by Sophie Swift
The minute Alex’s voice rises and shifts into that familiar threatening cadence, I’m already off my bed, grabbing a pair of frayed denim shorts from my dresser, throwing on a loose tank top, and sliding my feet into my favorite pair of flip-flops.
I’m no longer fourteen. I don’t have to stay here like a caged animal and endure this cruel and unusual punishment. I’m an adult now. I can leave.
And that’s exactly what I do.
The night air is muggy and warm. I roll down the windows of my car and blast the radio. I steer with one hand and tap out a hurried text message to my best friend Danika with the other.
Me: 911. Hank’s Bar. NOW.
She sends a reply a few seconds later.
Danika: See you in 5.
I smile at her loyalty. Danika can always be counted on in a time of crisis. She’s been my best friend since the second grade. And even though I know she’ll use any excuse to get out of the crazy house where she works as a live-in nanny for a bratty five-year-old, just the thought of seeing her and getting a rational opinion on this whole mess instantly calms my nerves.
Danika beats me to Hank’s—a small biker bar that the locals like to frequent because it’s not listed in any of the travel guides and therefore usually void of annoying tourists. I find her at the bar with two shots of tequila already lined up and waiting. Like soldiers ready to go to battle. Ready to fight the evil war waging in my mind.
I slide onto the stool next to her and she passes me one of the shot glasses. “First drink. Then talk.”
Danika has always had her priorities in the right order.
Grateful, I take the shot and toss it back. The sweet tequila burns my throat going down. Danika hands me a lime wedge and I stuff it into my mouth, sucking it dry. I look down to see the second shot lying untouched on the bar.
Reading my thoughts, Danika explains, “They’re both for you. I can’t drink tonight. Ava has soccer practice at seven in the morning. Who schedules a soccer practice at seven fucking a.m. on a Saturday for a five-year-old?”
“Parents who know the nannies are the ones who are going to have to get up that early?”
She points to her nose and then points to the second shot.
I down that one as well. The smooth liquid instantly warms me, loosening my muscles, erasing the mind-numbing pain in my heart.
“Okay, spill,” she says, after I’ve sucked the life out of another lime wedge.
I swallow hard, knowing it will only take one word to tell the story of my agony. Or rather, one name.
“Grayson.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “No.”
I nod, the acidic lime juice sticking in my throat. I cough out a “yes.”
Danika is the only person on the face of this planet who knows about my obsession with Grayson Walker. She’s the only one I’ve ever trusted enough to tell.
“They’re back together?!” she screeches.
I nod again and signal the bartender for a third shot. Danika doesn’t protest.
“After four fucking years? What the hell are those two thinking? Are they masochists or something?”
“They’re certainly something,” I agree.
“And they were doing it again? In her room?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t wait around to find out. As soon as I heard Alex start yelling, I got the hell out of there.”
“They’re still fighting?” she asks incredulously.
“I think they get off on it. I honestly think it like turns them on or something. Maybe he can’t get hard unless she’s screaming at him.”
I feel my stomach turn at the thought and I instantly wish I hadn’t said that aloud. I toss back the shot that just arrived, hoping to chase away the nausea with tequila.
“It gets worse,” I go on, biting into another lime.
“Worse? How could it possibly get worse?”
“Guess,” I mumble through the pulpy fruit.
Danika points to her left ring finger and I nod.
“NO!” she shrieks. “They are masochists.”
I close my eyes, letting all of it sink in—like really sink in for the first time. I admit, the tequila is definitely helping to soften the blow. Although it’s not mixing too well with the leftover wine in my stomach.
“Well, I say they deserve each other,” Danika proclaims.
“Don’t say that.”
“What? They do! I mean, any two people stupid enough to resurrect the worst fucking relationship in history deserve to be miserable together forever.”
I sigh, trying to find some miniscule part of me that can agree with her. If I could just believe that for even a second, I might be able to cling onto it…for the rest of my life.
But I can’t.
Grayson is too perfect to be wasted on someone as controlling and selfish as my sister. He’s too good for her. She’ll destroy him. She’ll prod him and pick him apart until there’s nothing left. Until he’s just a bloody carcass left in a field for the crows to eat.
He deserves someone special. Someone who appreciates him. Who cares about him. Who can love him the way he deserves to be loved.
“Don’t.” Danika’s stern voice interrupts my thoughts, and when I look over at her I see she has on her “disappointed mother” face. The one that, apart from me, I’ve only ever seen her use on five-year-old Ava.
“Don’t what?”
“I know that look,” she threatens.
“What look?”
She sticks her long, bony finger in my face. “That look. The one you get when you’re trapped in one of your ‘Grayson and Lia live happily ever after and have lots of babies’ fantasies. You need to stop doing that. Now. If this wedding is really going to happen—”
“Oh fuck,” I swear. “You don’t really think they’ll go through with it, do you?”
Danika grabs my chin and holds my face so that I’m forced to stare at her. “Listen to me. Whether or not they go through with it is irrelevant. You need to let it go. You need to forget him. Find some hot, sweaty guy in here and go have sex in the bathroom or something. Just get it out of your system.”
