The party’s already a mess when I arrive.Beer-soaked air fills the place and couples are pressed against the walls as if their hormones could burn the house down.Someone’s already puked in the hydrangeas out front.
The place is crowded.Sweat, perfume, cologne, bad decisions—it’s all here.Some guy I don’t know shoulder checks me with a “Yo, man” and keeps walking.I don’t bother responding.
Noah’s in the corner, arm draped around Aubrey, both of them grinning at something on her phone.She nudges him with her shoulder, and he pulls her in closer.They’re crazy in love.It should annoy me.Instead, it just reminds me of what I fucked up.
Lola’s on the dance floor, grinding with a girl from the year below, her dark curls bouncing, a half-laugh caught in her throat.Her drink sloshes dangerously, but she owns the chaos.Some guy tries to cut in.She pushes him away with a smirk, winks at him, and keeps dancing.
But none of them are who I’m here for.
I scan the room, eyes piercing through the bodies, the crowd, and the noise.I exhale slowly when I don’t see her.I scan the room again, just to be certain.
Red’s not here.
No flame-bright hair in the corner.No sharp eyes watching me across the room, as if she’s already read every dirty thought I’ve ever had and still dares me to come closer.
My gaze drifts toward the corner near the back wall, and there he is, Jace.Smug prick with his mouth pressed to some blonde I’ve never seen before.She seems older, could be college age.Fake tan, white nails.Tight dress, too much lip gloss.
He catches me looking, pulls back with a slick grin, and flashes me a peace sign as if we’re good.As if I never laid him flat on his ass and told him to keep Sam’s name out of his fucking mouth.
For a second, I consider walking over and telling him the things I haven’t said out loud—that it wasn’t all on him.I was the one who made the bet, but what he said was low.
But I came here tonight to forget.I thought that if I drank enough, I’d drown the ache of missing the only girl I have ever loved.I figured it’d be easy.Shot of tequila.Some girl whispering bullshit in my ear.Her hands on my chest.My hands wherever I needed them to be.
But as I glance around, I know it’s not working for me; none of it is.
Every girl here is wrong.
They’re too loud, laughing at shit that’s not funny.Too fucking confident in all the ways Sam never needed to be.They pout on purpose.Twirl their hair as if they’ve practiced it.They press to close, tits up, grabbing guys’ attention.
And all I can think is she never had to try.
Sam walked in, and the whole room seemed to bend around her.She didn’t need a short dress, a fake laugh, or to grip my arm like she was staking a claim.She just looked at me, and that was it.
So yeah, I might have come here to forget.But all I see is everything she’s not.And every time someone leans in too close or licks her lips, I want to scream because it isn’t Sam.And no amount of alcohol can pretend it is.
I leave the party without saying a word.I simply slip out, the cold hitting me harder than I expect.Music still thumps behind me.Laughter echoes.Glass breaks.Someone shouts out a dare.I don’t look back.
I just walk.
I have no idea where I’m going.No plan.Just taking it one step at a time, hoping the distance will wear away something.
I pass a diner.Inside, a couple shares a basket of fries.She’s laughing at something he said, while he’s looking at her like he’d rather starve than see her stop smiling.
I feel the ache as I recall that night after my first game back on the team, her sitting across from me, smirking as she stole fries from my plate.I didn’t care.I would’ve given her every last one if it meant she stayed with me a little longer that night.
I don’t even realize where I’m going until my feet stop moving.Her street.Her house.I stand there before my mind catches up, heart already pounding as if it’s been waiting for this.
I don’t go to the door.I don’t have the balls for that.Instead, I stay across the street, half-swallowed by the dark, hands shoved deep in my pockets.After a while, I sink down onto the curb, elbows braced on my knees, head tipped back as I stare up at her window.
Her bedroom light is on.
I picture her inside, brushing that bright red hair, sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up, chewing her lip as she pretends to read something, with music playing softly in the background.
I lose track of time.Minutes blur into something heavier.I keep waiting for something stupid.A curtain to twitch.A light to flick off.Some kind of sign that I’m not a complete fucking idiot for sitting out here in the cold.
My spine starts to ache.My legs go numb.And for a dangerous second, I almost convince myself to do it.To cross the street.To climb up to her window and beg.To tell her I’m sorry again.To promise her everything.
But I don’t.
