Simon gives me a sympathetic look, like he can read every conflicted emotion on my face. I hate it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I grumble.
“I’m only letting you have one,” he says, reaching for a clean glass. “Ivy would have my balls if I let you get smashed.”
I shoot him a look and accept the drink he holds out to me. I throw back the whiskey in one go, barely registering the burn. It does nothing to dull the memories: her shoulders tightening. The way she folded her arms across her body like armour. Her forced smile. She doesn’t realise I have the real one memorised.
The light has already started to leave her eyes.
I should have dragged her out of there.
I should have told her how I felt sooner.
I should have fucking fought for her.
“Connor?”
Owen’s tentative voice pulls me from my thoughts. Concern is evident in his furrowed brow, but I don’t have it in me to slap on a smile tonight.
“What is it, Owen?”
I immediately regret my harsh tone, but the man who’s become a father figure to me doesn’t seem to mind. Perching on the empty stool next to me, he lays a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t know what’s happened, but I do know that drinking isn’t going to fix it.”
“Do you have to be so wise all the time?” I sigh. “It’s fucking annoying.”
“It comes with experience.” He smiles kindly. “Go home, Connor. Sleep, clear your head, think things through again in the morning.”
“You’re right. I’ll head off in a bit.”
Of course, I have no intention of going home yet. I’m far toosober to face walking into my house withoutherin it.
“Make sure you do, son.” Owen nods, then stands up to leave.
Once I’m certain he’s left the building, I glance around to check I’m not being watched, then reach behind the bar for the bottle of whiskey Simon left out and pour myself another large pull.
My phone burns in my pocket, screaming at me to call her, message her, anything to check she’s okay, but I resist, settling instead for a glug of my drink. I should leave her alone. She’s asked me to leave her be, and I should respect that. But I can’t ignore the nagging doubt telling me this is wrong. Her words told me one thing, but her eyes said another.
My conversation with Rhys replays in my mind. I should have hit him. Maybe it would have eased the blow of Tilly leaving. I almost did punch him square in the jaw when he started talking about her, laughing behind her back, degrading my girl.Hisgirl, I suppose.
My hand fists, nearly smashing my glass in the process. I drain what’s left of my drink before I contaminate it with shattered glass.
I’ve accepted that I can’t contact Tilly, despite how much it kills me. But I wish there was a way I could keep an eye on her, make sure she’s safe, happy. Ivy will be in touch with her, but I doubt she’d tell me anything if I asked.
Maybe I could drive past her school every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her?
What are you, a stalker?
Then it hits me.
Relief washes over me when I realise there’s another option, another way for me to check in on Tilly without contacting her directly. Violet. I saw the terror in her eyes when she thought something had happened to Tilly. She really cares about her andtrusted me enough to find me and ask for my help. Luckily, we exchanged numbers to keep each other updated on Tilly’s whereabouts last night, so I quickly pull it up and call her.
I press the phone close to my ear so I can hear over the racket of the bar, and wait.
“Hey, Hot Chef!” she answers. “What’s up? Is Tilly okay?”
“Yeah… well, no… I mean,physicallyshe seems fine…”Why can’t I find the words?I blame the alcohol.
