by Sara Hubbard
“When do you leave?”
He shrugs. “Haven’t decided. A few weeks. Maybe longer.”
“Maybe?”
“Yeah, it all depends on whether or not I have a reason to stay.”
Oh, dear.
My mind is a ball of confusion. I have so many thoughts swimming around that I can’t see through them enough to come to a solution. Dean is making it very clear he wants to date me, and I’m inclined to say yes. A relationship with him would be safe. He’s leaving and I know he’s leaving. I won’t be crushed when he leaves because I will expect it. He wouldn’t break me, of that I’m sure—not like Sullivan would. But then, Sullivan and I have become close and I fear dating Dean will cause problems between the three of us. I need to talk to Sullivan, to see what he thinks. Or I have to run it by him, at the very least. Just in case. Because Sullivan let me into his world and he let me be his girl friend, and it makes me feel so special that he chose me to be his first. I can’t jeopardize that. It means a lot to me, more than I should admit.
Eight
ON FRIDAY, I meet Sullivan at our cafeteria table. We’ve eaten there all week and I’ve come to expect him to be there, waiting for me. The table is back by the sliding glass doors leading to the closed-in staff patio. We go outside to eat today. It’s bright out, but cloudy, just enough to keep the sun from shining in our eyes.
Sullivan eats in silence—as he often does while I talk.
“IV on the first try!” I say, completely proud of myself. “The guy had heat exhaustion and his veins were absolutely awful, but I put it in on my first try!”
He’s amused. “I love when I get it in on the first try,” he says, and I know we’re no longer talking about needles.
Groan.
Sullivan’s gaze trains to the right, and a girl I don’t know takes a seat next to me. She glances back and forth between us.
“Sullivan Hope, in love? I thought I’d never see it.”
He shakes his head, clearly not amused.
“What?” I say, surprised by her statement. “No. We’re friends.”
“Oh. So you’re free this weekend, then?” she asks Sullivan.
He shoves a slice of pizza in his mouth and chews, his eyes focussed on mine and only mine. “I have plans.”
She clucks her tongue. “Right. And you’re not into her? Okay then.” She stands and all but storms off, sliding the doors shut with such force that they rattle on the rails.
“Wow. Jealous much?” My smile fades. “You’re not…like…”
“Into you?” He chuckles. “No. Not at all. Unless you’re ready to let me crawl on top of you naked?”
I toss a carrot at his nose, which he catches easily before aggressively biting off the end. “Good. Because I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Oh, that reminds me—I’m having a party tonight. You should come.”
Dean and I have texted all week, and he asked me to go out with him tonight. I hesitated before responding the other day, but I finally said yes last night. The truth is the only person I want to ask me out is Sullivan, and I know that’s a bad idea for more than one reason. Dean is nice. Shy. Sweet. I should like him. And I do, but I don’t get excited when his name lights up my phone like I do when I see Sullivan text flirting with me.
“Um…that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Uh…I’m coming. But I was going to come with someone.”
He shrugs, gripping his fork. “Sure. Whatever. Bring your friends.”
“Um…I…”
His eyes trail up above my head and I know he’s watching the clock behind me. “Shit. Abby, I’m going to be late. Can we talk later?”
“Um, sure, but—”
“Sorry,” he says as he stands, his tray in his hands. “We’ll talk at the party, alright?”
I nod, but feel a little deflated. The last thing I want is for him to find out I’m on a date with Dean while on the actual date. My gut tells me he’ll have something to say about it, if only to chastise me for dating his friend.
He hurries out of the cafeteria double time, leaving me biting my nails. Dean wants to tell Sullivan he’s bringing me to the party, but I feel as if I should be the one to tell him. And now he’s gone. I guess it’s up to Dean. I just hope it goes well.
Nicole noshes on some pizza while I throw clothes around my room. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date, and I’m so nervous right now I could throw up. I like Dean. He’s handsome, sweet and seems really sincere. In a sense, he’s the whole package, the kind of guy my brothers would absolutely approve of. I stare down at the carnage on my bed, biting my nails.
