by Sara Ney
CHAPTER 28
Caleb
“So, let me get this straight. You find a ring she lost in our yard and don’t give it back?”
I snap my head up at Weston’s words and narrow my eyes as he coolly pops a cashew into mouth. “Who told you?”
“Who do you think? Abby cried to Jenna, Jenna told Molly, and Molly told me.” Unapologetically, he tips his head back and takes a swig of beer, not realizing my insides are in turmoil after his pronouncement.
“And who did you tell?” It’s more words strung together than I’ve spoken to anyone in hours, wallowing in self-loathing as I’ve been.
“Just me,” Cubby chimes in from the barstool from my other side. At his declaration, I shoot him a murderous look and he holds his hands up in mock surrender. “What! I overheard parts of his conversation with Molly. Swear it was an accident. Okay, so I might have been—”
“So anyway,” Weston interrupts, giving Cubby a shut the hell up look. “Is that what happened? You kept her ring?”
“Pretty much.” I’m hunched over a pilsner glass of beer after they dragged me to Lone Rangers with the intention of cheering me up. “Did she tell Jenna… everything?”
Weston has the decency to look chagrined. “About the sex and stuff? Unfortunately, yeah. She gave Jenna an earful.” He rests a large hand on my shoulder and bears down. “Sorry, man. I know how much you like her.”
Not as sorry as I am.
Feeling left out, Cubby opens his mouth again. “Women,” he grumbles, sounding repulsed. “I’ll bang ‘em, but I’ll never understand them. Speaking of banging, I kind of assumed Walk of Shame was a goody-goody. Girls like her make you wait—at the very least—the cursory five-date minimum before letting you slice that pie. Props for popping that cherry, bro.”
“Hey, watch it,” Weston quietly warns.
Cubby soldiers on, unfazed. “And then she flipped her shit?”
“Pretty much.” Dejected, I peel at the label on my beer bottle.
“She found the ring after you fucked her?” More from Cubby.
“Dude, enough already,” Weston hisses. “What the hell is wrong with your filter, man?” He’s quiet for a few seconds, thinking, finally letting out a low whistle. “Molly would have my ass if I did something stupid like that. And let’s be honest, I’m always doing stupid shit like that!”
Weston plasters a fake smile on his face and elbows me in the ribcage cheerfully while I shoot him a glower, no longer in the mood for their company. Not that I was to begin with.
Weston shrugs my insolence off in the jovial manner I’ve grown accustomed to since he joined the hockey team as a frosh, and I watch as he takes a drag from his beer, smacking his lips after swallowing with a loud Ahhhhhhh!
Cubby swivels on his bar stool, thinking. “You know,” he starts wisely. “You probably should have chased after her. Her oxytocin levels would have still been elevated and bonded so her attraction level after sex with you would have been through the roof.” He glances skyward, as if the universe above our heads holds all the answers, curtly nods, and continues, speaking to the ceiling. “Yeah. That would have been smart. You would have had a better chance getting through to her while she was still riding high on the oxytocin and dopamine from her orgasm.”
Weston and I both stare at him with open-mouthed astonishment.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” Weston laughs.
“What? That’s pretty common knowledge,” Cubby says, looking affronted by our incredulity before cramming a handful of cashews into his mouth from the bowl on the bar top. “Christ, I know some shit. I’m a bio major. Climb down off my nut sack.”
“Do you want some advice?” Weston finally asks.
Cubby palms my head like a basketball and pushes it up and down so it looks like I’m nodding. “Say yes, bro. Your brand of relationship suckfuckery is at a climactic high.”
I shrug when he releases my head, not sure that I do want their advice. I’d rather stumble awkwardly through self-loathing and pity. “I don’t know, guys, maybe I should just call my mom.”
“Did you seriously just say that?” Cubby slaps me upside the head and my hat flips off, landing on the bar top. “Are you turning into a pussy? I mean, Jesus, are you even listening to yourself? You do not call your mom.”
Weston agrees. “Yeah, that’s pretty messed up.”
