I repeat my words slowly this time, ensuring they really soak in. “You said you’d clean up, and you really did. Do you know how many people say that and never actually do anything about it?” His lips press together. “A lot. But you, you actually did it. You’ve proven that you are strong. That you have what it takes. And you’ll do it again. I’m not even worried, because I know you will. But can I ask you something?”
His brows furrow. “Of course.”
“Will you promise me you’ll do this for yourself? For you, and no one else?” He stares at me. “Not for your mom, and especially not for me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re worth it, Bobby.Youmatter. The person you are when you’re sober? Fight for that guy. I know I sure as hell will.”
“I . . .” He blows out a deep breath and hangs his head. “Jesus, Lou. I don’t think you know how much that means to me.”
I give his hand another squeeze, and he holds mine tight for a long minute. It’s a friendly gesture, two people leaning on each other, and I think we both need it.
He releases my grip, and I nod. “Friends?”
His eyes light up, a sweet, gentle smile forming on that forever baby face. “Friends.”
This Sunday seemsto be hitting me extra hard. I don’t know if it’s having to say goodbye to Jamie, or the way I’m seriously missinghim, or the fear that consumes me every time I check if my heart’s still beating, but I ended up dedicating the day to cleaning at Mr. Blackwood’s just to keep my mind occupied. I’m sick of sulking and feeling sorry for myself, and by the time I walked out of his house feeling stiff and sore from putting so much into it, I was pretty happy with my choice.
Not only was it an effective distraction, but I made progress with Mr. Blackwood. He actually spoke to me today. Like, real words, not just grunts. He even offered me a glass of water. Of course, when he saw my surprise at the miniscule gesture, he said, “Get your damn jaw off the floor and take the water before I change my mind,” but still. Progress.
I don’t know if I’ve given him enough time to forgive me yet, to rebuild the trust between us, but I don’t think I have a choice: next time, I’m asking him about the Hawkins brothers. He might try to walk out on me again, but it turns out knowing your heart might stop at any second can fill you with a crazy kind of determination.
This is it. He has to answer my questions next time because, as morbid as it sounds, who knows how much longer I have?
I’ve been thinking about it more lately, and if there is some reason I’ve been dreaming about those boys, if there is something I’m meant to do about it, maybe figuring out that piece of the puzzle will help put the rest in place. If anything, it’s a starting point.
I’ve just stripped out of my clothes and am about to step into a late-night bath when a knock sounds at the door. I pause, take a few steps toward the bedroom. It sounds again, louder this time. Impatient. Who could that be? It’s almost ten at night, and Claire left hours ago, after a long day spent at the festival.
Bang, bang, bang.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Jeez. I grab my silky robe and tie it shut, then head to the door, wishing it had a peephole. I’ve just begun twisting the handle when the thing’s shoved open, and a blonde buzz cut strides into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Dylan? What are you doing in my room?”
He whirls around to face me, and I instantly notice the way his eyes are dilated. They’re wide and red-rimmed, and I wonder what he’s on. When he speaks, it comes out fast, almost manic. “Lou, I had to see you. I had to make sure we were good after last night. We’re good, right?”
Is he serious right now? “No, Dylan. We’re not good. Now can you leave?”
He shakes his head, then starts pacing. “I was thinking about it today, like all day long, and I just need you to promise you won’t say anything to Claire. Okay?”
“Why would I promise that?”
“Because I love her.” He stops in his tracks, looking at me with some kind of wild spark in his eyes. I’ve never seen him like this, and there’s something deeply unsettling about it that causes my stomach muscles to clench.
“Dylan, I have nothing against you, okay?” Lie. “But if you really loved her, you would have been with her last night. Not making out with someone else.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He takes a step toward me. I take a step back. “Claire . . . she’s good. She’s wholesome. She’s perfect. She’s the kind of girl I want to marry someday. But sometimes I just gotta take the edge off a little, and I can’t do that with her. She—she wouldn’t like that side of me. So I blow some steam with chicks who don’t matter, who mean nothing to me. I swear, Lou . . . they are nothing to me.”
I pause, clenching my jaw. “They?”
He closes his eyes, realizing his mistake, and when he opens them again, there’s something dark dancing behind them. Such a quick shift from panic to anger, just like last night. And just like last night, there’s a stillness, a calmness to his rage that has me taking another step back.
“I need you to leave, Dylan.”
“And I will. Just as soon as you make me that promise.”
“I’m not promising anything, so you may as well go now.”
