You knew something was wrong. You ignored the truth for too long. If you’d said something sooner. If you’d been strong enough to make him change.
If only he’d loved me enough to try.
In the moonlit house, there’s nothing to drown out the voices. I draw another ragged breath, and then silently move to the end of the hall. I pull on my sneakers, grab my purse and Zoey’s keys from beside the front door, and then let myself out, careful not to make a sound.
Zoey’s rental car is parked in the driveway. I open the door and slip behind the wheel, starting the engine and driving towards town, my hands still shaking behind the wheel. The fear of my nightmares is fading, but the pain doesn’t melt away: it’s hardening into an empty ache I know all too well. That familiar hollow sadness, the first gentle swell of a current I know could pull me under until I drown.
The road is empty; it’s past midnight now. I’m wearing sweatpants and a shrunken old T-shirt from The Reckless’s first tour, but I don’t care. I need to get away, someplace with noise and people. Somewhere I can distract myself from the pain that’s beating in my chest with every heartbeat, a familiar melody that reminds me of everything I’ve lost.
Every mistake I ever made.
I pull into the parking lot at Jimmy’s bar, the only place with the lights still on in town. Inside, it’s a dive of a place, with classic rock on the jukebox and a pool table in the back, but I don’t care about the other people, right now, all that matters is switching off: outrunning the demons that chase me through the dark night.
I take a seat at the bar and catch the eye of the bartender, a tall guy with brown hair and a friendly look in his eyes.
“Jack Daniels,” I tell him. “Double. Straight.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I’m twenty-one,” I sigh, reaching to pull out my ID, but he shakes his head.
“It’s cool, you just don’t look like a whiskey girl to me.” He scans the shelf behind him. “How about some wine? Or a mojito, something light?”
“Whiskey. Please,” I tell him again, so the guy shrugs.
“Coming right up.”
He deposits the glass in front of me. I reach for it, but my hand wavers.
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
Ryland.
His voice washes over me, and I have to close my eyes. I can’t believe he’s here, at the worst possible moment.
I don’t want him to see me like this.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to reply through a clenched jaw. I don’t turn around, so Ryland takes a seat on the stool beside me. Still, I force myself to stare straight ahead.“Just grabbing a beer.” His voice is a low drawl, but there’s tension there too. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.” I say, feeling a stab of hurt. I reach for the glass, but Ryland’s hand comes down on my wrist, stopping me.
The touch races through me. I shiver.
“Tegan. Look at me.” Ryland’s voice softens.
I swallow, bracing myself before I turn. But nothing can prepare me for his presence, just inches away from me. The dark intensity of his stare, stripping my defenses bare; that chiseled jawline, those tempting lips.
“What’s wrong?” Ryland looks me in the eye.
I shake my head. “You don’t have to pretend like you care. You made it pretty clear that you don’t.”
“Stop.” Ryland’s tone is low, commanding. “Forget about that, just tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Same as you,” I say it with a fake casual tone. “Just getting a drink on a Friday night. Bottoms up.”
I shake off his hand and raise the glass in a toast before I bring it to my lips. But I stop; I can’t even take a single sip.
I swore I wouldn’t be like him. Blocking out the world with chemicals, a cheap thrill. Chasing answers in the bottom of a pill bottle.
Another needle. Another fix.
My hand shakes. I put the glass back down.
I can feel Ryland’s eyes on me, watching. Judging. It’s too much.
“Leave me alone,” I grind out, hating myself for the tears that are already welling, hot and stinging in the corner of my eyes. I slide down from the stool, fumbling to grab some money from my pocket and throw it down on the bar. “I mean it, just leave me alone!”
I turn and flee, burning under the stares that follow me as I race out the front doors and into the parking lot. It’s dark, lit just by a couple of streetlights, and I turn in a confused circle, trying to remember what Zoey’s car looks like.
Footsteps sound. Ryland calls through the darkness. “Tegan, wait!”
“No!” I yell back, fighting to keep it together. All I wanted to do was forget, but Ryland won’t let me; he just keeps reminding me of everything that’s happened and all the ways I’ll never be the same. “You’re the one who said we were done, remember? You didn’t want to stick around. So go now, leave!”
He closes the distance between us. I back away, still searching for the car. “Stop it,” Ryland demands, “Tegan, listen to me!”
He grabs my arm, pulling me against him. “Shh,” he orders me, “calm down, and tell me what’s wrong. I can help you, Tegan. Just tell me what this is about.”
His arms come around me, but instead of holding tight, they cradle me as if I was made of glass. “It’s OK,” he murmurs, softly stroking my hair. “I’m here, it’s OK.”