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Violet looks at something over my shoulder. “Really? Then why is he walking over here right now?”
My eyes widen. “He found us?”
“Yup.” Dee slurps on her strawberry smoothie.
My lips purse. “How?”
“Probably because this is always where we hang out every year.” Violet knocks back the rest of her drink.
“Hey.” Cal’s voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Violet and Delilah shoot daggers over my head while I remain frozen with my fists clenched in front of me. Wyatt is the only person to acknowledge his presence with a small tip of his chin.
“Lana, can I talk to you for a second?” Cal’s soft voice makes me frown.
“She’s a bit busy right now.” Violet scowls.
“I think she can talk for herself,” Cal replies with a light tone.
I rise from my seat. “Will you watch Cami for me?”
“Sure. I’ll go let her know now.” Wyatt takes off toward the bounce house.
I turn to find Cal no longer dressed in the strawberry costume. I’m unsure if he burned the monstrosity or returned it to Town Hall.
“Thanks.” He leads us away from the loud music toward the walkway surrounding the park. A few people I know spare us a pinched look, but I wave away their concern with a small smile.
“So…” I kick a rock.
“Mind if we walk and talk?”
“Okay.”
Cal leaves space between us as he walks beside me. “I wanted to talk about what happened earlier and get something off my chest.”
“What for?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Except isn’t it? I’ve seen the bottle of vodka you keep in the freezer, so it’s not like I didn’t know you were drinking.” Day by day, more of the clear liquid disappears, so I’m well aware of his habits.
He tears his eyes away from me. “I’m not proud of it, you know?”
My stomach drops.
“It makes me feel like a weak piece of shit knowing I need to carry a flask on me at all times, just in case I get anxious or wired. Just the thought of going somewhere without it makes me feel all panicky, especially when I might be forced into a situation that makes me uncomfortable.” He tucks his clenched hands behind his back.
My mouth opens, but I struggle to form any words.
“I haven’t gotten drunk since I broke your mom’s vase.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
“So? You’re still drinking daily.”
“Taking sips throughout the day to cope isn’t the same as getting shit-faced. Trust me on that one.”
“But they’re both part of the same issue regardless.”
“True. But can’t you see I’m trying to cut back here?” His voice cracks.
