I stare at the floor. “Good.” I risk looking at him. “How have you been?”
“Good. You?”
“Good.”
“Does ‘good’ mean something different in Ireland?” Hendrix asks.
Rory glares at him. “What do you mean?”
“Does it have some sort of multifaceted meaning that relies on the interpretation of the tone of someone’s voice? Because you both keep saying it, but neither of you sound genuine.”
Wow. Busted. I rub the back of my neck and nod to Hendrix. “I like him. Is he always so blunt?”
“No. He’s normally worse.”
“I’m right here, you know. But I get it. I’ll vanish so you can have a truthful conversation.” He waves and runs up the stairs.
“Truthful.” I stare at Rory. “Do you think we can do that?”
Rory sucks in a breath. “How are you, really?”
For a second, the man before me is the boy I never kept a secret from.
I stare into his eyes. “Sober.” I can’t stop the word from tumbling out of my mouth, even though it’s the last thing I want him to know.
Awkward. There’s no other word to describe the long, silent moments after telling my ex-best friend that I’m an alcoholic.
Rory’s expression shifts through a range of emotions. I try to guess each one as the silence stretches on. He’s wearing yesterday’s clothes and has a hangover, so perhaps he feels guilty for getting drunk? Shocked is another emotion that’s mixed in there somewhere. I’d be surprised if someone from my past—someone I knew better than myself at one point in my life—turned up out of the blue and told me they were an alcoholic.
I stay silent, letting him process all the emotions he might be feeling. Standing here is hard. I don’t like being scrutinised at the best of times. I hate being judged. Rory might be doing one, both, or neither. It’s hard to tell.
“Sober?” He blinks slowly as he repeats the last word I said.
“Aye. As in, I don’t drink anymore.”
He half shakes his head. “I—”
“Didn’t know?”
He nods.
“Why would you?”
He winces and takes a half step back. Okay, maybe that was a low blow. Not that it’s Rory’s fault we didn’t keep in touch. That’s on me.
“You knew about Dad,” he says.
“You know what small towns are like. Gossip spreads fast.”
He takes a complete step back. Well, this is going well.
“I’m sorry. Can we start over?”
Rory wipes his hand over his beard. “You’ve been back to Wexford?”
“Not me. My parents.” My shoulders slump. “They went back for a funeral and heard about your dad while there. I’m sorry. What happened?”
“He got swept overboard during a storm two years ago.” His face is pale like he’s seen a ghost.
