“No, I don’t,” I correct him. “Every time you avoided my eyes, every time she touched you and you fucking let her. Every time I set down a glass or a dish and felt fucking invisible, I knew it. I felt it. And nothing else in my whole life has hurt more.”
“How can I fix it?” he asks, pain coating every word.
“You don’t get it,” I tell him, shaking my head. “There’s no fixing this. Some things just break.”
29
Blue
Liza leaves the room and takes my heart right along with her. There’s a moment of silence as she walks away, like we’re having a funeral for my common fucking sense. I’m such a dumbass, and as soon as Liza’s out of earshot, the guys all clamor around, eager to tell me just how badly I fucked up.
Do they think I don’t know that already? I feel like utter shit because I just blew up the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do to fix it.
Liza’s words keep ringing in my head.Some things just break.
She’s right, and I hate it. I can’t buy my way out of this. It isn’t going to make a difference if I send her flowers or give her a pretty piece of jewelry. Not even a new vibrator will make this go away. I can’t bring home her favorite pizza or tease her out of her grumpy mood. There’s no prank to pull that’s going to make her laugh and no sexy item to tick off a checklist and distract us from our problem.
I fucked up big time, and it’s beyond repair.
I don’t even bother listening to the guys as they talk over each other to offer unsolicited advice. None of it is going to help meget Liza back, so it doesn’t matter. I’m so damn pissed at myself I could scream, but that won’t help. I had just started to break past her walls and earn her trust, and then one stupid night ruined everything. As her boyfriend, my job was to protect her from the pain and the heartache the world throws at us. Instead, I inflicted more pain than anyone else ever has. The look on her face tonight gutted me, and that’s what has me walking away from my friends and heading for the basement.
I’m going to lick my wounds and drown my sorrows in whatever alcohol Ollie’s got stashed down here. It’s not a great plan, but it’s my plan, and I’m sticking to it.
“I found him.”
“Did he puke yet?”
“Where are his pants?”
I hear people talking, but none of them are Liza, so I ignore them and pull the blanket back over my head. But it’s too small. It’s just a tiny little blanket. Too tiny. Why do I have a tiny blanket? Is it Hazel’s? Is it for one of the kitties? Am I a blanket thief and a terrible grandfather?
“Jesus Christ. He’s gonna suffocate himself with that damn hood. Stand back, boys. You know he’s like Mt. Vesuvius when he drinks. Vomit could start spewing at any second.”
The dulcet tones of my best friend’s rumbly voice register in brain, followed swiftly by his words. Oh, shit. He’s right. I’m gonna throw up. As soon as I get this teeny tiny little blanket off my face.
“Hold still, and—damn.”
I don’t even open my eyes as I reach for the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl. It’s a good thing my body knows to pass outon the bathroom floor because I’d never make it here in time otherwise.
When I’m done emptying the contents of my stomach, I take the towel that’s being offered to me and wipe my face. I look up to see Dutton and Leo standing in the doorway. My best buddy hands me a toothbrush and some toothpaste while Leo holds out a sports drink.
Angels, these two.
I take a minute to clean myself up and gratefully accept the clean hoodie that Dutton brought down. This is probably his fifty-seventh vomit rodeo with me, so he knows the drill. I don’t know what happened to my sweatpants, but at least I’m still wearing my boxers. When I’m looking and feeling almost half human, I pad out to the main room of the basement. The bar is littered with a few empty beer cans and half a bottle of tequila, but I don’t let my gaze linger on those or I’ll end up back in the bathroom from flashbacks alone. It’s happened before. I shuffle over to the couches and plop my ass down on an empty space. Dutton and Leo are still here, but so are Mickey and Ollie. It’s like an intervention, but it isn’t necessary.
I already know I fucked up. I recall in excruciating detail every stupid thing I said and did last night, so I don’t need my friends to give me a play-by-play.
“You guys don’t need to say anything. I’m an idiot, I know. I’ll move out so it isn’t awkward.”
My announcement is met with silence, and I’ve gotta admit, that stings a little. I figured at least Sparky would protest. Finding a new place to live is at the top of the to-do list I’ve just started creating in my mind.
“So dramatic,” Dutton finally says, breaking the silence.
“Where the hell are you moving to?” Ollie asks. “And why?”
I shrug because I literally hatched this plan ten seconds ago, and to be honest, I’m still a little drunk. “Bridgette’s room,” I say,as the answer magically appears in my brain. “She doesn’t really use it anymore, and it’s close to campus and the athletic center. It’s perfect. Plus, Bridgette loves me. Well, she might hate me after she talks to Liza, but that’s all the more reason for her to want me out of here.”
“You can’t leave,” Mickey squawks. Jeez. Is the guy always this loud?
