“Whatever you have on tap,” I tell him.

I need to forget about Monika, the team, Trey, and everything that’s happened.

I need to forget I exist. Getting shit drunk seems like a good idea.

Without carding me or asking me how old I am, he hands me a mug filled with some crap beer that tastes like shit. After I have four more, the stuff starts tasting damn good.

“Hey,” a guy says as he pushes my shoulder back to take a better look at me. He’s wearing jeans and a beer-stained wife-beater. “Aren’t you the kid who killed that Fremont football player Trey Matthews during practice a few weeks ago?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I turn back to my beer.

“Charlie, get this kid another brewski,” the guy says. “He did us a favor by puttin’ that All-State player six feet under.”

My fist flies without him being able to duck or flinch. He’s on the ground, and I’m being yanked out of the place by two bouncers and thrown onto the gravel parking lot. Everything is a blur. Well, everything except for the dude’s face after he ran his mouth off about Trey’s death.

I sit up when I hit the pavement, and the world starts to tilt.

I’m drunk.

Damn.

I can drive the motorcycle back to the shop, but in all honesty I don’t think I can make it back without falling over or puking. I decide to walk, which sucks because Isa’s place is across town.

Escaping to this dive bar was a shitty idea.

I stumble inside Enrique’s Auto Body twenty minutes later and head for the upstairs apartment. Isa is sitting on the couch where I’ve been sleeping for the past couple of weeks. I figure ignoring her is my best option, because as soon as I open my mouth to talk my brain can’t figure out what words to say.

“Where were you?” Isa asks me.

“Nowhere,” I answer as I stumble over to the couch.

“Are you drunk?”

“I hope so.” I can feel my words slur.

She tsks a bunch of times. “What would Dani or Marissa think of you if they saw you now?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Okay, let me put it this way,” Isa says, her fiery personality hitting me like a tornado. “What if Dani or Marissa came home drunk like you are?”

I might be stupid drunk, but that’s a no-brainer. “I’d kick their asses and the person who helped them get drunk.”

“Exactly.” She stands and gets in my face. “Next time you get shitfaced, if you even think of coming to my place afterward, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“You think you can kick my ass, Isa, go ahead.” I lie down because my head is spinning and I want to puke.

“Alcohol won’t solve your problems, cuz. And it won’t get you into a college.”

I might have fought it for as long as I could, but the truth is that I’m not going to college. Hell, I probably never had a chance to anyways. If anything, football would get me into some college and I’d probably flunk out during my first semester.

Monika would never deserve a guy like me. Trey was the guy who could give her a future and stability, something I’d never be able to give to her. I have to prove to her that I’m the complete opposite of Trey. I’m someone who doesn’t deserve her kisses or her attention.

I don’t deserve anything at this point.

This is my life, right here in the south side of Fairfield, working at a rundown auto body shop. I don’t want to face reality. I tell myself I can still keep an eye on Dani and Marissa even though I’m not living at home.

When the dizziness fades, a calming wave of serenity washes over me, giving me the strength to tell Isa the truth.

“I murdered my best friend,” I tell her. “Then I kissed his girlfriend.”

My cousin cocks a brow. “Murder? Vic, I read the news stories. It was an accident.”

“You sure?” I ask her as I sink into the brown, lumpy couch. “I wanted to be him, Isa. I wanted his life. I wanted his brilliant fucking brain. Hell, I wanted his girlfriend.”

Isa drops a blanket on me. “It was an accident, Vic. Nothing more. I’m sure because I know you. We’re blood.”

I shake my head. “Just because we’re blood related, it doesn’t mean shit. I’m blood related to my old man and he can’t stand the sight of me. After tonight, I don’t think Monika will be able to stand the sight of me either.”

“I think Monika likes you, Vic.”

“You’re delusional,” I tell her. “Completely delusional.”