Disclaimer: I own nothing except the newly fixed Mac in which I wrote this on…
AN: So...the poll helped not at all 'cause that fucker is tied. Here's the next chapter. Feel free to continue giving your opinions.
The Bonfire of the Vanities
-xx-
Before & After
"Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on. I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you."
―Jonathan Safran Foer
-xx-
It's Sawyer Brooke Scott's second birthday.
(But more importantly, it's been three months since both Lucas Scott and Clayton Evans have poured their hearts out to Brooke Davis in a love declaration. Brooke in turn tells them both it's not gonna happen. She thinks she broke them both a little bit. She doesn't really know how she feels about that.)
Brooke isn't quite sure why she's even attending this thing—sure, she's the kid's godmother, but not really. Not the way she is with Jax (who she's been there for since the second he was born) or Jamie (who became one of the most important men in her life the second she actively became a part of his life).
Nope. Sawyer B. Scott is her goddaughter in name only. Because of that little piece of paper she'd signed that day at church almost two years ago.
Brooke is 90% sure that it was Lucas' idea to invite her to this thing.
Because things between Brooke and Peyton have gotten worse—if that's even possible. Though for once it wasn't something that Brooke or Lucas did that upset the curly-haired blonde.
This time it's Rachel Gatina who has Peyton Sawyer (and yes, it's not Scott anymore) going off the deep-end. And it's all over one Jake Jaglieski. Because in Peyton's warped mind Jake was just permanently off-limits—particularly to slutty redheads with bastard children.
But that shit just didn't fly with Rachel. To prove that she didn't give a shit even further, the redhead had recently asked Jake to move in with her and Jax.
(And it was all still too fucking surreal for Brooke because since when is Rachel the sane one with the healthy relationship?)
But still, Brooke attends Sawyer's 2nd birthday party and brings a killer gift and smiles pretty for the pictures. It's what expected of her in this situation, to rise above. And all she really wants right now is for things to go back to normal.
Normal is the watchword.
Nathan greets her, pecks her cheek, "Hey, B.," he greets, hands her one of the two bottles of Bud in his hands, "Here ya go" he says, "Courtesy of Skills. And I gotta feeling we're gonna need it for this one."
Brooke takes a pull from the bottle, never one to turn down alcohol—which she's guessing is scarce at a two-year-old's party. Thank God for Skills' trashy cooler in the trunk of his car. "Why?" she asks hesitantly. The party started like half an hour ago so nothing big could've already gone down. "What's wrong?"
"Well," Nathan starts, "Rach got here early. Her and Jake have been making quite the impression—Jamie and Andre caught them making out in the bathroom. Haley almost threw them out."
Brooke furrows her brow because none of this is particularly atypical for Rachel—until she spots her redheaded best friend coming out of the pool. She's wearing a black one-piece bathing suit that might as well be a no-piece with the way it clung to her wet body.
Nathan arches his eyebrow, "Plus she wore that," he adds, tilting his beer bottle towards the redhead subtly.
"Oh. My. God." Brooke presses a fist to her mouth in attempt to suppress the laughter. Leave it to Rachel to wear quite possibly the most inappropriate thing ever to a two-year-old's birthday party.
"Yep. That's just what Haley said." Nathan tells her, "She might've added a few choice words to that, though."
Rachel runs over to them, pulls Brooke into a hug. "Hey, bitch, you made it!"
"Yeah," Brooke is now dripping wet from the hug (and she's grateful that she actually wore a bathing suit for this). "Wouldn't miss it for the world—we should go get you a towel or something. Where's Jay?"
Rachel points a thumb at the pool, "Over there," In the pool, Jake stands by the basketball hoop, Jax sitting on his shoulders as they play with the other kids.
"Okay," Brooke sighs, "Cut the crap, Rae—you know you need to cover up, right?"
That's Nathan's cue, "Y'know, they're a few guys short for that game. I'm gonna go get J-Luke so we can join in." And with that he's gone.
Both Rachel and Brooke giggle at Nathan's not-so-subtle escape. "C'mon, gimme a few more minutes," says the redhead, "I wanna see if I can actually make that vein on Peyt-whore's forehead burst."
"Two-year-old's birthday party. This place is flooded with kids. And the parents are gonna have a coronary because of you." Brooke reprimands, "You gotta cover up now. Seriously!"