“Just wear something of mine,” Nicole says.
I sigh. “Can I?”
She grunts a yes before dropping her pizza on her plate. “You don’t even have to ask—just grab whatever, whenever you want. We’re roomies so that makes us practically sisters.”
“Thanks, Nic.”
She dives into her closet. “I have just the thing for you.” She pulls out a summer dress. It’s to the ground and the skirt starts just under the breast. It’ll totally show my cleavage—or lack of it—but it’s very pretty and summery.
“I love it.”
“I thought you would.”
I try it on and slide into my white tennis shoes. Nicole shakes her head at me. “You know, I have some fantastic sandals to go with it, but on you, it works with the tennis shoes.”
There’s a knock a few minutes later, and when Nic opens the door, Dean stands on the other side.
“Hey,” he says to her before focussing on me. “Wow. You look great.”
I couldn’t fight the smile on my face if I tried.
Nic rolls her eyes and goes to leave. “Have fun, kids.” The phone in her hand rings just as she’s walking down the hall. “Hello?” she says.
“So…” I say, kind of swaying in my pretty dress.
“So…” he says, approaching me.
“You’re an asshole, Taylor Harris!” Nicole screams from up in our room. She rages on at her boyfriend, using a string of profanities I don’t think I’ve ever heard before.
Dean and I chuckle and shake our heads at the same time. Her rant is quickly forgotten as he reaches out to take my hand and we walk to the door. I like my hand in his. It’s…nice. I guess there’s no other word for it. I’m not big on holding hands so when we leave my room I slide my hand free from his. If he minds, he doesn’t say anything about it.
“How did it go with Sullivan?”
Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know. He says he doesn’t care, but he does. He’s into you. You know that, right?”
I chuckle. “No. He’s not. He wants to sleep with me, maybe, but then he wants to sleep with everyone.”
“He hasn’t slept with anyone since he got here, which is a miracle for him. He’s drinking more, though, which for him is never a good thing.”
He hasn’t slept with anyone? I don’t know why this makes me happy. I guess I care about him and worry, but I know it’s more than that. The drinking thing, though? It makes me clutch at my stomach.
“He doesn’t drink a lot, does he?” In the short time I’ve known him, he’s drank, but not copious amounts. Not enough for me to really be concerned. My dad was an alcoholic and I’ve seen what alcoholism can do; how it compounds the pain a person feels. “Not every day?”
Dean stops in his tracks and turns to me. He raises an eyebrow. “Every single night this week. And not just with Ames, who is usually the ring leader when it comes to Sullivan partying.”
“But he’s not an alcoholic?” I know he’s not. I would have noticed. I’d have picked up on the signs.
He clears his throat. “He went to rehab at Christmas. Did you know that?”
“Sullivan doesn’t exactly volunteer information.”
“You can say that again. I’ve known him since his grandfather took him in when he was fourteen. He’s never been one to share. I mean, I always know whe
n something’s up, but it’s rare he’ll talk about how he’s feeling.”
“Did he go to rehab for alcohol?”
Dean shakes his head. “No. Cocaine, but he only did it a few times. He just went to rehab for it because…shit…I probably shouldn’t be telling you all of this. He’d kill me if he knew.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”
“He never had a problem with cocaine, but for as long as I’ve known him, he’s been on the sauce. Shit, I remember him drinking when we were fourteen. He was always into his grandfather’s stash when we came home at summer. And at school....”
“At school?”
“Let’s just say some of the female teachers were as responsive to Sullivan as a teen as they are to him now. If he wanted anything at school, it wasn’t hard for him to get it.”
What is he saying? He slept with his teachers? I don’t want to think about that. I shake off the images, but I’m grateful Dean’s talking because I’ve got more from him about Sullivan than I know I’ll ever get from Sullivan himself. I’m finding the more Dean talks, the more my focus shifts from our date to thoughts about Sullivan, which is absolutely awful because I’m on a date with Dean right now—and I could really like him if I wasn’t so distracted.
