I walk across the parking lot, already sweating. The afternoon air is getting thicker by the second. The weather tomorrow is supposed to jump from the balmy seventy-seven that it was hovering at earlier to almost ninety, and clearly it’s also bringing humidity. I pull open the door to the restaurant and inhale the delicious smells.
“Hey slugger!” I hear someone yell and look up to see Jake and Finn at the bar with Logan across from them, placing beers in front of them.
“Hey, I see you’re done impersonating your brother,” I say as he and Jake lift their beers off the bar top and raise them to me as a greeting.
“What can I say. He likes playing more than I do,” Logan replies and gives me a small smile.
“And Abbott here likes clocking douchebags,” Jake adds. “Unfortunately, during charity events.”
“I need to see Deck,” I say and don’t even try to figure out a casual excuse to go with that statement.
Logan’s smile slips a little. His blue eyes darken with concern. “Okay. Want me to call him?”
“He’s not here?” I ask, confused.
Logan shakes his head. And then Finn’s explanation slams into me like a knife through the heart. “He’s on a date. Finally!”
“A… date?”
“Yeah. With the guy he met at Dorothy’s,” Jake replies casually. “Cool guy. Hope it goes well.”
“Why do you think it’s a date?” I ask.
Logan is still staring at me, his forehead creased with worry. He has no idea why I walked in here so upset but he can tell I’m getting more unnerved. He just doesn’t know exactly why. “Maybe it’s not. I mean, he didn’t call it a date.”
“Gael did,” Jake says. “I was surfing with him again yesterday and he said he had a date with Deck today.”
It feels like I didn’t just hit rock bottom but am being body-slammed into it with the force of the universe. Is Declan actually on a date? Why would he do that? And if it isn’t a date… if it’s platonic, then why did he lie to me? Because he did lie. He said he was working and that’s why he couldn’t come to my game. “I must have gotten confused because I thought Deck was scheduled here today. That’s why he wasn’t at the game.”
“Nope. He worked the boat this morning with my dad, but he had the afternoon off.” Finn says. “You wanna hang with us? You can tell us how amazing it felt to pummel the town dickhead.”
“No. I’m gonna go,” I somehow manage to say even though my mouth is dry and my throat feels like it’s in a vise grip. I turn and walk right back out the door.
As the evening air engulfs me I take my phone out of my blazer pocket and text him.
Abbott:Need to talk to you. Where are you?
I pull off my jacket because the humid air is making it feel like it’s sticking to me. I open my car door and toss it in and then start undoing a few of the buttons on my shirt, thankful I didn’t wear a tie.
“Hey! Abbott!” Logan is jogging across the parking lot toward me. I can tell it’s him and not Finn because he’s in his work shirt. “I heard from Terra that your parents were there. Do you want to talk about it? Is that why you’re looking for Deck?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, yeah but it’s fine.”
“I know I’m not your best friend, but I’m a good listener,” Logan says gently but I shake my head again. “Okay well, I also know that emotional shit can be triggering so if you want to go to a meeting or talk to someone, I can call my sponsor Cookie. She is the most chill, relaxed person you could ever meet. She’s heard it all too so no judging.”
My phone dings. I turn away from the Logan to read Declan’s response without an audience.
Declan:I can be home in an hour or so. Just running an errand.
I swear and toss my phone into the car. It bounces off the passenger seat and hits the dash before landing on the floor. I get into my car. Logan says my name tentatively but I slam the door closed and start the engine. I think he calls it again as I drive off.
19
DECLAN
When I get homethe door is locked, which is weird. I know he’s home because his car is in the driveway. I stare up at the house as I dig around in my pants pockets for the key he gave me a week ago. The sun is starting to set, casting pink and gold light all over the big old, shingled house. This place is not at all my type. It’s classic New England with its cedar shingles and white shutters and porch. But yet, I feel more at home here than I have anywhere else, even after just eight short days.
I told that to my therapist and added that, despite feeling good about living with Abbott, I still haven’t put his keys on my key ring. He told me it’s because I have fatalistic tendencies, that I’m always preparing for my life to blow up. That was like a kick to the nuts.