Rachel pouts, "Fine." she whines, "Ever since you stopped fucking Clay you're just no fun."
Brooke chooses to ignore that last comment and then pulls the loose tank-top off over her head and hands it to the redhead who slides it on. "Didn't you bring anything?"
Rachel shrugs, "Jake's got a button-down around here somewhere. You can have that." She offers, "Aren't you gonna get in? It's a pool party."
Brooke takes another pull from the bottle, "Honestly, I just wanna get through this thing quick and painless." She says, furrows her brow, "How'd you even score an invite to this thing anyways?" She knows Peyton can't stand Rachel and the redhead's not high on Lucas' list of favorite people, either.
"Sawyer and Jax were on the same playgroup at the park—they're actually friends." Rachel says with a note of surprise in her tone, "Apparently Sawyer really likes Jax, enough to demand that he gets an invite. At least that's what Luke-ass told Jake." She explains, "Anyway, no need to ask why you got invited. Luke's still not backing off?"
Brooke shakes her head, "Nope. Lucas is still relentless—now even more since the divorce becomes official next week. And Clay's not talking to me." She sighs—a part of her is still not used to functioning without him. "But it's all right. Everything's gonna be fine."
"Right," Rachel jeers, "'Cause normal is the watchword."
Brooke rolls her eyes, "You mock, but I don't care."
-xx-
It all goes relatively well for the rest of the afternoon. Haley is a great hostess (which really means she does a fantastic job of keeping Brooke, Rachel and Jake away from Peyton to avoid any inappropriate drama). Before anyone knows it, it's time to cut the cake.
Everyone sings happy birthday, and there's plenty of pictures. Lucas and Peyton with Sawyer. Nathan and Haley with Sawyer. Then someone (Brooke's pretty sure it's Rachel) shouts out for a picture with the godparents.
Nathan proudly steps up, and after an awkward pause, so does Brooke.
Brooke thinks that Peyton's gonna pounce on her for standing so close to her daughter, but miraculously enough, nothing happens. (Maybe it's because not even Peyton is psycho enough to start a catfight at her daughter's birthday party.)
It's after everyone's spread out around eating the cake that Lucas gets a second alone with Brooke. "I've tried calling you." He says.
"And I've ignored your calls." Brooke answers, "Maybe it's time to get the hint and move on, Luke."
This only elicits a smirk, "Look, I get it. I came on too strong. It was too soon to say anything. But I didn't want to waste any time." He says, "I don't wanna waste any more time. I think I've wasted more than enough."
Because every single second of his life spent without her, Lucas had come realize, was truly a waste.
"Lucas, I am done." Brooke hisses under her breath, not wanting to draw any attention to them. "You and I—it's not gonna happen. Whatever there was between us...the moment passed. You married Peyton, and that was that. Do you realize how messed up everything is? You're getting divorced. You have a kid. Clay and I are barely talking right now..."
"Brooke, c'mon. Clayton Evans? Seriously? He's...he's the good-time guy. There is no future with him." Lucas tilts his head to the side, flashes her a smile, and reaches out to stroke her cheek gently. "But you and I—we could be something. He's not good for you." He concludes.
Brooke slaps his hand away, "Don't." she growls angrily, "Don't. You don't get to say that to me. Because no matter what you say, he was there for me when you weren't, Luke. So no. You do not get to say anything about Clay. Not to me."
"All right." Lucas surrenders, because he actually has no counter for that one, "But I'm here now. And where exactly is Clay?" he licks his lips, "I wasn't lying before: I want to be with you. And I'm ready now. I wasn't ready before—I wasn't steady, I was unsure—but I am ready now."
Brooke shakes her head, "Well, I'm not." She tells him, and then walks away.
Maybe I'm just too fucking complicated to love anyone, Brooke thinks. Maybe I'm the problem. But then she pushes it to the back of her mind.
Because normal is the watchword.
-xx-
Clay sits on a barstool and downs his last shot. He slams the shot glass down on the bar, "Another round, Ace!" he calls out, "What am I drinking again?"
"You started out with a beer," Chase starts to list off as he pours three more shots, "Then you moved on to Scotch, then shots of tequila, and then vodka. Now you're onto whiskey. You sure you wanna keep going?"
Clay slumps his head against the bar-top. This is pathetic. He is not pathetic. He is Clayton Evans. He is awesome. Except that all his friends are currently gathered at the local pool park for a two-year-old's birthday party. A party he wasn't invited to.