I look back and forth between them. “Well. what do you expect me to do? Abby thinks I lied to get in her pants.” I glance over at Weston before resting my chin in my hands, dejected. “I’m never going to get her to come back to the house after Cubby and Miles busted in on us. She’s… really upset.”
Weston frowns, leaning forward to glance at Cubby, who is stealing and eating olives from behind the bar. He holds one up, rips it in half, and licks out the pimento before he notices we’re watching him. “What?”
“Did you hear what he just said?” Weston asks him, now taking on the role of mediator. “You embarrassed the shit out of Abby when you busted in. Why didn’t you knock, you shit bag.”
Cubby’s furrows his brow, confused. “Because? Oh, come on, don’t give me that look. He never has people over!”
“So? I would beat the crap out of you if you walked in on Molly and me having sex. And that’s only after she beat the crap out of me for letting you.”
“Alright, fine. I should have knocked. Jeez.” He doesn’t look sorry, but this is probably the first and last time the words have ever cross his lips.
“Know what?” I start, then hesitate, clearing my throat before starting again slowly. “It’s not fucking okay. You guys are always doing this shit to me. I don’t say anything, because why would I? You assholes never listen. But this time… Jesus.”
I rake my hands through my hair, frustrated and about to lose my shit. Now that the words are spewing out of me I can’t stop the floodgate. “She literally falls into my life, and now I can’t get her out of my head. She makes me—Christ, I don’t know. Happy. She’s all I can think about and now she’s fucking pissed, and you jackasses made it ten fucking times worse. I don’t know how to fix it. Now you’re giving me a piss-poor apology that’s supposed to make me feel better? Well, it fucking doesn’t.”
I’m breathing hard, head bent, crestfallen.
Weston’s solid arm finds its way across my back, and he drapes it over my shoulders. “Caleb…” From the corner of my eye, I can see him shooting dirty looks at Cubby. “I get it. We get it.”
“Do you? Abby deserves respect. She’s not some…” My voice trails off. “She’s not a goddamn puck bunny or a party girl just in it for a good time or a quick fuck. She’s shy and quiet and didn’t ask to be humiliated.”
“Humiliated?” Cubby rolls his eyes. “Dude, get real. Chicks are so dramatic.” He pops another olive into his mouth and chews.
Heat rises in my face, and I push back on the barstool, rising to my full height. “Fine. If that’s how you feel then pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house.”
They both stare at me, slack-jawed. But I’m not done yet.
“Know what else? All you jerk-offs better start pitching in around the house. Can either of you blowhards tell me why the hell I’m the one patching up holes you put in the walls? Start pulling your weight or I’m going to add a dickhead fee to your rent.”
Weston speaks first, but not in a full sentence. “Whoa…” His eyes are bugging out.
Cubby sputters, the intensity of my glower causing a blush to creep up his neck and color his high cheekbones. “Seriously? Shit. You are serious.” He scratches the five o’clock scruff along his jaw. “Showtime, dude, I honestly didn’t realize you gave a shit about the kid.”
I ignore that he just called her kid.
Fuck it. No I don’t.
“When are you going to get it, man? She’s not a kid. She’s not a random hook-up. When are you going to stop acting like a douchebag and start acting like my friend? You don’t treat Molly this way, a
nd you better stop treating Abby this way. Start showing some respect, or you’ve got to go.”
Cubby rests his elbows on the bar top and leans forward. We all sit silently for a few minutes, the gravity of the situation setting in.
Finally.
“So what are we going to do about it? Let’s ask Yoda here,” Cubby ventures out loud, and it doesn’t escape me that he’s used the term we. Casually, he goes back to eating olives, turning to Weston. “Bro, what did you do when you and Molly got into your first big fight?”
“What did I do?” Weston takes a drag from his beer, wipes his mouth, and laughs. “Shit, man. I had my little sister write her a letter and then I read it out loud in public. In a restaurant.” His lips curve up at the memory. “But I was desperate.”
“Did it work?” I don’t mention my own desperation as I sit back down on my stool.
He scoffs. “Duh.”