“Should we go to the party now?” I ask. I want to go. I want to see Sullivan. Knowing he’s struggling makes me ache for him. When my dad fought alcoholism I was there at his side, every second of the way—when I wasn’t in school, of course. No. I don’t want to think about that. I need to help Sullivan.
“I thought maybe we’d go to dinner first. There’s this really nice restaurant in town. They have the best Chinese food. Do you like Chinese?”
“Yeah. Sure.” But my mind is elsewhere, locked on the face of a sad guy with even sadder blue eyes.
We take a cab to the restaurant. Dean won't allow me to help him with the fare. The restaurant is kind of out of way, and from the outside it doesn’t look like anything special—just a big white building that resembles a house except for the row of windows on the main floor and the sign above the door. The interior smells of fresh flowers and warm soya sauce.
We take a seat by a wall divider with a massive tank of fish swimming in it. I watch the fish lazily swim through the water as we eat in silence. The couple at the next table are holding hands and making eyes at each other.
The food is good, but I barely taste it.
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh. Yeah. Fine.”
“The dreaded fine. My father’s second wife used to say that before she threw his stuff out the window.”
He catches me by surprise. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“How many wives has your dad had?”
“Legally, four. But he’s had a bunch of common law ones too. Maybe nine total.”
“Wow.”
“Tell me about it. It was hard to keep their names straight.”
“What about your mom?”
“My mother was a groupie.” He takes a swig from his beer and sets it down. His eyes sparkle in the dim candlelight of the restaurant. “She divorced my dad, took half of his money and then she started spending it. She calls me on birthdays, Christmas, that kind of thing. But I don’t see her much. She’s married to some guy in Italy; they own a vineyard.”
“Here I thought my life was colourful.”
He laughs out loud. “Colourful is a word. What about you? What’s your mom and dad like?”
I bite my lip, considering. Thinking of her still knifes at my heart. My family almost fell apart when she died and in some ways, we still haven’t recovered. Clay for sure hasn’t. It’s one of the reasons he’s so close to me—he has to constantly check on me. Like if he turns his back for one moment, he’ll lose me like he lost her.
“My mother is dead and my father's a retired cop.”
“I’m so sorry.” He moves food around on his plate but doesn’t bring any of it to his mouth. “How did she die?"
I stare at him for a moment. That’s exactly the kind of question I would ask someone and it’s exactly the kind of question I don’t want to answer, but I like Dean and I don’t want to be rude.
“Suicide.” I fork some rice and shove it in my mouth, chewing fast and hard.
“Um…I shouldn’t have pried. I—”
“It’s fine. Really. It happened a long time ago.” Almost eleven years ago, but it still feels like yesterday.
We eat the rest of our dinner in silence. When we’re done, Dean pays even though I offer. He won’t hear of it and it’s probably a good thing because I barely have enough money to last the summer as it is. We head outside and wait for a cab.
“Listen, I’m sorry, Abby. I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Like I’ve ruined our night.”
“No. You’re fine. I’m fine.”
“I just….I really like you…and I’d hate to think this might be the last time I get to be alone with you again.”
Dean draws me out of my thoughts. He likes me. I want him to like me, and I know I like him too. And I don’t want him to think he did anything wrong because he hasn’t. I’m just still a little broken.
I take a step toward him and put my hands on his shoulders. Our faces are inches apart. He’s not all that much taller than I am. I take a deep breath and close the distance between us. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” When our lips are almost touching and his breath tickles at my lips, I say, “I like you, too.” I press my lips against his. He responds tentatively, and then cups my cheeks. His lips are soft and yielding. When we break away, he’s smiling and so am I.
“What now?” he says, a little breathless.
“The party?”
He sighs, and makes a face.
“You don’t want to go?”