“I’m not going to get someone like Grayson out of my system by fucking a random local at Hank’s. That’s like trying to give up a cocaine addiction by snorting crushed aspirin.”
“Whatever,” she says, “do whatever you have to do, but you need to get over this. It’s not healthy. It’s just got disaster written all over it.”
“I know,” I say softly. And I do know. Does she really think I don’t know?
I’ve been trying to get over Grayson Walker for the past four years and I thought I’d finally kicked the habit. But then suddenly he appears back in my life, looking more gorgeous than ever, with the same charming wit and sense of humor, and it’s like nothing has changed. It’s like four years of hard work have just been flushed down the toilet.
Danika’s phone lets out a high-pitched, three-note jingle and I instantly know that my pep talk is over. That would be her boss—Ava’s mother—no doubt summoning her back to the house to deal with a nightmare or request for water, because God forbid that woman should ever be caught caring for her own child.
“Shit,” Danika says, looking at the screen. “Li, I’m so sorry. I—”
“I know,” I tell her. “You have to go. It’s fine. I’m glad you were able to come out for a few minutes. It was nice just to talk to someone about it.”
“You’ll be okay?” she asks, eyeing the three empty shot glasses in front of me. “You’ll call a cab? Or I can drive you home right now?”
I shake my head. “Nah,” I tell her, my voice slurring slightly. “I think I’ll stay for a little while longer. Maybe find someone to take into the bathroom.” I wink at her.
She walks behind me and wraps her arms around my neck. “Love you.”
I rub her forearm. “Love you, too. Thanks for coming.”
She kisses the back of my head. “Anytime.”
Then she’
s gone. And I’m alone.
But not for long. A few moments later, a thirty-something guy in ratty jeans, a dirty T-shirt and work boots comes sauntering over from the pool table. He eyes the empty shot glasses in front of me, reading them as some kind of open invitation.
“Can I get you another round?” he asks, his voice husky. The kind of husky that comes from breathing in too much dust and whisky.
I know I should leave now. I know I should just politely turn him down and call a cab like Danika told me to do. But for some reason, at this moment, the thought of doing anything I should do makes me irrationally angry. Makes my teeth clench together and my fingernails dig into my palms.
I flash a wry smile. “Sure. Why not?”
A few moments later, shot number four materializes in front of me. Wordlessly, I shoot it back, knowing this can never end well, but somehow unable to care.
The buzzing of my phone against the hardwood floor wakes me from a restless sleep. I can’t remember what I was dreaming about but it’s left me with a cold, sick feeling in my gut and a layer of fresh sweat on my chest.
I blink and look at the clock on Alex’s nightstand. It’s three in the morning.
What the fuck?
I lean over the side of the bed and scoop my phone up from the floor. When I see the name on the lit-up screen, I suddenly can’t answer the call fast enough.
“Lia?” I whisper hoarsely.
I glance at Alex. Her back is to me. It’s been that way since I refused to have sex with her. She stirs slightly at the sound of my voice but thankfully doesn’t wake.
“Grayson?” Lia’s voice sounds smaller than I’ve ever heard it. And terrified.
I sit upright, the sheets falling to my waist. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” she blubbers and I hear the obvious slur in her tone. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.” She’s crying now and my heart squeezes into my throat.
“It’s fine. You can always call me.”
“I couldn’t call Daddy, he’d yell at me. And Alex…”
“Shhh,” I soothe. “I know. It’s okay. What’s going on? Where are you?”
There’s a long pause and I glance anxiously at the phone to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. And then I hear, “Can you come pick me up?”
I’m already out of bed before she’s even finished the question. “Of course. Tell me where you are.”
“I’m at Hank’s and I left my wallet at home so I couldn’t call a cab and…” She’s crying again. It’s a tiny quiver of a sound.
“Don’t worry. I’m on my way. Just stay on the phone with me, okay?”
Her voice is fragile. “Okay.”
I keep her on the line as I pull my pants on and hurry down the stairs. Lia was right not to call her sister. Alex would have just turned this into an opportunity to lecture Lia about how irresponsible she is and how she doesn’t understand that there are consequences to her actions. I’ve heard the speech almost as many times as Lia has, and even I’m sick of it.
“I’m still here,” I assure her as I grab the keys to Mr. Smart’s sedan off the hook by the door and slip into the garage. “I’m getting into the car. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.”
She doesn’t say anything but I can hear her soft, raspy breathing through the phone as I drive. It keeps me calm. Keeps me from steering the car into a pole.
When I get to Hank’s, I find Lia awkwardly propped up on a stool, with her cheek resting on the bar and her phone wedged beneath her ear. Her eyes are closed. I’m pretty sure she’s passed out.
I eye five empty shot glasses in front of her and shoot the bartender a scathing look. “Are you joking?” I shout. “She’s practically falling off this stool! Why on earth would you keep serving her?”
He throws his hands in the air, presumably attempting to pass blame, and then points at a redneck guy in filthy work boots playing pool at the table behind me. “He’s the one who kept ordering them. I didn’t know he was passing them to her.
