I stare at my phone on the counter, waiting for it to light up, waiting for that stupid buzz, waiting for his name to save me from the spiral I can feel pulling me under. It doesn’t.
You’re not my boyfriend.
I open the cabinet, grab a bottle of whiskey, and twist the cap like it’s the only thing left to fight. The burn down my throat is sharp, clean, but not enough. Never enough.
By the time the clock on the microwave hits ten, my head feels hot and my chest feels empty. I can’t stay here. I can’t keep staring at these walls that smell like him, feel like him, remind me of every inch of him that isn’t here right now.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over his name. I want to call him. Beg. Demand. Drag him back here where he belongs. Instead, I call Jax.
He answers on the second ring, voice rough with exhaustion. “What do you want?”
“Club,” I say, short, clipped. “Get dressed. I’m picking you up.”
There’s a pause, then a groan. “You’re suspended, not dying.”
“Jax,” I grit out, pouring the rest of the whiskey into a glass. “I’m not asking.”
He mutters something about me being a lunatic, but he agrees. Because Jax always agrees when I’m like this. Always cleans me up after my messes. He knows better than to let me off the leash alone.
An hour later, neon lights split the night. The bass hits like a punch the second we walk into the club, vibrating through my ribs, rattling my teeth. It feels good. The kind of good that can drown a man.
We slide into a booth in the back, shots already waiting courtesy of some bartender I used to sleep with. The liquid disappears fast, burn stacking on burn until my chest feels like fire.
But it’s not enough. I can still feel his skin under my fingers, his voice in my ears.
“Jesus, Phoenix,” Jax mutters after my fifth shot. “You trying to blackout in record time?”
“Trying to live.” My grin is sharp, wide. I can feel the edges of it cracking. “You in or out?”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop me when I fish a baggie out of my pocket. White powder, sharp promise. I didn’t plan on it tonight, but planning’s never been my strong suit.
Jax sighs like a man already regretting every choice he’s made in life, then takes the line I offer him anyway. Best friend duties. He’ll never admit he likes the chaos almost as much as I do.
The coke hits fast. Sharp. Electric. My whole body hums and everything is bright. The world tilts, and I tilt with it, grinning too hard, laughing too loud.
The music swallows me whole when I hit the dance floor. Bodies press in, soft and warm, perfume thick in the air. A brunette slides against me, hands on my chest, lips grazing myear. Another girl joins, laughing, tugging at my shirt. I let them. I spin with them, grind with them, let their hands leave streaks of warmth across my skin. Why not? It’s not like I’m someone’s boyfriend.
But every time I close my eyes, it’s not their faces I see. It’s his. Leander, flushed and wide-eyed, whispering my name like it’s both a curse and a prayer. Leander, lips parted, bruises blooming where I kissed too hard. Leander, walking away from me like I didn’t just bleed for him.
I pull one of the girls closer, teeth grazing her neck, but it doesn’t work. It’s the wrong taste, the wrong scent, the wrong heat. I need him.
“Phoenix!”
Jax’s voice cuts through the music, sharp, warning. He’s at the edge of the floor, arms crossed, eyes dark.
I laugh, stumbling toward him, grabbing his shoulders like the room isn’t spinning. “You’re no fun, you know that?”
“You’re out of control,” he says, steadying me when I nearly trip. “And don’t look at me like that because I’m not dragging your ass out when you pick a fight with the wrong guy.”
I grin, feral, leaning close. “You worried about me, Jax? That’s sweet.”
“Worried about myself, more like,” he mutters, but there’s an edge to his tone, something I don’t usually hear. His eyes flick, just once, toward my pocket where the baggie still sits.
Then toward the girls on the floor, still watching me with hungry eyes.
“Leander’s not here. I’m not his,” I say, the words slurring slightly but carrying too much weight.
Jax’s brows knit, but he doesn’t answer. He just exhales hard, grabs my arm, and drags me back to the booth. “I knew you guys were fucking,” he grumbles under his breath.
