Page 30 of The Art of Drowning

“To Sam. I stopped missing you a long time ago.” I took a sip, grimaced, then spoke again. “To Sam. I hope it’s not too hot where you ended up.”

After taking another sip that burned all the way down to my toes, I passed the bottle back to Callum, who didn’t acknowledge that I’d basically said his brother had gone to hell.

Callum raised the bottle. “To Sam. Fuck you.” He took a long drink, grimaced again, then passed it back to me.

In spite of myself, I laughed. “I’ll drink to that. Fuck you, Sam.”

I took a smaller sip this time as the booze warmed me up from the inside, making everything suddenly softer.

“What do you think is in the envelope?” Callum asked after a few more shots.

I didn’t know about him, but I was feeling every drop of that booze. Shifting around, I grabbed the pizza and placed it on the floor between us.

“I don’t know. He was your brother.”

“He was your best friend.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, he was my best friend, and he froze me out for the past ten years. We were strangers now, Callum.” Just like Callum and I were strangers. Only, it didn’t feel like we were. There was this familiarity that lingered, even after so many years had gone by.

To stop myself from doing something stupid like kissing him again, I grabbed a slice and took a bite.

“You should eat,” I suggested after I devoured half a slice in three seconds.

“I’m good for now,” he replied. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the mattress. I watched him for a few minutes until I realized that he’d fallen asleep sitting on the floor of my hotel room. I left him there, staring at him like some kind of lovesick creeper.

Time had changed us both, but also not really. He still looked like my Callum. The Callum who kissed like a dream and had the laugh of an angel. Who taught me to swim and how to not be afraid of the water.

FIFTEEN

callum

NOW

The world came back into focus slowly. My brain was sluggish at first, wondering where I was and how I got there. Everything came back to me all at once. The will. The envelope. Damien. I looked around the room and saw him curled up on the too-small couch instead of in his bed. Where I was.

How did I get in his bed? And what time was it?

The hotel’s alarm clock glowed in the dimly lit room. It was just after midnight. I’d been asleep for hours. Which was a miracle actually. Ever since the accident, I hadn’t slept well. Thoughts and regrets swirled in my brain all the time. My emotions were all fucked up too. Angry one minute. Sad the next. I was giving myself whiplash.

The question of how I got into bed was answered as little bits of memory made their way to the forefront of my mind. Damien helping me to my feet. Well, more like Damien lifting me, manhandling me into bed and telling me to sleep, even as I argued that I should go.

I tried to get out of bed as noiselessly as possible, but he must have been simply dozing because the minute my feet hit the carpet, I sensed a shift in the room. I looked over at Damien, sitting up a little straighter than he was a few minutes ago.

“Sleep well?” he asked, his voice at a level that suited the darkness.

“I can’t believe I slept at all.” I started to get up, but sat down again. I didn’t want to go. I hated going home now. Truth be told, I hadn’t liked coming home at all. Ever. After Sam and I had that falling-out, he made home so uncomfortable for me that I just never wanted to be there.

“Why are you all the way over there?” I asked, feeling every inch of distance between us. The way I ached for this man had haunted me. It had carved me out and left me hollow, and now he was so fucking close. And yet he might as well have been a million miles away.

“It’s called not being a creeper.”

“You could’ve crawled into bed with me. My virtue is long gone, but I don’t bite.”

“Pity,” Damien quipped.

Silence swelled up between us like a rising tide.

“I should go.”