by Diana Gardin
“What do you mean, he left?”
Grisham comes closer, so that he’s standing inches away from me. He looks at me strangely. “What happened? What did you two talk about?”
I shake my head impatiently. “Grisham, I have no idea what you’re saying right now. I haven’t seen Dare since my mother dragged me away half an hour ago. What, you saw him? Where’d he go?”
I try to walk around Grisham, but he stops me with a gentle-yet-firm hand on my wrist. “Berk—”
“What?” I snap. I never snap at Grish, but I’m agitated and anxious. Where’s Dare?
Without another word, Grisham begins towing me toward the front of the house. His vise-like grip on my hand is infuriating. “Grisham! I’m so not in the mood for this shit. I need to find Dare, and I just had an awful fight with the Admiral. What the hell are you doing?”
I haven’t really spoken to Grisham since I overheard him and my father’s little arrangement. He’s been trying to get in touch, but I’ve ignored every single one of his texts and phone calls. He knows I moved out of my parents’ house, but he hasn’t been to my new apartment. I’m actually wondering why he isn’t in San Diego right now, but I don’t have time to wonder long.
There’s other things on my mind that take precedence right now.
“Stop struggling, Berk,” he says through his teeth. “Just trust me. Hold on a second.”
We reach the driveway. Most of the cars have been valeted to a lot a little ways away, but I knew for a fact that Dare had parked his truck in the driveway. But it isn’t there now.
I turn to Grisham, frowning. “Where is he?”
Grisham lets go of my hand and throws his up into the air. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! He left, Berkeley.”
He watches my face carefully, like he’s waiting for some reaction. I stare back blandly. “He left? Why?”
We haven’t even had dinner yet.
“I was hoping you could tell me that, sweetheart,” says Grisham gently.
Oh, shit. Why is he calling me sweetheart? Opposite of my father, he only does that when he’s trying to comfort me, when he’s being extra sweet if I’m upset about something. Do I have something to be upset about?
“Give me your phone, Grisham,” I demand suddenly.
Shaking his head, he pulls the thing out of his pocket and hands it over. I punch in Dare’s number by memory and hold the phone to my ear.
Voice mail. His phone goes straight to voice mail.
“What the fuck happened? Did you say something to him?”
Grisham’s eyes widen in shock. “Shit, no, Berkeley! I didn’t, I swear. He…left on his own. I thought you two had a fight.”
“I told you I haven’t seen him in a half hour!” I scream. I’m nearly hysterical. My insides are sinking, plummeting really, and I’m having trouble catching breaths. I gulp down some more champagne in the flute still clutched in my hand.
“Okay, okay,” says Grisham, coming toward me with outstretched hands.
I bat them away. “Don’t touch me!”
I turn and run back around the house, into the kitchen door. I slam it with a satisfying bang and lean against it. Then I sprint up to my old room so that I can call Dare on my own goddamn phone.
Straight to voice mail again. I’m tempted to just jump in my car and track him down, but I’m already swaying on my feet from the champagne I just chugged. Then I remember that I have roommates. And isn’t it a roommate’s duty to double as personal chauffer when her fellow roomie is having a crisis? I dial Mea. No answer. I dial Greta next.
No. Fucking. Answer.
What the crap? Where is everyone? Am I in an alternate universe right now?
“I can take you,” says Grisham quietly from the door.
I look up, startled, and then narrow my eyes on his expressionless face. “No, thanks.”
“Berkeley,” he says, venturing farther into my room. He spreads his hands out in front of him, gesturing openly toward me. “I understand you’re pissed at me. I would be, too. Know that I refused to try and push you into doing something you didn’t want to do. I lost the position in San Diego because of it, but I don’t give a shit. You’re my best friend. You always have been. You can forgive me later, but right now, let me drive you where you need to go. Okay?”
I take a deep, rattling breath as I assess him. He’s right. I am still pissed at him, he has always been my best friend, and I will forgive him later. I nod. “Okay.”