Furthermore, he'd poured his heart out to the one girl to ever make him fall in love (or at least as close to love as he's ever come before) only to have her tell him that she can't choose. That she needs time. That she needs space. He's mildly grateful that Brooke didn't pull out all the clichés and told him 'it's not you, it's me'.
So, all in all, drinking seems like his best option. "Yep. I'm sure. Pour another round."
Alex Dupre sits on the stool next to Clay's. "Hello, handsome," she greets with a smirk, eyes the shots, "Can I get in on that?"
"I never turn down a beautiful woman," Clay answers, flashes her his best lopsided grin. It's amazing, really, how even when he's plastered off his ass he can still manage to be that charming—with the inviting cobalt-blue eyes and the perfect smile and the eye contact. "Ace, three more."
They drink. They flirt. It's all pointing to an easy hook-up. But Clay says no to taking her back to his place.
"You're...turning me down?" Alex asks, the confusion in her voice more than evident.
"Don't worry, sweetheart." Clay flashes her yet another grin, "It's not personal. I just already know you. And that'll make it harder to forget who you are when I toss you out in the morning." He explains remarkably matter-of-factly. If it were any other guy, he would've gotten slapped. But he is Clayton Evans.
"Charming." Alex chuckles, grabs her purse, "You know, whoever got you so twisted up, she isn't worth it."
Clay smirks, "You're probably right." He says before slumping his head back onto the bar-top. He whispers, "Then again, you probably don't know Brooke Davis."
Chase raises an eyebrow, "Okay. We all used to hate you. Every guy on this bar hated you with a fiery passion because you always scored—not just scored, you took home the hottest girl here. Sometimes you took home more than one. I mean, you scored. Every. Fucking. Night. But now, you've pretty much become the only guy I know who cock-blocks himself." He punches his shoulder lightly, "What is up?"
"Being an asshole works, Ace. You just gotta know how to do it right." Clay shakes his head, "And Alex...she seems fun, like a great lay basically. But I just wanna an easy fuck, not a girl I'm gonna keep seeing hanging around. That's too complicated."
Chase flashes him an empathetic smile, "I get it." He too knows what it's like to want Brooke Davis. "Want another round? It's on me."
"Sure. Pour 'em."
-xx-
Rachel Gatina walks into Clay's house early in the morning. She doesn't bother knocking, uses the spare key tapped atop the doorframe. To her surprise, the house is pretty decadent.
This is actually unusual for Clay. Despite being an asshole, he is usually a very neat asshole. But there are empty bottles of Scotch and Grey Goose and Patrón lying around.
Just as Rachel's about to head upstairs to rouse him up, she spots him passed out of the couch. The coffee table is littered with empty beer bottles and Red Bull cans, the TV is on blasting the highlights of some basketball game. Clay is lying down on his stomach, an arm and leg dangling off the couch. His ass is covered by a blanket, and Rachel spots his boxer briefs on the floor across the room.
Rachel kicks the couch somewhat violently, "Get off your ass!" the redhead demands far too loudly for Clay's hangover to handle.
"Fuck off." Clay moans and scrunches his eyes. "No yelling," he sits up on the couch, rubs his temples, "Headache and hangover." He groans, feeling suddenly exhausted by Rachel's early morning energy. "Where's my underwear?"
Rachel kicks them up to him, "I brought coffee." She announces as she hands him a paper cup and a bottle of Tylenol. "You'll probably need this, too, yeah?"
With another groan, Clay nods, "I feel like shit."
"Surprise, surprise," Rachel rolls her eyes, "Where's the flavor of the month hiding? Under the bed or in the closet?"
Clay flashes her a smirk, "Y'know I don't let 'em stay the night anymore."
"Yes. You are quite the gentleman," Rachel mocks as she heads into the kitchen to scavenge Clay's fridge for something edible. His fridge is pretty much classic bachelor: a few takeout containers, some condiments, no sign of anything resembling something healthy anywhere in sight. And, of course, the usual six-packs. "There's nothing to eat here, dipshit."
Clay slides on his boxers, stretches his arms over his head, "I need a shower." He says as he heads upstairs towards the bathroom.
This deters Rachel in no way. She follows him upstairs and into the bathroom. Clay's already under the hot water and she just closes the toilet seat and sits on top of it, magazine in hand.