Cubby makes a choking sound and bangs his hands on the counter. “No. No, no, no. We are not fucking writing this chick a letter. That’s faggy.” He peeks around me at Weston. “No offense, man.”
“Are you even listening, you idiot? I didn’t tell him to write Abby a damn letter. I was only telling him what I did. Focus.”
“I was just saying…”
“Well, don’t.”
I clear my throat, agitated by their bickering. “Guys, this isn’t helping.”
Cubby slaps his hand on my back, giving it a few obligatory thumps for good measure and a show of solidarity. “No worries, Showtime. We’ll get her back. She won’t be able to resist our charm and titillating conversation for long. Get it? Tit?”
Hold up. Why does he keep saying our and we?
“Will you grow up? Seriously.”
“Goddamn, McGrath, you’re such a buzzkill. Seriously. I think Molly turned you into a pussy-whipped Sally.”
“That’s a lot of words for you, Cubby. And not a single big one.”
“Thank you. It’s a gift.”
CHAPTER 29
Abby
It’s been four days since I’ve seen Caleb.
Four.
I’m still sore, emotional, and miserable.
Twisting the golden ring newly restored to my right hand, it cradles the finger that’s felt barren for the past few weeks. I slide it back and forth on my finger, the metallic weight of it a heavy reminder of all I’ve gained and lost in fourteen days—a reminder so heavy it’s actually become a burden.
What was once a symbol of my parents’ love and support has become a symbol of my embarrassment. My humiliation. Of Caleb’s childish, petty lie.
Three and a half weeks ago, I climbed out of that window. Twenty-four days. Five hundred and seventy-six hours. Thirty-fourthousand, five hundred and sixty minutes.
But who’s counting?
Twenty-four days is all it takes, apparently, for your emotions to be broken/shattered/torn/obliterated into a million fragile fragments. Twenty-four days ago a heart—my heart—that was so filled with expectation and passion and anticipation, is empty, wrecked, and desolate.
And lonely—lonely for Caleb.
So very aching and lonely for him that it physically hurts.
How did this happen? When did I fall so hard that it pains me to get back up?
Alright, I need to stop being so dramatic. How utterly ridiculous I’m being. He freaking lied. He took my virginity, something I can never take back and will never forget, knowing that he had my ring. Then he sat there as his friends ogled my breasts. What a… what an ass-face. Sorry, but there’s no polite way to put it.
Shake it off, Abby.
You hardly know the guy. So what if he’s just as naïve as you—he knew he had your ring. He lied by omission, and a liar isn’t worthy of you. Even a clueless one? A lie is still a lie, no matter how small. Yes, but wasn’t he trying to give it back? Yes, but he didn’t, did he?
I scoff, staring into the mirror and inhaling a deep, cleansing breath. I remove a foundation brush from my makeup caddy and begin to apply concealer around my eyes to hide the shadows looming there, and blush so I don’t look so pale.
I have to hurry.
My classes aren’t going to pass themselves.
***
Cecelia: Hey, sweets. Just checking up on you. How you doing?
Abby: Considering that Cubby Billings saw my naked ta-tas?
Cecelia: But he liked what he saw, right? Tee hee
Abby: ((crickets))
Cecelia: Sorry. Was that too soon?
Abby: Yeah. A little too soon. The wound is still fresh. Caleb hasn’t tried to call or text or get ahold of me. So that bums me out.
Cecelia: He will. Have some faith.
Abby: I’m trying, but… it’s not easy when Jenna is all over me, trying to cheer me up. She downloaded Tinder on my phone and was swiping right while I was in the shower last night…
~ Caleb ~
Cracking open another thick textbook, I finger through the Table of Contents, quickly find what I’m looking for, and flip to page 489. I run my finger down the small text, searching for the definition of Ombudsman.
Lost in thought, I jot down the description and categorization of the word in a separate notebook, giving a start when a loud knock bangs at my door. It sounds like two fists are battering in tandem, the door casing creaking from the excessive force. The walls vibrate, and my lamp shakes on my bedside table.
“What the hell,” I damn near shout, hitting SAVE on the seven-page ethics paper I’ve been working on for the past four hours. I minimize the Word document and rise, stalking to the door with a huff.
