Page 97 of Shattered Dreams

None of our friends live around here, not even close by. No one that he’d stay with. Sure, he could be with someone from work maybe, but I don’t think so.

And if I can’t find him, my news will have to wait until I do.

I don’t think he’ll even answer my call, but if he did, this isn’t the kind of conversation I want to have over the phone. I need to look him in the eye when we talk. When I apologize and tell him the good news.

As I put the car in drive, I get another idea. One last place to check.

I drive to the neighboring town, to the bar we hang out at.

The last time I saw him, he was drunk beyond belief. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been doing a lot of that lately. Not that he’s ever had an issues with alcohol, but it is easy to drown your problems in it.

The bar is busy for a Wednesday, and it takes me a few drive-arounds to find a place to park. I finally get one when I find someone pulling out, and I snatch it up before the other car that just pulled in tries. I hurry inside and go right to the bar.

There he is.

Across from me, at the other end, all by himself with a half drank beer in front of him. He’s staring at it like it’s insulted him. Maybe it’s better I caught him out in public. It’s unlikely he’ll make a scene.

If he does make a scene, I guess we’ll be banned from the place.

I move around the bar and take up the seat on the side of him. He looks at me, then does a double take, his gaze darkening with anger.

“Just hear me out. Please.”

He scoffs, reaching for his beer and swallowing all of it. He gets to his feet and throws down a bunch of cash.

“Paul—”

“Shouldn’t you be on the other side of the country by now?” he hisses, moving past me.

“I’m not going!” I call after him. He stops, and I think this is it. That’s all it took. It was so simple.

My best friend. My boyfriend. My love. I told him I was staying, and he’s going to forgive me. I take a step toward him, but then he keeps going.

My whole body freezes up, turning to ice. He walks out the door.

I think I’m going to be fucking sick.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Paul

I swear, sometimes I think I’m cursed. It’s bad enough I have to pretend everything is fine at work, like I’m not thinking about how I fucked up the one good relationship and friendship I’ve ever had, but now I’m hallucinating him, too?

I know I need to lay off the drinking before I do something stupid. I know that.

Which is why I came to this bar; our bar. Just outside town, where no one else will find my miserable ass.

Because it’s all I’ll have left now that he’s made his decision. It’ll be the only place not soured by his memory since it was our bar long before we were… us.

I thought it would be easier to drink and be miserable with strangers, but I could not find it in me to keep going past that one beer. The only one I had before he showed up, that took me three hours to kill. I can’t even drink properly because part of me still dares to hope that maybe things will change. And then he just fucking shows up here? Either I’m hallucinating or fate really fucking has it out for me, because this is a whole new kind of pain.

“Paul!” Andre calls out to me.

I don’t turn around. I can’t.

“Just fucking leave, Andre,” I bite. “Don’t fucking poison this for me, too—” I’m halfway across the parking lot when I feel a hand grab my wrist, and though I want to yank my hand away, I can’t.

Because I miss it. His touch.