"Where'd you leave the kid?" Clay asks as he lathers up his hair. He and Rachel act like they're in a frigging frat house and this is communal bathroom or something.
Rachel browses the pages of her magazine absentmindedly. "Jake took him to today's playgroup." She answers, pauses, "You know I'm here to check up on you. I've let you run amok for the past few months because I figured you needed to get it out of your system. Now enough's enough."
"What do you want me to do, Rae? B. told me to back off! She told me to leave her alone! Was I supposed to camp outside her house waiting for her to want me? I said 'I love you' and she said 'get lost'."
"What did you think was gonna happen, Clay?" Rachel scoffs, "You were just gonna say 'You're broken, I'm broken, isn't that so romantic?' and hope that it would turn into a relationship? You gotta put some more work in it."
Clay slides the crystal door and pokes his head out, "Fuck off," he tells her, "I stepped up—I told her how I felt about her, and she fuckin' shut me down. And for what, huh? For Lucas Scott, the married asshole who's already broken her heart?"
Rachel rolls her eyes, "Oh, boo-hoo. You got rejected. You thought you'd get her because that's what you do—I mean, Clay Evans always gets the girl, right?"
"Y'know what, fuck you!" Clay hisses, "It was never like that with her, it was real. It is real. I...she wanted space, and I gave it to her." He sighs, closes the sliding door and lets the warm water run through his body. "What the fuck else was I supposed to do?"
Rachel sighs, "I get it. You're trying to what Brooke asked you to." And she can see it's kind of killing him. "Look, you and Brooke were the sad, lonely, lost, broken kids, that are very emotionally immature, but you thought that maybe it could work out anyways. And now that it isn't, it hurts."
"I just thought..." Clay lets his voice trail off, "We were both just these screw-up kids, and nobody really wants us, so we're just gonna look out for each other. That's how we became friends. Brooke's my best friend, Rae. And now I don't... I miss her."
Rachel stands up and pokes her head into the shower, "Clay. I get it. Brooke wasn't just a fuck. I'm not saying you're not right for Brooke, I'm saying that it's complicated. B., she's... Look, a relationship should be two people coming together to forge something that's grown-up and equitable. And I think you both need to let go of your baggage before you can get to the point where doing that is possible."
"Something grown-up, huh?"
"Yes." Rachel answers.
Clay grins, "Well, we'll get there." He decides, smirks at the redhead. "Now get outta the shower—I know I'm hot, but you're taken, and I'm actually pretty much in love with this hot brunette so this can't happen."
"Real mature," Rachel rolls her eyes and closes the sliding door. She flushes the toilet before leaving just so she can hear Clay scream like a little bitch when the water scalds him.
"MOTHERFUCK!"
Rachel smirks—mission accomplished. That's what he gets for being such a smartass.
-xx-
Brooke is sitting on the floor behind the Clothes-Over-Bro's counter on Jackson's play mat. She easily entertains the toddler, tossing little plastic basketballs into a Little Tikes hoop.
She's been trying to wear him out since lunchtime in order to put him down for his afternoon nap, but he's been relentless. One more thing to prove he truly is Rachel Gatina's son.
Jax laughs heartily at landing in a shot.
"And the crowd goes wild!" Brooke cups her hands over her mouth, says it in her best announcer-voice. Then the bell at the door jingles, "Be with you in a minute." She calls out as she stands up. "Hi—" she cuts herself off when she spots Lucas Scott.
Lucas flashes her the infamous Scott-smirk. "Don't get mad," he starts, "Look, I know you said we're done, that it's not gonna happen with us. I heard it—"
"Then clearly you didn't understand me." Brooke hisses, "You cannot keep doing this to me! I need you to stop popping up around here, screwing with my head!"
Lucas can't help the wry chuckle that escapes his lips, "Because of Clay?"
Brooke doesn't know if he really isn't getting it or if he's just looking to piss her off. "Don't." she warns.
"You and Clay, you... seem to need each other." Lucas says coolly, no trace of jealousy in his voice. "It's easy. It feels like love, but it isn't."
Brooke's not sure why this cuts her so much—she guesses it's because she still doesn't know what she feels for Clay, and she just doesn't want Lucas to be right about it. "You have to stop. You gotta stop talking to me and checking on me and saying all this stuff." She sighs, "I love you—is that what you wanna hear?" she glares, "And I am always gonna love you in some way—you were my first love, you were a lot of my firsts." Brooke pauses, shakes her head, "But I don't want to love you. In any way. I just...I want to be happy."