It’s been a little over a week since my mother’s garden party. That means I got to enjoy an amazing June and three-quarters of July blissfully happy with Dare Conners. And now?
Nothing.
I texted him. I called him. Grisham took me by the beach house right after we left my parents’ house that night. He hasn’t responded to a single call, message, or visit.
And now I’m done.
I’m not one of those stupid girls who continues to throw themselves at a guy who, clearly, is no longer interested.
I am, however, one of those girls who eats a ridiculous amount of ice cream, gains five pounds, and sits around in her sweats after a breakup.
Nothing Mea or Greta do convinces me to leave the house. I called in sick at See Food for a week, and I know I’m super lucky that Lenny loves and understands me, because my ass would have been canned at any other job. I just can’t seem to motivate myself to do anything.
I’m not pining away for Dare. Okay, maybe I’m pining just a tad bit. But I’m just completely at a loss for what the hell happened. One minute, he’s right there with me, understanding what’s in my heart as if he shares the same beating organ, and I’m falling in love with the guy. In a way I’ve never fallen in my life. And the next, he’s gone.
Without a single word.
What happened? All I can think of is that at that damn party, my mother got to him. It couldn’t have been the Admiral, because he was with me. But is Dare the kind of man who can’t take a harsh word from my mother? I didn’t think so before.
I’ve wracked my brain, and I can’t come up with a better explanation.
So ice cream and sweats it is.
It’s on the next Saturday night, a week and one day later, that I’m sitting on my couch, alone, doing exactly that. My hair is atop my head in a messy, curly bun, and I’m wearing a white tank top and light gray sweats. My feet are bare and I’m in danger of going up yet another jeans size. I’m even thinking of giving my ass its own area code.
There’s a knock at the front door.
I stare at it, wondering if Mea and Greta are too drunk to remember that they live here and don’t have to knock. They attempted to convince me to go out to a bar with them tonight by telling me how pretty I looked. I laughed right in their faces.
The knock sounds again, pounding and insistent. I sigh, pausing my DVR’d episode of Teen Wolf and drag myself off the couch.
When I pull open the door I’m staring into the hard chest of Grisham. I sigh heavily, moving away from the door and going to plop back on the couch.
“Seriously, Berk?” he says, screwing up his face and closing the door behind him. He indicates the coffee table. “An entire carton of Ben & Jerry’s?”
I glance at the tub, shrug, and pick up the remote. Hitting PLAY, I don’t look at him. “You can sit, Grish.”
He perches on the edge of the couch, staring at me. “You’ve been like this for an entire week, Berk.”
“I have? Shit.” I eye him with an exaggerated look of pure shock, and he scowls.
“Get up,” he orders.
I stare. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m not letting you do this anymore. Get up and get dressed. We’re getting a drink. We’ll meet up with Mea and Greta.”
I fold my arms and remain seated. I turn my focus back to Scott and Stiles.
Suddenly, Grisham yanks the remote from my hand and flicks off the television.
“What the f—” My shrill protest is cut off
as Grisham scoops me off the couch and carries me, fireman-style, to my bedroom. He thrusts me unceremoniously on the bed and proceeds to open my closet door.
“If you get up, you will get thrown right back on that bed, and I will use my body weight to restrain you. Does that sound fun, Berkeley?”
“No.” I pout, pushing up on my elbows.
“Have you showered today?” He tosses clothing at me and turns.
I set my lips in a stubborn line. Maybe he can force me to comply, but he cannot force me to speak.
He sighs and jerks his thumb toward the doorway. “Shower, Berkeley. Now.”
I rise from the bed and storm past him on the way to the bathroom. “I like reserved Grisham so much better than bossy Grisham!”
All that follows me into the bathroom is his chuckle.
