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Mom turns to me.
“Don’t bother, Mom. We know better. I know better. For so fucking long, I’ve known better. Chase tried to tell me. Hunter tried to tell me. Hell, even Dad tried to tell me. I should have listened.”
Surprise streaks her expression.
Of course it does.
Hell, I can’t believe it.
I can’t believe I’m putting my foot down.
“I knew. I always knew. I just couldn’t admit it.” My voice breaks. This is hard. Fucking impossible. But I have to say it. I have to be done. “I love you, Mom. I thought, maybe, if I kept helping, you’d see that. I thought, maybe, if I helped for long enough, you’d stop twisting the knife in my chest.”
“Wes—”
“But you don’t care. I don’t blame you for being an alcoholic. I blame you for staying an alcoholic.” I take a step backward. “I’m done. This is it. If you don’t get help, you’re on your own.”
“Wes,” she says it again, a little louder.
But I can’t hear it.
I can’t hear any of this.
“I love you, Mom. I hope you get better. But if you don’t… I can’t watch this anymore.” I turn and leave.
I keep walking, even after I hear footsteps.
“Wes.” Chase catches up to me.
I ignore him.
But he’s too fucking fast.
He grabs my forearm. “It’s gonna be okay.”
I shake him off. “If she says no?”
“You feel better?”
Yeah, actually. I nod.
“Free?”
Fuck, I hate how perceptive he is. “How’d you know?”
“I’ve been there awhile.” He walks in step with me. “Let me take you home.”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
I try to muster up a shrug, but I don’t have it in me.
“You will be.” He leads me to the hospital entrance. The parking garage. His car.
Right now, I don’t care about practicalities.
I don’t care that I’ll have to come back for my car.
Only that I need a lot of sleep.
And, well, a strong drink would be too much irony to take.
But I need something.
Chase slides into the driver’s seat and turns the car on.
I take the passenger’s seat. Focus my attention on the stereo. But I can’t bring myself to change the album.
It’s the one where the guy keeps wishing his ex would die in a fiery car crash.
One of Chase’s favorites.
Fitting as hell.
It fills the car as he pulls onto the street.
He waits until he’s cruising to turn to me. “What the hell happened with Quinn?”
“It was casual.”
He shoots me a get real look. “You’re crazy about her.”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
“So you’re giving me relationship advice?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“How’s your love life going?”
“Exactly how I want it to go.”
I return his get real.
He nods, sure.
“Really?” I motion to the speakers as the singer croons about wishing his ex would drive off a bridge. (It’s always a bridge with this guy).
“I know where I stand.”
“I know where I stand.”
He shakes his head. You haven’t got a clue. You’re hopeless. Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m bothering to help. That’s how far gone you are.
“All right, I don’t get off on righteous indignation.” It’s not much of a delaying tactic, but it’s something. I’d rather talk about his issues. Like his inability to forgive Mom or Hunter or the ex who broke his heart.
“Dodging, huh?”
“Fuck off.”
“What happened with her?”
“Nothing.”
“Where is she?”
My gaze flits to the clock. She’s probably home. Or maybe she’s out. Maybe she’s finding some other guy to do the job. “We’re taking a break.”
“From fucking?”
“Yeah.”
He stares at me like I’m crazy.
Not the way Quinn does, like she can’t believe I expect something of her.
More like…
Like he thinks I’m an idiot.
Maybe I am.
But he is too.
Chase doesn’t have anyone besides me and Hunter.
He barely has me and Hunter.
“What, she tired of your pump and dump shit?” he teases.
I flip him off. It’s rare Chase teases. I should appreciate it. But I don’t.
“She dump you because you ask too many stupid questions?” he asks.
“She doesn’t want me acting like her boyfriend.”
“Seems fair.”
“Yeah.” It is. I don’t like it, but it is.
“You do realize there’s a reason why you were acting like her boyfriend?”
I shrug like I don’t know.
“You’re in love with her.”
“I barely know her.”
“Okay, maybe it’s not love yet. But it’s something.”
I shrug, but I don’t sell it.
He shakes his head you’re so full of shit. “Are you really gonna walk away from that?”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
He stops at a red light. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Uh…
“Got news for you, Westley Keating.”
“Fuck off—”
“You are hurt.”
I can’t deny that.
“She is hurt.”
“But—”
“But this is nothing compared to what it will be later.”
“Are you trying to encourage me or discourage me?”
“Trying to get you to be less of an idiot,” he says.
“Good luck with that.”
“Tell me about it.” He chuckles. “You can’t live your life afraid of getting hurt.”
What the fuck?
Chase is giving me advice?
Chase is telling me to go for it?
“That’s your MO,” I say.
“And?”
“And fuck off telling me what to do.”
