What If

by A. J. Pine

  “I’m sensing a theme here, Pippi, so I want to tell you something.” A sweet but nervous smile takes over his features. “I’ve barely known you for a month, but a part of me swears it’s been years. I know what we said, what we agreed. But I want more than a WILD card. I want new ground rules.”

  My breath catches at his words, at both of us thinking we could avoid complication yet neither of us being able to do it. Because I want what he wants, too. I want to give to him what he’s asking. So that’s what I choose to tell him.

  “Rule number one,” I say. “You can have the whole deck.”

  The apprehension doesn’t leave his smile, but it’s joined by something fierce, a determination that makes me believe maybe I’m not fooling myself. That I can believe Miles and his trust in my readiness to take something for myself.

  “Oh will you two snog already so we can drink?”

  So we follow Duncan’s orders, my lips rushing to meet Griffin’s as we collide in a kiss that is the start of something.

  “Sláinte!” Duncan yells, and Griffin and I separate.

  Everyone holds a glass up high, and we repeat the word, one of the few in Gaelic I actually know.

  Then we drink, the bubbles of the liquid popping on my tongue, down my throat—my first sip in two years. My eyes drift shut as I hold on to the taste, the memories that go with it.

  “Hey, slow down there, Speed Racer.”

  When I open my eyes, Griffin raises a brow at my glass. Without realizing it, I drained three quarters of it on my first swig. A different kind of heat floods my cheeks now, one filled with bubbles that rise and pop at the top of my glass as Duncan tops me off.

  “I’m good,” I tell him. “I feel…good.”

  Duncan and Elaina fall into conversation with Jordan and Noah, but Griffin keeps his eyes on me.

  “Did you really mean it?” he asks. “The whole deck?”

  I nod and take another sip, my inhibitions crumbling with each one—and along with it the wall I’ve kept between us.

  “Well, that depends,” I say, threading my fingers through his free hand. “Does it mean no more phone numbers on your palm?”

  I expect him to laugh or maybe look surprised at the forwardness of my question and what his answer would mean. Instead his brows knit together. Then he shakes his head like he’s pushing away his thoughts.

  “What?”

  He untangles his hand from mine and places it on my cheek, heat adding to heat.

  “Tell me you see me differently, that you trust I’m not the guy I was before I met you.”

  “Yes,” I admit. “That’s the part that scares me. You’re willing to give me something I never asked for, and what if I can’t do the same? What if you find out I’m different than you think I am?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Something happened,” I start. “I had to take a year off, and now I’m part-time and…”

  “Food!” Duncan yells. “I was getting bloody hungry! Thanks, mate.”

  The same server who took our picture arrives at our table with loads of appetizers, compliments of the reunion committee. Our pocket of privacy dissolves as everyone turns to the table and digs in to the array of dips—hummus and pita, black bean dip and plantain chips, and my favorite, guacamole.

  Griffin’s eyes search mine for a moment, but I shake my head. We’ll have to finish talking later, and I realize I want to be sober when I tell him, and each sip takes me further from that possibility. Tonight can be fun without complication. We have six hours in the car tomorrow to unload baggage.

  So we eat. And we drink, the set of Griffin’s shoulders relaxing with each new conversation and each pour of the second and modestly less-expensive bottle of champagne. I surprise him when I pull an Uno deck from my bag, something I found buried in my nightstand drawer, a reminder of one of the hardest times in my life. But after the second night I spent at Griffin’s, the date that wasn’t a date, seeing the deck evokes new memories. Memories that include him. Memories that, despite the constant threat, have yet to fade.

  “Uno! Oh my God, I love that game!” This comes from Jordan who bounces in her chair with excitement.

  “You guys want to play?” I ask, my words slow and methodical as I consciously try to avoid a slur.

  Duncan and Elaina shrug in unison.

  “We’ll teach you,” Noah assures them. “It’s easy. And really competitive if you want it to be.” He smiles, and Jordan pushes a dark wave of his hair from his forehead before she plants a kiss in the same spot, and he starts explaining the rules to our foreign friends, like the girl he’s head over heels for touches him like this, shows her love for him in this way, all the time. And I realize she must.

  “Perfect,” Elaina says when Noah finishes. “I will kick all of the asses.”

  We laugh as Griffin empties the deck from the box and begins shuffling.

  “How about teams?” he asks. “Couple against couple?” He pushes back his chair, patting the spot on his lap. I don’t think twice about abandoning my chair for a more preferable seat.

  But something about the jarring movement rocks my brain between my ears.

  No. No, no, no, no, no.

  I felt great. One-hundred-fifty percent fine. Better than I have in years. Yet when I look at my glass, my perpetually filled glass, I don’t know how many I’ve had. What I do know is champagne is the only beverage that’s passed my lips. Meaning no water, nothing to cut the speed of the alcohol’s effects, which I knew had the potential to be stronger than usual because of my blood thinners. I thought I was handling myself well enough without diluting. But the dehydration. I forgot about the dehydration.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell Griffin, attempting to stand from my position on his lap. The words don’t sound right, though. Too slow. Definitely slurred, and spots like sunbursts form in the corners of my vision.

