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DREW
Iacted like a sullen asshole for the rest of the opening ceremony, but I stuck the whole thing out, dammit.
Lord knew this town already had plenty of excuses to gossip about me, but I didn’t add bailing on my responsibilities to the list. Although I did stand there woodenly, looking like I wanted to vomit, punch something, and throw down a drink—in that order—the whole time Kobie and I emceed goose bingo.
Two out of those three activities were checked off my list within the first hour of getting home. I pulled my truck in the garage then damn near broke a hand on the punching bag hanging in the far corner when I vented my frustration without any gloves. When that didn’t make me feel any better, I went inside and dove into the bottle of whiskey I kept in the pantry.
She’d cleared out, as instructed.
That should have been a relief. Instead, it made me even angrier.
I’d thought I wanted her gone. But really, I wanted to yell at her some more. Fight it out. Ask her what the fuck she’d been thinking writing those articles. Rage at her for fooling me into thinking she gave a shit.
But she got what she came for, so there was no point in sticking around to hash things out. A small, desperate voice in the back of my head told me I should have given her a chance to explain, but I shut that shit down with another two fingers of whiskey.
She would have told me more lies.
She’d manipulated her way under my skin and then hung me out to dry in front of the whole town. It was good she was gone. I was better off not giving her a chance to confuse me any further.
I would’ve been better off if I’d never met her in the first place.
At least you got laid, asshole.
Except I could guarantee she’d ruined sex for me for the rest of my life too. No way was it ever going to be as good with anyone else. It made me sick to my stomach to think about how hot and sweet and fiery things had been between us.
That it had all been an act for her.
Would I ever be able to trust my instincts with anyone else again?
Was I sentenced to return to a life of monotonous, impersonal, app-based out-of-town hookups?
The idea of touching someone else made me nauseous.
Nah…it’s probably just that you’re getting drunk too fast, I convinced myself. I filled my glass up again and carried it to the freezer. A little ice to help pace myself might not be a bad idea.
The giant bag of frozen blueberries stared back at me. I was going to miss the smell of muffins first thing in the morning. And her flirty texts throughout the day. Asking me how my day was going and getting me all hot and bothered to see her again. And her warm embrace at the end of the night.
Too bad it was all bullshit.
I threw the blueberries in the trash then headed into the living room with the intention of letting the television play in front of my zoned-out eyeballs until I drank myself blackout drunk. Instead, I stood there, staring at the couch.
I was going to have to burn my fucking couch.
There was no way for me to look at it without reliving the blow job to end all blow jobs. It would be nice if every little fucking thing around here didn’t remind me of her. My house had become a new kind of prison.
I stumbled upstairs to my room. Her scent permeated everything here too, making my fingertips itch to run over her warm skin. To get tangled in her silky hair. I ripped the sheets and bedding off in a fit of rage and carried everything downstairs to the washing machine, setting it on hot. I wished I could pull my brain from my skull and toss it in with the sheets.
Back upstairs, I settled on sleeping in my mom’s old room. It was the only place in the house that didn’t smell like Sadie. That wasn’t filled with memories of her. Instead, it was filled with other memories I wasn’t equipped to deal with tonight.
Nights when I’d climbed into bed with my mom and dad as a little kid, afraid of monsters in my closet. Or, as a teenager, swiped gas money out of the stack of cash my mom used to keep in the top drawer of her dresser. Or the day of Dad’s wake when Mom, Val, and I all needed a minute away from everyone and sat up here together holding one another and sobbing.
I lay on top of the comforter. Five years, and it still felt too intrusive to turn down the bed and climb into it. Like I was violating her personal space or something. The question Sadie had asked me that night kept running through my head.
Would she want you to spend the rest of your life holed up in her house?
I knew what Mom’s answer would have been. Trouble was, I didn’t know if I had the courage to risk trying to change. I’d thought I could do it with Sadie’s help, but then the rug had been snatched out from under me.
After finishing my glass of whiskey and tossing and turning in Mom’s room for two hours, I got up and went to Sadie’s room.