The guy looks up from his game and, upon seeing me standing next to Lia, narrows his eyes. He sets down his pool cue and stalks over, looking like a hunter who’s attempting to protect the deer he just shot from an approaching wolf.
“Don’t worry, pretty boy,” he says, his voice coarse. It sends shivers down my spine. “I’ll make sure she gets home okay.”
I snort in response and turn to Lia, crouching down to try to catch her glassy eyes. “We’re going to go now. Can you walk?”
Suddenly there’s a hand on my arm, yanking me up. “I don’t think you heard me,” the guy snarls. “I said, I’ll take care of her.”
I watch the jerk’s face as he glances from me to Lia, his lips curving into a sickening leer as he takes in her inebriated state.
“Like hell you will,” I growl. And then, in one swift motion, I cock my fist back and send it flying into his face. I hear a crack and blood sprays over my white undershirt. Shattering pain shoots through my hand, all the way up my forearm.
I don’t wait around for a retaliation, not that I think this drunk asshole is capable of delivering one. I turn back to Lia, slipping one arm under her smooth bare legs, as I cradle the other around her back. She sinks into me, her head lolling against my chest.
I can’t explain what happens to me in that moment. Maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins from my almost-fight in the bar, maybe it’s the buzz of being woken up from a deep, disturbing sleep, but as I walk those twenty short paces to the car outside, with Lia so fragile and precious in my arms, I feel invigorated. I feel protective. Like my arms, my legs, my life has purpose. Even if tomorrow that purpose will have vanished with the dawn, for this moment—right here, right now—I feel more alive than I’ve felt in a long time.
And it scares the shit out of me.
Ugh.
Someone stop the pounding. It feels like a miner is picking for gold in my skull.
I open my eyes to the ceiling fan whirring around, and it nearly makes me vomit.
I glance around, noticing the trash can from my bathroom has been placed next to the edge of the bed. A full glass of water sits on my nightstand. I lift the covers, surprised to see I’m still wearing the same cut-off shorts and lace-trimmed tank top that I threw on last night before going to meet Danika at the bar.
The bar.
Fragments of images come swirling into my mind. Like a scratched DVD that’s skipping through scenes of a bad movie.
A very bad movie.
I see empty shot glasses and pulpy lime wedges on the bar. I see Danika leaving, kissing me on the head. I see a guy with stained teeth swaggering over, asking to buy me a drink, and then...
Then what?
My mind flashes ever so briefly on a face. A beautiful, chiseled, perfect face. Deep mocha eyes twinkling in the darkness. Rumpled brown hair, sprouting in different directions, as though it’s recently been slept on.
Oh, please God, no.
Did I actually call him to pick my drunk ass up from Hank’s last night?
I search the surrounding area for my phone, finally locating it tangled in the sheets, with only a sliver of battery life left.
I frantically scroll through the recent calls and fight back a groan when I see it.
Last number called: Grayson Walker.
Why in the name of all that is holy would I ever, in my right mind, call Grayson at a time like that?
But that’s just the thing. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was in a majorly fucked-up mind. The kind of fucked-up that only comes after your sister waltzes back into town and announces that she’s getting married to a man who you’ve spent eight years secretly pining after.
Add too many shots of tequila to that mind and what you get is...
Well, me. Last night. Calling Grayson in a state of humiliating intoxication.
I stare at the phone screen again, willing it to change. To shift. To spell out anything other than the appalling truth.
That nothing has changed.
That eight years later, I’m still just an irresponsible child who constantly needs to be rescued.
Unlike Alex. Who never needs saving. Because she’s incapable of making mistakes.
Alex would never go to a bar, get fall-down drunk, and call someone else’s boyfriend to pick her up at three in the morning. Alex would never ignore a rip tide advisory warning on the beach and jump into the water anyway.
But that’s exactly what I did.
I was fourteen.
Alex and Grayson had just started dating. They were playing volleyball further up the beach. The red flag was staked into the sand like an omen but I didn’t care. I dove under the first wave that came my way.
And I didn’t resurface.
The current yanked me under, tugging at my feet, tossing me every which way. I struggled to swim up but I suddenly didn’t know which way up was. Every direction was up and every direction was down. And none of them were right.
I tried to scream, but only managed to swallow water.
I tried to cough it out, but only swallowed more.
I fought until I knew there was no use fighting anymore. The darkness came to take me away as the tide pulled me further and further out to sea.
Finally, there was nothing but night.
I woke to wet sand on my back and Grayson’s warm lips on my mouth. It was a moment I’d dreamed about for months. A moment that was so far-fetched, I knew I had to be dreaming.
Or dead.
I remember the despair that coursed through me as I realized what was really happening. I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t dead.
I was alive.
Because he was breathing air into my lungs.
The humiliation nearly drowned me a second time.
When I coughed out water and sat up, Grayson grinned down at me, the sunlight blooming around his head like a halo. “Hey there, Lil’ Killer,” he panted. “You gotta stop scaring us like that.”
And that’s when it hit me. I would never be the girl he kissed passionately in the sand. The one he embraced and caressed and hungered for. I would always just be the helpless mess who constantly needed to be saved.