"You're right. I'm sorry." Lucas surrenders, leans over the counter, "But I can make you happy." He whispers, breaches the distance between them by softly pressing his lips to hers. It's the first time he's kissed her in years. And yet his mouth still conforms perfectly to hers. He pulls back, "You can't tell me there's nothing there." He's been waiting for this. He hasn't wanted his lips to touch hers while he was still technically married.
Brooke's hazel eyes are wide, and it's like she's frozen, "Lucas—"
"I'm single now—officially. From now on, it's not just talk between us. It's not me making empty promises. So I want to be clear here. Because I am fighting for you—I'm still in love with you. I want another chance. I'm not giving up on us."
"Lucas..."
Lucas smiles, "You're wearing out my name there," he jokes, brushes a strand of hair off her face.
The bell jingles once more, and both pairs of eyes dart towards the door. At that second, Brooke feels like throwing up a little bit because there's Clay Evans.
Fuck. My. Life.
Clay merely puts on his best lopsided grin, "Well," he tucks his hands into his Diesel jeans' pockets, "Isn't this cozy."
Brooke blinks, her throat suddenly going dry, "Clay." it comes out ten times more raspy than usual.
Lucas focuses his eyes on Brooke, "I'm gonna go."
"Aw, so soon?" Clay mocks—he's wanted to get another shot at this douche since their last fight was cut short. "Bye-bye, Stretch."
Lucas' jaw tightens, his knuckles whiten, but he manages to do the mature thing: he walks away.
Clay walks over to Brooke, steps around the counter. "J-Gatina," he greets with smirk, picking the toddler up off the floor, "'Sup, little dude? Aunt B. treating you good?"
Jax nods eagerly. Brooke smiles, "I always treat him good. He's my favorite boy."
"Well, I don't mind being second, so long as it's to Jax."
Brooke kinks her eyebrows, "What makes you so sure you're even on the list?" And at that moment she is grateful that they can be normal right now. She's missed him—and like he'd said, it wasn't even the sex (though it was mind-blowing), it's her best friend.
The boy she can say anything to, the boy around who she can be herself, quite possibly the only person in the world who has never judged for any of her decisions, stupid or otherwise.
"'Cause I know I am." Clay hops up on the counter, the back of his heels kicking it, "I'm me."
Brooke narrows her eyes at him playfully for a second, then she wraps her arms around him. A smile spreads across her lips when she feels the familiar warmth of Clay's arms circling her petite frame. "I've missed you," she admits.
Clay presses his lips to the top of her head, breathes her in, "Nowhere near as much as I've been missin' you, B." he tells her.
They pull apart, Brooke stands between his legs. "I know I've been pretty MIA." Clay admits, "You wanted space. And I just...I didn't want to crowd you. I know to which end of the fight or flight scale that tips you to." He pulls out a Toblerone bar from his pocket, "Peace offering—it's your favorite."
"You know me too well." Brooke grins.
Clay grins back at her, "I know I do." He lifts her chin gently, locks eyes with her, "Hey, I know I haven't been a great friend lately. I just...I didn't know what you wanted from me. And I didn't want to make things harder for you."
"I know." Brooke tells him, "We both needed a little distance, C."
Clay shakes his head, "That's no excuse. You're my best friend. No matter what, I don't walk away." He pauses, "You get that this is me saying sorry, right?"
This is not something Clay does often. In fact, Brooke's only ever heard him sincerely apologize once before. Brooke nods, "You get that I'm saying there's no need to."
"I'm apologizing anyway." Clay counters, winks at her.
Brooke rolls her eyes, kisses his scruffy cheek, "Wanna crash at my place?" she asks, "We can watch trashy movies and mock them endlessly."
"Tempting offer." Clay grins, "But I'm actually headed home. I'm trying to tidy the place up before the real state agent comes over."
Brooke furrows her brow, "You're selling your place?"
"My place is a glorified frat house." Clay tells her, "I'm getting a place in town. Somewhere I don't wake up thinking about lounging all day at the beach and screwing bikini-clad women."
"My, oh, my—is Clayton Evans really growing up this time?"
For the first time Clay's response is not an indignant scoff and a smartass remark. He just shrugs, "Maybe a little. I've heard it's not so bad."