“I don’t want to share you.”
I tip my head and avoid his eyes. “I said I’d go. We don’t have to stay long.”
Reluctantly, he agrees, and I feel his hesitation has more to do with Sullivan than his desire to keep me to himself.
The cab drops us out front of the cabin. Rock music is blaring, and people are smoking outside and drinking from bottles of beer. Through the windows, the lights illuminate the crowd inside. I’m almost nervous to go in. I’m not a huge fan of parties or crowds, and this place is packed.
“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Dean says.
But it is a good idea. My compass points here—to Sullivan. He needs me, even if he doesn’t realize it, and I need to make sure he’s okay. I feel like he needs me, even though I barely know him. I wonder if this makes me full of myself, but I couldn’t save my mother and I want to save him. Whatever demons he’s drinking away, I want to help him—without the alcohol.
We walk inside. I scan the room and immediately spy Sullivan to my left, in the kitchen. He doesn’t notice me right away. He’s got a glass of dark rum on ice in his hand and he’s talking and laughing with his friend, Ames, who’s flexing his arms as a blonde feels his biceps. Sullivan laughs out loud, slapping his leg.
His eyes wander over to me and when our gazes meet, his smile falters and then reclaims his face. He raises his glass up to me in a toast.
Dean touches my shoulder. “I’ve really got to go to the bathroom. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
I nod and head over to Sullivan. I lean against the counter beside him. He downs the rest of his glass and sets it down before folding his arms across his chest. “You and Dean, huh?” He stares straight ahead and he doesn’t look happy.
I shrug. “He’s really nice.”
Sullivan chuckles but it’s without humour. Then he grits his teeth, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Yep. He’s something.”
“I meant to tell you he asked me out, but I caught you today just as you were leaving the cafeteria.”
“Uh huh.”
“You seem angry.”
He raises his eyebrows and turns to face me, his head tipping so he regards me at eye le
ave. When he speaks his words are curt and almost poisonous. “I don’t give a shit who you date or who you fuck. Go ahead. Enjoy. We’re friends, right?” He finishes his statement with a full on smile, but I can see right through it. Either he’s jealous or he doesn’t want me dating his friends, for whatever reason. I’m a little stunned by his coolness toward me. Since I’ve met him we’ve got along great. Talking and laughing—but mostly bantering. Tonight he’s treating me like he does his ex-lays.
I suddenly feel a little sick.
He turns his attention back to Ames, who gives me a nod. Sullivan completely ignores me after that.
Could he like me? Could he be hurt? No way.
The girl who approached us in the cafeteria the other day sashays over to us and whispers something in his ear. It makes my flesh boil. She plants a kiss on his lips and he grips her ass, staring at me as he pulls her hips in tight against his.
I watch, completely dumbfounded. Seeing him kiss someone made me roll my eyes a week ago. Now, it makes me feel…I don’t even know what it makes me feel. Hurt. Maybe because he’s ignoring me and making such an ass of himself. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Ames pours him another drink and he breaks away from the girl long enough to down the whole glass. He breathes out through purses lips like he’s fighting the burn in his throat. There’s talking to him now. I’ll wait until he’s sober and maybe he’ll be a little bit less of a jerk.
I take a step away from him and head into the living room. Dean joins me. “You okay?”
I force a smile. “Better than okay.” But I’m not. I’m annoyed—with Sullivan. My jealousy consumes me, making every muscle in my body tense. I feel like I’ve swallowed a bomb and it’s ticking loudly in my stomach, waiting to explode. I don’t want to be jealous. Sullivan’s not the kind of guy I need to have feelings for. He’s not relationship material. He’ll hurt me, and I promised Clay I'd stay away from guys like him. Still, no matter how much I try to push the uncomfortable burn away it only seems to grow as I glance back and see Sullivan’s hands gripping the blonde’s ass. I lean forward and kiss Dean, slipping my tongue between his parting lips. This is right. Dean is what I need.