Page 20 of The Art of Drowning

Callum raised an eyebrow. “Until a few days ago, I’d have said I was fine.”

“Right. Dumb question.” I took a breath and decided to stick to the topic of the day instead of dredging up old wounds. “Sam… he had a will? Wasn’t he kind of young for that kind of forethought?”

Callum looked at me and his eyes narrowed. “He had cancer?”

He posed it like a question and I got the distinct impression that I was missing something. “I thought he died in an accident.”

Callum leaned back and stared at me for a long moment. I was powerless to do anything but stare back and wait for him to continue. I’d sit there all night if I had to.

“He beat the cancer. A year ago. It was close. They advised him to get his affairs in order. That’s why—didn’t Sam tell you any of this?”

A dark, angry laugh barked out of me. “Sam hasn’t said a single word to me since that day. Not one.”

The color drained out of Callum’s face. “What? But he… you. Mom and Dad would ask about you, and he’d answer them. He told us when you graduated and everything. When you opened your business. He always knew what you were up to.” Callum rubbed at his chest.

“Well, that’s fucking news to me, because he hasn’t so much as sent me an email. Not a text. A letter. Hell, not even a singing telegram or one of those glitter bombs you can mail people.”

Callum’s face twisted in anger and confusion. “That son of a bitch. He said… all this time he pretended that you…” Callum was so mad he couldn’t finish a sentence. He shoved his hands into his hair and let out a pained sound that drew the attention of a large portion of the bar, including the woman he’d been sitting with, who clearly worked here. Her eyes shot daggers at me, but she didn’t approach.

When I looked back at Callum, he was a little more composed, but his jaw was still set tight.

“He acted like the two of you were still close.”

The words slammed into me like a kick to the chest.

Sam had thrown me out of his life and pretended we were still the best of friends. He must have stalked me online and just used whatever little tidbits of information I shared to drop into conversations, pretending that I’d been the one to share my life with him.

I realized that I had no room to feel violated when the stuff he’d clearly passed along I’d made public, but I hadn’t done it for him. I’d done it so Callum could see if he ever chose to look. So he’d always know where to find me.

I couldn’t formulate a response to this revelation, so I did what I said I wasn’t going to do. I grabbed the bottle, poured a small drink, and downed it in one swallow. It wasn’t the worst whiskey I’d ever had, but it burned all the way down.

“You know,” I said, still a little breathless from the shot I’d done. “If he wasn’t dead, I’d kick his fucking ass.”

“If he wasn’t dead, I’d help you.” Callum poured himself a drink, but this one he didn’t down. He just took a sip of it to take the edge off.

The warmth of the whiskey slowly but surely radiated from my stomach, spreading to other parts of my body.

“I’m beginning to think I never really knew your brother,” I said, and that thought made me the saddest out of everything. That I’d been Sam’s best friend, but in the end he was a person I didn’t recognize. Even looking back. The Sam that kept track of me so he could masquerade as my friend wasn’t the Sam that I’d known.

Maybe Callum and I had killed the Sam I’d known.

Or maybe… maybe he’d never existed at all.

“I think you might be right.” Callum nodded and took another sip, all without looking at me.

Obviously I was still more affected by him than he was by me because I couldn’t take my eyes off him. It was all I could do to keep my hands on my side of the table. I wanted to reach for him. To feel the heat of his skin. To press my body against his and see if we still fit.

Fuck, how I wanted us to fit.

But so much time had passed and now Callum couldn’t even look at me.

I didn’t know Sam’s motivations for pretending he still knew me. That we were still friends. I didn’t know what he could have possibly left me in his will or what I was doing here at all.

When I started to stand, Callum’s gaze snapped to mine.

“Stay,” he whispered.

I sat down and settled against the back of the booth. Again, I reached for Callum’s glass and I stole a drink. I didn’t speak for a long time, and when I did I was suddenly eighteen again.