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I open my mouth to respond, but words get stuck in my throat. What the hell do I say to that? Every goddamn day, I wish Pearl’s disease would wipe her from this planet for good. It’s what she deserves. It’s what Tay’s dad deserves for being an abusive piece of shit.

Gripping my bottle tighter, the whiskey sloshes as I take another drink with a scoff.

“Got something to say?” Taylor’s gaze sharpens on me, his nostrils flaring as he gets in my face. “You gonna keep that locked up, or are you gonna tell me why the fuck you’re sitting in a graveyard getting shitfaced with me?”

My laugh comes out sharp and bitter. “You already know, asshole.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t said it,” he snaps, his voice cracking as he shoves me back. “Say it, Xed. Say it out loud. Or does it hurt too much?”

“Fuck you.” I glare at him, swaying slightly. “Matty’s…having a baby. With Val.”

“It’s his?” he asks flatly, his expression darkening.

“Yeah,” I bite out. “Early paternity test came back positive. He wants to keep it. And I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to feel.”

Taylor sneers, grabbing another bottle from the bag and wrenching it open. “Feel whatever the hell you want, man. You think I know? My dad’s a pile of dust, and I still want to punch his ashes.” He takes a long swig, glaring at the canister containing his dad’s ashes, the anger practically radiating off him. “I want to fucking punch something.”

Blame it on the alcohol, or my state of mind, but my next words cause a shitstorm that’ll take years for him to come back from. “Too bad Huckslee isn’t here anymore for you to take your shit out on—"

A fist connects with my jaw, flinging me back against a headstone as Taylor grips my jacket, his whiskey breath hot on my face. “Keep his name out of your goddamn mouth, motherfucker, or I swear to God.”

“Get the fuck off me,” I snarl, lifting a leg to knee him in the nuts.

He grunts, his grip loosening slightly as he falls to his knees, a choked sob leaving his throat. We stay like that for a moment, both breathing hard as a slight drizzle begins to fall.

Pushing himself off the grass, Taylor turns suddenly, grabbing his dad’s ashes before flinging them to the wind with a broken howl.

We watch them float away on a breeze, twisting with the night sky until there’s nothing left but dead memories and should have beens.

A sickly shame curls in my stomach, making me nauseous, but right as I open my mouth to apologize, Taylor snatches his bottle from the ground and walks away without another word.

“Where the fuck are you going?” I call after him, but a middle finger over the shoulder is the only response I get.

Logically, I know I should follow. Neither of us is in the right state of mind right now, and he shouldn’t be walking around town drunk.

But I don’t.

I wish I had.

Instead, I collapse onto the grass, leaning against a headstone as the rain soaks me through, draining my bottle of whiskey until I forget about the way my best friend feels beneath me. The way he moans in his sleep, the comforting feel of his body on mine like a weighted blanket.

Cold bites at my skin, but I don’t move. I don’t care. The whiskey burns as it slides down my throat, and I chase that numbness swallowing me whole. The rain keeps falling, streaking down the polished surface of the headstone, pooling in the grass around me.

I should get up. I should go home. But the thought of facing him again, of seeing him and remembering what I can’t have—it’s too much.

So I stay here, the bottle slipping from my fingers as the world blurs around me. Alcohol dulls the edges, but it doesn’t stop the memories.

His hands in my hair.

His breath against my neck.

The way he murmured my name when he came.

I tilt my head back against the headstone, letting the rain mix with the tears I can’t stop anymore. I don’t know if I’m crying for him, for me, or for everything I’ll never say out loud.

The storm rages, but I don’t.

I close my eyes, and let the rain drown me alive.