The truth is, I miss him.
It’s only been three nights, but I already miss him so much. I have gotten used to sharing my day with him and just shooting the shit.
“Maybe he doesn’t need me anymore. Maybe I was just a crutch to help him get through losing Brielle.”
“I know you don’t really believe that.” She swings her legs up onto the couch.
I shrug. I don’t know how to feel. Except a little heartsore and a lot sad. I hadn’t realized quite how much Beck had brightened up my world until he started ghosting me.
“You’re important to him. Don’t convince yourself otherwise. I don’t think this is about you at all. He just buried Brielle, and he’s hurting, babe.”
“The funeral was hard on him, and you’re probably right. I shouldn’t be making this about me. I just want to be there for him, but how can I when he seems to be pushing me away?” I rub at a tense spot between my brows.
“His relationship with Brielle was fake, but she took her own life while she was technically his girlfriend. You said they were friends. I bet he’s harboring a ton of guilt. Guilt he was hiding or denying, and now the funeral has brought it all to the surface. He needs you, Stevie. I’d bet my last dollar on it.”
I scoot down the couch and grab my friend into a hug. “How did I get so lucky to have you for a best friend?”
“It’s cosmic, babe. The stars aligned to bring us together.”
“Whatever it is, I’m grateful. Love you.”
“Love you too, Stevie.” We ease out of our embrace. “Do you want me to come with?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got this, but thanks for offering.” Finals start in nine days, and I know Hadley was only watching a movie to cheer me up. “Go study. I’ll text you when I get there.”
* * *
I set out on foot a few minutes later, keeping alert as I navigate the streets from the International District to Capitol Hill. The brisk night air blows some of the cobwebs from my head. I silently berate myself for being so selfish. For getting so caught up in my own shit I didn’t properly consider the impact Brielle’s funeral had on Beck. Of course, he’s in pain. They might not have been in love like Garrick and me, but she was still his friend. Now, I feel foolish for not visiting sooner.
When I reach his building, I take the elevator to the third floor, frowning when the doors open and loud rock music greets me. It’s coming from Beck’s apartment, which is strange. I ring the bell and hammer on the door a few times, but it’s futile. He can’t hear me over the ruckus.
Using my key, I let myself inside, noticing nothing out of place in the hallway. However, panic is instantaneous the second I round the bend and step foot in the living room. Beck is lying on the floor, wearing only gray sweatpants, curled in the fetal position, and not moving.
Rushing to him, I drop to my knees and place a hand over his heart. “Beck, it’s me. Stevie. I’m here.” His skin is warm and clammy to the touch, but the steady pounding against my palm is reassuring. A groan seeps from his lips as he lowers his knees, and I spot the empty bottle of Macallan his hand is curled around.
Noxious fumes waft in the air when his lips part. His eyes blink open before shuttering again. Rock music blares from his sound system, and I rush to switch it off before dropping down in front of him again. “Beck.” I press my hand to his sweat-slickened brow. “Can you hear me?”
“Stevie,” he rasps in a hoarse voice, opening his eyes fully. They are bloodshot and red rimmed, and the accompanying shadows under his eyes are testament to lack of sleep. “You’re here.”
“Yes. I should have come sooner. I’ve been worried.” I gently cup his face. “How long have you been numbing your pain with whisky?”
He shrugs, groaning as he tries to sit up.
“Let me help.” Sliding my arm around his back, I help him to sit. Whisky fumes leak from his every pore, and it’s obvious he’s been drinking for a while to get in this state.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he slurs before burying his face in my neck. “I’m bad news.” His words are muffled against my skin. “I’m not the good guy you think I am.”
I have no clue what he means, but now isn’t the time to probe him for answers. “I am exactly where I want to be.”
He looks up at me with so much vulnerability in his eyes my heart aches for him. “You mean everything to me, Stevie. Everything,” he whispers, clasping my face in his palms. His eyes drift to my mouth, and I stop breathing. “You’re so good and kind, and I don’t want to ruin you.” His gaze flickers from my lips to my eyes and back again. “You make it all better.” His head falls to my shoulder as his arms go around me. “You make everything better. You’re like my personal guardian angel.”
Beck clings to me with a desperation I feel soul-deep. I hold him close, running a hand up and down his back, as he shakes and trembles against me. “It’s all my fault,” he cries a few minutes later. “What happened to Brielle. It’s all my fault. I’m the reason she’s dead.”
“It’s not your fault. No one knows why anyone takes their own life. No one understands what triggers them in that moment to make such a drastic choice. If it even is a choice.” I rest my cheek on top of his head as I hug him. “You can’t take that responsibility on. It’s not right and it won’t change the outcome.”
How easy it is to give advice to others when I suffer under the same weights of guilt and responsibility myself.
“You don’t understand.” He lifts his head, and we’re so close there’s barely any space between us. His eyes drop to my mouth again, and butterflies swoop into my belly. I stop breathing. Partly to ward off the alcoholic odors and partly in panic. Beck’s entire face is wracked in pain, but his eyes convey other things.