So I shower, and I dress in the flowered, short skirt and V-necked tank top Grisham has set out for me. And every second I’m doing it, my body is aching. It radiates out of my chest and settles into my limbs as if I’ve recently completed a very rigorous workout. Too bad I haven’t burned any calories lately, unless you count crying into my pillow at night an exercise.
As I pull a brush through my wet curls, I hear a knock at the front door.
“Why am I so popular tonight?” I mutter as I enter the hallway.
I walk into the living room just as Grisham pulls the front door open.
And reveals Dare, standing there on the mat with a serious expression on his face.
Oh, God.
I haven’t seen him in a week, and he looks…delicious. Seriously, good enough to eat. His dark hair touches the collar on his crew-neck shirt, and his jeans hug the muscular legs I know for a fact are hidden beneath them. I unconsciously lean forward, because if I can get close enough, I know I can smell him. And he always smells so good.
“Dare?” I croak.
His gaze crashes into mine, and I’m lost in a wave of stormy sea green. The words I may have uttered get stuck in my throat, and a huge lump forms above them, making it impossible for me to speak again.
Dare’s eyes flicker from my face to Grisham, who’s standing at the door glaring at him. Then they move back to me.
“I need to talk to you,” he says carefully. Some sort of shutter closes over those eyes, and his expression is completely unreadable. Guarded, even.
“I don’t think so,” growls Grisham. “She’s been trying to talk to you for a freaking week. You—”
“Grish.”
His eyebrows shoot upward and he swings his gaze around to mine.
“Let him in.”
I can see a tiny muscle pulsing in Grisham’s jaw, and when I look at Dare I see an identical one pulsing in his.
“Can you give us a few minutes?” I ask Grisham quietly.
He opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut when I shoot him a pleading glance. He nods, exiting the front door and closing it behind him.
I know he won’t go far.
Dare stands just inside the doorway, and his gaze sweeps over my body, a long, slow perusal that takes him from my bare feet and legs over my skirt and top, past my ample, exposed cleavage and then back up to my eyes. He leaves a flush on my skin every place his eyes touch, and then he closes his eyes briefly.
When he opens them again, he gestures toward the couch. “Sit with me?”
I proceed forward without a word, perching on the end of the cushion.
I stare down at my hands, which are folded in my lap. If I don’t keep them folded, they’ll tremble.
“I needed to come by and see you,” he begins, sinking down on the opposite end of the couch. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped under his chin. “I know you’ve been trying to get in touch with me. I wasn’t ready to talk to you yet.”
Anger flares through me, erupting in my belly like a volcano. “You weren’t ready to talk to me? What the fuck did I do?”
My words hit him like a slap; he flinches. He lowers his gaze, and continues. “You know what? You didn’t do anything. I was just at that party, and I realized…I realized I don’t fit into that world. I won’t fit into your world.”
My mouth drops open, and the shock frees my hands from their death clasp on one another. My fingers spread over my thighs. “Dare! I don’t even fit into that world! It’s not my world, it’s my parents’! You know that.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t do this with you.”
His voice is so low, I almost can’t understand him. I stare at his hands, now rubbing the fabric of his jeans. Back and forth, back and forth.
“You mean…you don’t want to.”
His eyes dart to mine and hold them. I can’t help falling into the abyss of his eyes. No matter how deep and dark the depths take me. “If that’s what you want to think to help you sleep at night.”
“Help me sleep at night? How do you think I’ve been sleeping at night without you next to me, Dare?”
He barks out a dry laugh. “I think you’ve been sleeping just fine, Berkeley.”
Berkeley. Not baby, not honey. I’m back to just being Berkeley to him.
“Why?” The word falls out of my mouth as a whisper.
He shakes his head slowly. “Because we’re not right for each other. I always knew it, deep down. I hoped I could be good enough for you…and I thought maybe I could be. But I was wrong. That night, at the party…that proved it.”
“Did someone say something to you?” I ask him. Because I will literally wring my mother’s neck.