  My elbow gives out, and I fall back onto him. I bury my face in his neck and try to articulate the words, my palms sweating against his shoulders. The words don’t come, so I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out any light that threatens to speed the progression.

  “Maggie.” Griffin’s voice. I love that voice but right now wish he would just shut up. Quiet. I want quiet.

  “Damn it,” he says, but he’s not talking to me. I can tell his head is turned. “She told me one of the reasons she doesn’t drink is because alcohol triggers her migraines. I’m a fucking idiot for not slowing her down.”

  “You need to get her back to the hotel.” Another male voice, unaccented. Noah, then. “My mom gets migraines. She needs dark, and quiet, and water. Maggie needs to get some water in her.”

  I nod my head against Griffin and find my voice.

  “Good idea.” I breathe against him. And then, “I’m so sorry.”

  Minutes later I’m propped in Griffin’s arms in the elevator, and then he helps me into a cab. I’m too drunk and too close to losing my lunch all over the cab that I don’t bother to ask why we’re driving two blocks. Because duh. I’m a fucking mess. That much I know.

  Somehow I make it back to the room without hurling all over the cab, but the second we’re in the door, I run for the bathroom, slam the door behind me, and make it to the toilet with zero time to spare.

  The experience is sobering but in no way a relief.

  “Maggie? Are you okay? Please let me help you.”

  Griffin’s voice is soft behind the door. He doesn’t knock, and this tiny gesture tugs at my insides…as does a bout of dry heaving.

  His voice sounds again, but he’s not talking to me.

  “I don’t know what to do. She locked the door.” A pause. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

  Translation: He can’t deal with this. He can’t deal with me.

  I flush the toilet when the dry heaving subsides and I’m able to make it to the sink, my eyes open in the pitch darkness. After splashing my face with water yet having no clue what he’ll see when I emerg
e, I open the door enough let my head and arm through.

  They’re all here, sitting in wait on the window bench, but Griffin is at the door seconds after it clicks open.

  “I need my bag. I have medication to fix this. You all should go back and enjoy your night.”

  Griffin hands me my bag. He must have carried it home because I have no recollection of even putting on my coat, let alone grabbing my things.

  “Thank you,” I say, closing the door without another word.

  More than once my grandmother had to perform this duty. Even Miles has done it once. Yet despite the state I’m in, I can’t ask for Griffin’s help. As much as everything in his eyes said he wanted to give it, he’s right. He can’t handle this. I can’t handle this. I’m not ready. I can’t get out from under the bullshit like he can. If he stays with me, I’ll only bury him further.

  Sliding down the wall opposite the sink, I silently rescind my offer to change the ground rules or to offer him the full deck. The cartridge in my hand lays the foundation for new rules. Or rather, a return to the old.

  A clean break. No bad feelings. We walk away. That was the deal for when things got complicated. And I just complicated the fuck out of everything.

  I roll up my sleeve and press the injection cartridge to my upper arm. My thumb presses down on the blue button, and the needle enters my skin.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  I pull the cartridge away and unclench my teeth, depositing the medical waste back into its case to dispose of at home.

  Then I curl up on the rug and wait, eyes squeezed shut against the throb, and hope they’ll all leave, return to their night and their lives that I got to be a part of for at least a few hours. Tomorrow it’ll be nothing but a memory. Or this time, if I’m lucky, not even that.

  Chapter Twenty

  Griffin

  The four of them watch me pace in front of the bathroom door. I’m helpless. She’s in there, in pain, alone. And I can’t do a fucking thing about it. Scratch that. I could have done something. I could have remembered why she doesn’t drink in first place instead of enjoying her drunk and flirty and fuck. She was ready to trust me, to give me something more, and I blew it because I thought she was sexy when she let herself go.

  “Hey, mate,” Duncan says. “You want me to go downstairs and grab you a pint? Help ya calm down and deal with…” He points to the bathroom door.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” I say. “I don’t know how to handle this.”

  “Griffin.” A hand grabs my shoulder, and I stop moving, her voice soft in my ear. Jordan.

  My eyes lock on hers, desperate for some sort of reassurance.

  “Griffin, you can handle this. Whatever it is, you can do this.”

  I shake my head. “This isn’t the first time something strange has happened with her. Last week, at my parents’ house…” Jordan’s brows pull together, and I realize there’s too much to explain, especially since I don’t know what’s going on myself. But the text Nat sent after brunch, the one I ignored for my own selfish needs, replays in my head. I don’t deserve this girl, not when I seem to keep putting myself first. “I already fucked up. She told me about the migraines, and I didn’t think. I was having too much fun. I didn’t think about the consequences of what she was doing, that she was putting herself at risk to make everything go well for me. That’s not handling shit. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not big on responsibility. She needs someone better.”

  “We’re going to go play Uno in the lobby,” Noah says, leading Duncan and Elaina to the door.

  “No good-byes yet, aye?” Duncan asks, and I nod.

