Page 22 of Nanny for the Firefighters
The banter continues at the bowling alley, where Ethan's promise of a strike-fest turns into a spectacular display of gutter balls. "Dude, if you were aiming for the cracks, you'd be a legend," I tease, razzing him as he scores another spectacular zero.
"Keep it up, Sparks. Karma's a beast," Ethan warns, but his grin betrays his good nature.
After we've had our fill of strikes—and mostly misses—we decide to cap the night at a local bar known for its laid-back atmosphere and decent brews. The mood is light, the beers are cold, and for a moment, all my personal drama seems a million miles away.
It's Marcus who breaks the peace, his tone serious beneath the throb of Indie rock. "You good, Theo? Really, man, you can talk to us."
I nod, feeling the solidarity. "Yeah, man. It sucks, but hey, life goes on, right? Tonight's about us, the brotherhood."
And just like that, we're back to our usual antics, laughing and sharing tales of misadventures until a familiar and unwelcome screech pierces the bubble of our camaraderie. Vanessa, in all her glory, stumbles toward us with the grace of a newborn giraffe.
Her eyes are glassy, but the anger in them is sharp and focused.
"Not here, V." Marcus stands up immediately. "And not now."
"Not here? Like you care, Marcus!" she slurs loudly, drawing more eyes toward us. Her voice pitches higher as she waves her arms, nearly losing her balance. "You think you can just replace me? Pretend I don't exist?" She's speaking louder now, her voice cracking under the strain and alcohol.
Marcus maintains his composure, though I see his jaw clench tightly. "Vanessa, you're drunk, and you're not making sense. Let's talk when you're sober." His voice is firm yet controlled, trying to de-escalate the situation without causing her further embarrassment.
But Vanessa isn't having any of it. She scoffs, a harsh, bitter sound that slices through the noisy backdrop of the bar. "Oh, I'm making perfect sense," she shoots back. "You just don't like hearing the truth, Marcus! About us, about how you failed us!"
The accusation hangs heavily in the air, and I see Marcus's stance stiffen. He glances around, aware of the growing audience. Ethan leans in, murmuring to me, "This is going south fast."
Before I can reply, Vanessa attempts to throw her drink at Marcus. Her coordination fails her spectacularly, and the drink flies off target, splashing across the bar and soaking an innocent bystander.
"Vanessa, enough!" Marcus's voice finally rises, a note of desperation creeping in. "This isn't the place or the time. You need to go home and sober up."
Vanessa blinks rapidly, as if his words have finally reached some part of her sober mind. But instead of calming down, she laughs—a sad, mocking sound. "Home? To what? You've taken everything from me, Marcus!"
"It was never like that, and you know it," Marcus retorts, his tone softening slightly as if he's pleading with her to understand, to remember differently. "We both know it ended because we wanted different things. There was nothing left to fight for."
"You mean you found nothing left worth fighting for!" Vanessa's voice cracks, and she turns, stumbling slightly as she attempts to storm out, her exit less dramatic and more pitiful.
The entire bar slowly turns back to their own business, the excitement of the drama wearing off. Marcus stands there, his shoulders slightly slumped, looking every bit the part of a man who's had too much thrown at him in one evening.
Ethan nudges me, and we both move to flank Marcus, offering silent support. "You okay, man?" Ethan asks quietly.
Marcus doesn't answer right away. He just shakes his head and manages a strained smile. "I will be. Let's just get out of here."
My phone buzzes as we stand to leave. I glance at the screen, a message from my now definitely ex-girlfriend popping up. Not tonight, I decide, swiping it away.
The night has cooled down by the time we make it back to Marcus's place, our steps slower.
As we trudge up the front steps, the front door swings open, and there stands Ella. She's in a cozy sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, and somehow, she looks exactly like what we all need, a reminder of simpler, happier things.
"Hey, guys," she greets us with a warm smile. "Lily's in bed. Went down like an angel."
The simplicity of the update, the normalcy, it's soothing. We all nod our thanks, but it's Marcus who responds. "Thanks, Ella. That's… really great to hear."
Ella nods, her eyes scanning each of our faces, likely picking up on the residual tension. "Rough night?" she asks, a slight tilt of her head indicating the understatement.
"You could say that," Ethan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just your typical evening out with friends and exes," he adds, trying to twist a smile out of the situation.
Ella's eyebrows rise, but before she can ask, Marcus steps forward, his demeanor a mix of exhaustion and something else—something like spontaneous gratitude, or maybe just the need for something good.
Without a word, he leans in and kisses Ella.
All of us go silent, every eye on Marcus and Ella. She stands frozen, her cheeks flushing a deep rose, and Marcus steps back, his expression one of someone who's just realized he's jumped without looking.