Brooke smiles and kinks an eyebrow at the comment. She's not quite sure how that makes her feel.
-xx-
Carter Baizen stands on the curb in front of JFK Airport, cell phone in hand as he tips the bag boy.
"Fitz, I'm not fucking around here—I think Clay's in deep shit… Worried enough that I'm getting on a plane and heading down to Tree Hill, North Carolina… Look, your ticket's paid for—just get your ass to the airport."
It's pretty fucking serious, Carter figures. Clay usually likes to fuck around—women are his main hobby. But he's been on a four-month long fuck-a-thon now, ever since the whole thing with Brooke.
And that shit ain't normal—even for Clay Evans.
Ezra Fitz—Clay and Carter's other roommate from Dartmouth—wonders how bad can it really be?
The answer: well, it's bad enough that Carter Baizen feels the need to head down to Tree Hill for a visit.
-xx-
Carter slides the Ray-Bans down to the tip of his nose, takes a final glance at the beach. It's official: Tree Hill is too idyllic for his tastes. "It's like a fucking Norman Rockwell painting here." He mutters.
Ezra rolls his eyes, "It's a nice town. Quit being such a snob." He tells him as he knocks on the door. "Evs! Open up, it's us!"
Clay opens the door clad in his boxers, a towel around his shoulders as he dries his hair. "The fuck!" he greets with a grin, "What're you two doing here?" he asks, steps aside to let them inside.
The threesome settles in the living room—Clay's beach house really is like the ultimate frat house: two-story dock, pool table, decked out stereo system, grill, ping pong table (which had doubled as a beer pong table more than once), etc.
"Seriously, guys," Clay starts, "Why're you here?"
In most ways, these were Clay's best friends. They'd met at college when they were just turning eighteen and they'd fucked around as much as possible—that's what your twenties are for. They didn't always keep in touch or see each other as much as they used to, but they always had each other's back.
Their roles were pretty well defined from early on.
Clay was the reckless one: the self-proclaimed Peter Pan determined to never grow up.
Carter was the untamable one: the one with the perpetual inability to stay in one place.
Ezra was the responsible one: his job consisted of grounding his knuckleheaded two best friends down to reality. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.
And even after all these years, they hadn't grown out of them. At least not entirely. Especially when they got together.
Carter purses his lips, focuses his eyes on the glass of Scotch in his hands.
Ezra scoffs, "Seriously." He rolls his eyes, "Clay, we're here because Baze is convinced something's wrong with you. He thinks this girl Brooke has screwed you up permanently or something."
"Dude!" Carter slaps Ezra's arm, he shakes his head, "Clay, we're just concerned here. I get that B. is a great girl, but you've on a drink-a-thon/fuck-a-thon for the past few months and it's enough to get me worried, so you know you're being overkill with it."
Clay runs his fingers through his hair, "It's not like that anymore!" he protests. "Look, I was a little fucked up before, but I'm...over it now."
Carter scoffs, "That's convincing."
Ezra rolls his eyes. This is going to take forever if he doesn't expedite the process. "Okay. Enough. If you don't wanna talk about it, I'm calling in backup." he warns.
Clay narrows his eyes. He knows what backup means. "You wouldn't."
Carter follows suit, pulls out his phone, "Dude, we have your sisters on speed-dial." He says easily, turns to Ezra, "You call Kathleen and Nancy, I'll dial Lizzie and Amelia?" he offers.
"Dickheads," Clay snatches the phones out of their hands, "You do not get to play the sisters card every time I do something you don't like."
"You do stuff I don't like all the time." States Ezra calmly, "I only pull the sisters card when you're doing stuff that's fucked up."
Clay groans, "I was messed up before, but I'm not now. You came a day late. Someone else already kicked my ass into gear. I'm me again." He jumps up, waves his arms around as if to show this, "You can rest easy, and catch the next flight out of here."
Ezra scrunches up his nose, "Yeah, this place is a sty, you were drinking yourself into a stupor until yesterday, but everything's okay."
Clay groans, "Ugh, fine! You two wanna stay here an babysit me for a days—whatever. It's your time that's gonna be wasted." He grabs a paper and tosses it at them, "Least you can do is help me look for a new place. I'm moving."
That alone is enough to shock Carter and Ezra. If they know one thing, it's that Clay loves his beachside bachelor pad.
And it'd take something pretty major for him to want to give it all up.