He stares at me, his eyes searching and sad. What is he searching for? I will give him absolutely anything he needs. Anything. “No, Berkeley. No one said anything to me that night. I didn’t hear anything that I didn’t already know.”
Now it’s my turn to search. His words are full of a meaning I don’t understand. His eyes are so dismal, I can’t see anything more than what he gives me. What is he trying to tell me?
“Dare—”
He stands. “I should go. I’m sure Grisham is waiting for me to get out of here.”
I stand quickly, too. “You can stay. We can talk about this.”
He reaches out, and I feel the touch of his cool fingers against my hot cheek. He strokes my skin gently, so gently it makes my eyes shine with unshed tears. Please don’t leave. I want to say those words aloud, but I don’t.
“There’s nothing else to say.”
And then his hand is gone from my cheek and the front door is opening. I take a step toward it, but he’s gone.
I crumple onto the couch, and I almost wish he hadn’t come. Everyone who says closure heals wounds can take a trip straight to hell, courtesy of my foot, because they’re wrong. Seeing him again broke me into pieces, sharp, jagged pieces that are going to be impossible to put back together.
My face is wet and my body is shaking when Grisham walks back in.
“Oh, Berk.” He breathes, almost too softly for me to hear him through my tears.
He picks me up, cradling me to his chest, and sits on the couch with me in his lap. The last thing I remember before I pass out from pure exhaustion is him placing me in my bed and covering me with my blanket.
“Sleep, Berkeley,” he whispers just before he leaves. “Tomorrow is a new day.”
25
Dare
I’m fine,” I snap. I don’t even need to glance behind me to know that Drake’s beefy presence has approached.
“Right,” he scoffs, sitting in the sand beside me. He draws khaki shorts-covered legs to his chest and rests his forearms on his knees. I remain stony and silent, staring out into the crashing waves. Leaning back on my hands, I wait.
Drake says nothing.
Finally irritated, I ask, “What do you want? Don’t you have a party to host?”
He shrugs. “It ain’t much of a party when my battle buddy bails.”
I close my eyes. The very last thing in the entire fucking world that I want to do right now is entertain people in my own
home. It’s bad enough Drake’s been trying to get me out of the house since my breakup with Berkeley, but when I refused? He decided to bring the fun home to me.
Not cool. Not even a little bit.
He sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, man. I just thought…shit, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go up and kick their asses out.”
He starts to heft himself out of the sand, but I stop him with a shake of my head. “Don’t bother. I like it out here. It clears my head.”
He settles back in. “Yeah? Because it doesn’t seem clear. It seems to be pretty damn full of a hot-as-hell blond chick named B—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off. “Don’t even fucking say her name or I swear to God I’ll lose my shit on this beach.”
Usually we’d banter around, and he’d have some witty response for me threatening to lose my shit. But tonight, Drake seems to sense that I’m in the anti-mood for bullshit jokes.
“Exactly.” Drake hesitates before he continues, digging his feet deeper into the sand beneath us. “So you’re not fine. Look, Dare…are you sure you did the right thing? I mean you basically let her dad run you out of there, tail between your legs. That ain’t the Dare Conners I know. Fuck no.”
I shake my head. “You don’t get it. I was never good enough for her, you know? Hearing her dad say the shit he did just confirmed what I was already thinking. She belongs with someone…I don’t know, someone better or something like that.”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps on staring at the waves. Drake can stretch out a silence if he needs to, and apparently he doesn’t have a response for me just now. I can think of times in a sandy desert or a wild jungle where we would just walk for hours, not needing to say a word. Being stuck on patrol with Drake was always easy.
So we just sit for a bit, while the gathering at our house carries on without us.
Finally, he pipes up. “I don’t know exactly what he said, but I got the gist of it. And he doesn’t know you, man. He doesn’t know shit about you or he wouldn’t have said it. And if he really cared about his daughter the way he should, he’d get to know the man she loves.”