I yank the door open to a chagrined Miles standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall opposite my room. “What the hell, Turner? Are you trying to bust my door down?”
He gives an eye roll. “What’s with the look, man? I’m just following orders—Cubby said we had to start knocking. Said you wanted privacy or some shit.” He lowers his voice to a whisper and uses air quotes around the word privacy—like it’s a conspiracy only we’re in on—as he glances up and down the hall.
I stand, regarding him silently, arms crossed, shaking my head in disbelief. These guys are un-freaking-believable.
“Do you have any tape? I’m out.”
I keep expecting Miles to push his way into my room, but he doesn’t.
Huh. Weird.
My frown narrows in on him suspiciously, and I give a stiff nod of acquiescence before disappearing to fetch the black hockey tape we use to wrap our sticks from my closet. He waits patiently in the hallway and thanks me when I slap it down in his outstretched palm curtly.
“Anything else?”
“No.” He studies me curiously, and I nod again, grasping the doorframe in my hand, ready to close it in his face. His large hand darts out to stop it. “Wait.” Miles chews on his bottom lip. “Is it true you’re going to charge us a dick fee?”
“A what?”
“Cubby said you’re charging us, uh, a dick fee.”
Fucking. Cubby.
Miles looks so disturbed by the idea that I almost burst out laughing.
Almost.
I arrange my face into an impassive mask. “Dick fee? Yeah, I’m giving it some serious thought,” I deadpan. It occurs to me that I should be asking, And you believed that, douchebag? But I don’t. “Why. Are you worried?”
“Pfft, no,” he guffaws, but his face is solemn. “I mean, only if you’re charging by the inch.”
Wait—the hell is he talking about? “What exactly did Cubby tell you?”
Miles leans back against the wall and scratches at the roll of hockey tape with his fingernail absentmindedly. He shrugs. “Nothing. Just that if we wanted to live here we had to start knocking on your door and leaving you alone and shit. And if we don’t you’re going to kick us all out or charge us, and he’s the one who’ll be measuring our cocks and keeping track of all that shit.” He rambles on. “I mean—that’s not really cool, man. Dick size isn’t somethin
g you can control.”
Unable to keep a straight face any longer, the laughter erupts out of me in a deafening sputter. I bend over and clutch the doorframe with my right hand to keep myself from falling over, tears spilling out my eyes. “Oh my god, dude. I c-can’t… You fucking idiot… Oh, Jesus Christ, did you just admit you have a small dick?”
I’m wheezing and coughing now, and when I squint up at Miles’s angry scowl through teary eyes, I laugh even harder. “Small dick… Turner, how am I going to take you seriously? Oh jeez, this is a good one…”
“Shut the fuck up already! Stop saying small dick!” Miles implores, glancing down the hallway again. “God, you guys are assholes.”
I hold my hands up in surrender, biting my entire lower lip between my teeth as I struggle to regain my composure. “Why the hell would you believe anything Billings has to say? He’s a complete moron.”
Miles crosses his arms, pissed. “You know I wasn’t being serious about my dick. I knew the whole time it was a crock of shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say, man.” I chuckle. “Except the privacy crap. You guys need to stop treating this place like it’s a frat-house free-for-all. Because it’s not. You scared off my, uh… Abby. That shit is no longer acceptable.”
“Okay, Dad,” Miles mocks sarcastically. Then he gets a good look at my face. “Okay, okay. Yes, fine. No more barging in.”
I point a finger in his face. “And start picking up your own shit around the house.”
“Baby steps, Showtime. Baby steps…”
***
Cecelia: You’ve been texting me a lot lately. I don’t mind, but you’re making me worried.
Abby: There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just trying to figure all this out without having to spill my guts to Jenna.
Cecelia: Do you want me to drive up this weekend? It sounds like you need a hug and a dose of BFF…
Abby: You would do that?
Cecelia: Are you crazy!? Of COURSE I WOULD. I heart you. Besides, it’s only little over an hour drive. I can be there in two days. By the time you get done with classes on Friday!