Page 39 of The Art of Drowning

“You better disrupt my life,” I told him, trying to sound casual, like I was making a joke, but my voice cracked and I bled vulnerability all over him.

“Give me your number.” He reached for the nightstand to get his phone. “I’ll send you a text so you have mine because I plan to keep in touch. And just so you’re warned, I plan to text you a lot.”

I rattled off my phone number, which was one of the only ones I knew by heart. Damien sent me a text and somewhere in the room my phone vibrated in my discarded clothing.

“Please text me a lot.”

“I will.” Damien kissed the top of my head again. His arms came around me and he held me tight. “I don’t want to be without you again.”

Fuck Sam. Fuck Sam all to hell. I didn’t care if that letter was him forbidding me from seeing Damien from beyond the grave. I’d had enough of Sam’s manipulations. Years ago, I let him force me into making a choice I never wanted to make and now I was done letting Sam have any sway over my life.

“I don’t want to be without you either.”

TWENTY

damien

NOW

“You look like shit.” Bowie plopped down across from me at my table.

I hadn’t wanted to leave Callum, but I didn’t want to spend another day back there, and he needed to spend some time with his family before he went home. He tried to tell me that his parents still loved me and would like to see me, but he understood why I didn’t want to stick around.

The stupid letter from Sam sat unopened in my glovebox. I hadn’t touched it since I stuffed it in there and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. What could he possibly have to say to me after years of silent stalking?

Maybe one day, Callum and I would open them together. Or maybe I’d toss mine in the fire and not bother.

“Thanks. I missed you too.”

Bowie reached across the table and grabbed my coffee. He stole a sip, grimaced, and gave it back to me.

“I don’t know why you always do that. You don’t even like coffee.”

“I’m the only person I know who doesn’t like coffee. I feel left out, so I keep trying it hoping to acquire a taste for it.”

“Calling something an acquired taste is just admitting that something is shit, but you’re willing to get used to it.”

“How was it?” He leaned back in the chair, he stuck his legs out in front of him and folded his arms over his chest.

“It was a funeral. It was… sad, I guess.”

Bowie snorted a laugh. “Sad, you guess.”

“His parents were destroyed. They… they made me ride in the car with them from the church to the cemetery. Fucking awkward as shit.”

Bowie frowned and nodded in agreement. He knew how much I hadn’t wanted to go at all but also that I couldn’t stay away.

“And Callum?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I kept my gaze averted, staring at my coffee instead of Bowie.

“There’s no point in denying that we were hooking up not long after the funeral.” I wiped a hand down my face and let out a groan. “When I put it like that, it sounds crass and disrespectful.”

“If anyone deserved disrespect, it was Sam.” Bowie had heard all about Sam’s overreaction—his words—to me and Callum hooking up. He’d never been a fan of Sam’s and had often said that Callum should’ve fought harder for me. But that’s because he was a good best friend. A real one.

“Sam knew where I lived. Where I worked. He pretended that we were still friends. Probably to keep Callum from ever reaching out to me.”

Bowie let out a low whistle. “That’s fucked up. If he wasn’t dead, I’d offer to go kick his ass.”