”
As Todd worked his magic, he added, “This one’s on the house. Consider it a ‘welcome back’ special.”
Wes smirked. “You’re too kind.”
Behind him, Carter finally caught up, panting slightly. “Oh, sure. Free drinks for Wes, but I walk in, and it’s like I’m invisible.”
“Maybe it’s your face,” Wes said without looking at him.
Carter clutched his chest in mock offense. “Wow. Brutal.”
- Writer
