Trudy sets down a glass of bourbon in front of him. He lifts it to his mouth and smells it before taking a small sip. The glass is placed back onto the counter top, and he stays facing forward, not looking at me but waiting for a response.
Do I want the truth?
Yeah, I fucking do. And I want it to hurt. Because if she’s hurting, I should hurt too. It’s the least of what I deserve after what I did to her. Even though I didn’t cheat like she thinks, I still fucked up. I still lied.
But the real solution to this problem is to make it all go away. To make up. To tell her the truth and let her see that I didn’t do this on purpose, and that even though maybe I’m the reason he came back, he came here on his own first.That’swhy I went after him. But she’s not ready to hear that.
“Yes,” I finally say, taking the shot.
“She’s surviving.”
That’s one of the worst answers he could have given me. Had he said she was good, I’d be happy for her. She’s figuring out how to deal with this. Had he said she was a mess, that’s also easy to decipher. She’s upset, as she should be.
But surviving? She’s forcing herself to get by. Pretending to be okay when she’s not. That’s… fucking awful.
“I need to see her.”
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“Then make her want to see me!” I bark, slamming my fist onto the table.
Snapper doesn’t flinch.
“You know even if I could do that, I wouldn’t.”
“That’s fucked coming from you,” I growl, turning to face him. “You did this too. Does she even know that?” My anger is coming to the surface now. I’m tired of this mess, and I’m tired of missing her. I want her back.
“Nope. And she never will. Want to know why?” I’m furious now. “Because you won’t hurt her more, and we both know giving her that information will destroy her. I’m all she has right now, and you won’t take that away. Besides, her finding that out will change nothing. It’ll only make her angry at all of us, then who knows what will happen.”
“You’re a conniving little fuck, you know that?”
He shrugs a shoulder, then reaches for his drink again. “I do what I have to do.”
“Fuck you, Snapper.”
“You wish.”
I’m drunk enough that I can’t drive, so I do the next best thing and start walking my ass home. Right in the middle of the road, where the least amount of snow and ice is. And right where I’m most likely to get run over. Would it be the worst thing? No one would miss me. No one gives a fuck. Which is why I’m walking home rather than having a ride. No one answers the damn phone around here.
It’s cold as fuck outside, but at least it’s not windy or snowing any more. Though, with my luck, it’ll start up real soon again. I hear the crunch of tires on packed snow before I see the damn thing. It almost hits me. Or maybe I almost hit it.
“Get in, you prick.”
I don’t know who that is, or why they’re calling me a prick. I didn’t do anything to them.
I keep walking, hunching my shoulders because it’s fucking freezing.
“Griswold, get in the fucking truck.”
I lift my head, frowning at the truck. No one calls me that. No one except—
Tommy jumps out of the truck and storms toward me, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the truck. I slip, falling down to my knees. The cold and wet soaks into my jeans.
“Get up,” he growls, pulling me up, but I slip and go down again.
“Just leave me,” I say, my teeth chattering.
He gets both arms under mine and grunts as he hoists me up so I’m on my feet.