  “Maggie doesn’t need us all here when she comes out.” Noah sneaks a kiss from Jordan. “You stay. We can have a drink in the bar here when you get back down,” he tells her. “You, too, man,” he says to me. “She’s going to want to sleep. We’re happy to hang at the hotel for the rest of the night so we don’t have to cut the visit short.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “Are you sure it’s okay if Jordan…” I don’t know how to finish the question, and luckily I don’t have to.

  “No worries. You guys need to talk.”

  Jordan squeezes him in an embrace. “Yawp,” she whispers to him.

  “Yawp,” he whispers in return, his head buried in her hair. Though I have no idea what the word means, I know what it means to them.

  When the door closes, I call quietly to Maggie again, but she doesn’t answer. Jordan heads back to the window bench, tapping the spot next to her. Because pacing does nothing to calm me, I sit.

  “Do you remember,” she starts, looking out at the star-speckled sky, “when you told me I could have reformed you?”

  I sigh, leaning my head against the glass. “Thanksgiving two years ago.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm.” She spins so her back is flush with the window like mine, her legs dangling over the end of the bench. “But you never looked at me like you look at her.”

  She says this not with jealousy or anger but with a smile and something that sounds like hope.

  “I know,” I say. “Could you have, though? If things had been different, could you have seen me as someone who was worth it?”

  Maybe the question isn’t a fair one, but it’s one that’s always lingered at the back of my mind, if Jordan saw me as anything different than what I let rise to the surface—if Maggie could really see past the guy I was when she met me.

  “Is that what you think? That I never saw you as worth it? Griffin, I should have fought harder to show you how I felt. I’m the one who messed up. Not you. You’re worth everything, and there’s a girl in there who’s been looking at you all night like you’re the freaking air she breathes. She needs you.”

  Needing her is what scares the shit out of me.

  She spins to face me, one leg still dangling. “You know, in some ways Aberdeen was both the most painful year of my life and the best one. I think that’s where you are now, sweetie. The good is so good. It really is. But you’ll miss out on it if you don’t also accept there will be some pain.”

  My eyes meet hers, and she smiles. Again I’m taken aback by how much she’s changed, how much I can tell she’s grown since I saw her last.

  “When did you get so wise?” I ask her.

  She laughs. “I surprise even myself sometimes with my endless fountain of wisdom.”

  “Can I hug you?”

  “Most definitely.” She slides closer and wraps her arms around me, this stranger I thought I knew. “Tell her how you feel,” she whispers to me. “Let her in, and she’ll do the same for you.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” I say.

  “It’s scary as fucking hell to tell someone you love them, Griffin. But you want to know what’s worse?”

  “What?”

  “Never saying it at all.”

  She kisses my cheek, and the bathroom door creeps open. Maggie stands, framed in the blackness of the unlit room. She is pale. That much I can see. As she emerges into the lit bedroom, her usually vibrant green eyes are bloodshot, dark circles underneath. The left sleeve of her shirt is pushed high above her elbow, and a small circle of dried blood shows on her upper arm.

  I want to go to her, ask her for answers, but something in her stance tells me to keep my distance.

  “I’m…I’m so sorry for ruining the night. I’m going to take a quick shower and then go to bed.” She smiles at Jordan. “It was so nice meeting you all. Please take Griffin back to the party and enjoy what’s left of the evening.”

  Jordan ignores the stay-away vibe and heads right for Maggie, hugging her.

  “We’re so happy you’re okay. We’ll head back down for a drink or two. We’re hanging at your swank hotel now. But only on one condition, that this isn’t good-bye yet. There’s a Starbucks across the street. Meet for coffee in the morning?”

  Maggie nods, and I’m filled with relief. Because I’m not heading back down with Jordan, not yet. I’m not leaving th
is room until I know Maggie is okay, and if that means waiting until she showers and falls asleep, so be it.

  “I’ll be down in a bit, then,” I say, and Jordan flashes me a look of understanding.

  “See you soon,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  “See you soon.”

  “And you…” Jordan looks at Maggie as she backs toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Maggie forces another smile. “Sure. See you in the morning.”

  When Jordan’s gone, I follow her lead and ignore whatever it is Maggie is doing to keep me away, and as soon as my hands cup her cheeks, her tears begin to fall.

  She opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t let her apologize, not again, not for something that is as much my fault as it is her own.

  “It’s my turn,” I tell her. “My turn to say I’m sorry. You told me this could happen. You told me, and I didn’t take it seriously. I’m so sorry, Maggie. God, if this weekend was some sort of test for us, I fucking failed. I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t.”

  The tears keep falling, and I kiss them as they do, the word sorry spilling from my lips over and over again. Maggie makes no move to kiss me back.

  Finally she’s able to talk through the tears.

  “I need to clean myself up.” Her voice is flat aside from the tremble of the ebbing sobs. “Then sleep. You should go be with your friends.”

  She pulls free, grabbing her toiletry bag from the top of her suitcase, and then she retreats into the bathroom again, closing the door while I stand there alone.

  My first instinct is to follow Jordan downstairs. To run. When a girl heads to the bathroom in tears, that’s always my sign for an exit. It would be so much easier. If Maggie doesn’t want me here, then I don’t need to be here.