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She shot her eyes up from my mouth. “You’re such an asshole.”
“You going to come to the wedding with me?”
“Why?” she countered.
“Why not? It’s open bar, and they’re having bacon-wrapped scallops,” I said, because who didn’t like bacon-wrapped scallops?
She considered me with a tilted head, rubbing her index finger along a dent in the wood of the table. “Butwhy?”
I knew what she was asking. She didn’t want to be an afterthought or a pity invite. She was too proud to be anything other than anyone’s first choice.
“I told you I haven’t been with anyone in a while, and even if I had been, I wouldn’t invite them to my sister’s wedding. I don’t date, so the only person I could bring would be a friend. And since we’re friends now, I’d like you to come with me.”
She weighed my words, her eyes squinted as if trying to see inside my head. After a moment, she pushed the whisky toward me. “Tell me about this.”
“It’s from Japan.”
“Okay, but Ethan said you’ve never given it to anyone else. Why is it so special?”
I tugged on my ear, dropping my gaze to the floor. I hadn’t thought twice about giving her some of the drink, which should have set off alarm bells in my mind, and yet I’d felt nothing other than a desire to help when she walked in. A little something to warm her up, to take the stiff edge off, a gift for being brave enough to do something she wasn’t used to.
I hadn’t consciously thought about what it meant that I was giving her something I’d never offered to anyone else. Never even spoke about to anyone else, for that matter.
“It’s, uh…my friend Patrick, we’d been friends since first grade. We did everything together, and he was at my house a lot ’cause he didn’t get along real well with his family. His dad left when he was a baby, and his mom worked double shifts, blamed a lot of shit on Patrick. They lived with Patrick’s grandparents in this little house by the school we went to. His grandma was a strict church lady, and…” I shook my head, letting a smile grow as I remembered how he’d convinced his grandmother his pot was oregano.
“Anyway,” I went on, blinking up to Taylor, finding her sitting forward in her chair. “He was really artistic, always drawing and into Japanese culture. He loved anime and Kurosawa films. We both went to college in Philly and lived together through undergrad and when I started law school.”
I attempted to clear my throat of the gravel stuck there, and Taylor’s hand found mine, her fingers settling over mine with a gentle squeeze. The silent gesture was enough to make my eyes sting, and I lifted my other hand to my beard, subtly trying to clear my eyes, but if her teasing smile was any indication, I was doing a shit job. So, I blotted at my eye with the back of my hand, tugged on my earlobe again then dropped my hand to my thigh, running it up and down my leg a few times.
Once I knew my voice wouldn’t crack, I continued, “He found out about this whisky. It’s called Yamakazi and is one of the best in the world, aged for twelve years. Costs two hundred bucks a bottle.”
When she huffed, I nodded. “I know. We were two kids in college and ordered this fancy-ass whisky from Japan, but he was so excited. We opened it on his twenty-first birthday and allowed ourselves a tiny pour. From then on, we drank a little bit anytime we were celebrating something or needed a pick-me-up, but only ever an ounce or so. We didn’t have enough to keep buying more bottles, so we had to make it last.”
“How many did you go through?” she asked, our knees touching, her fingers intertwined between mine.
“I don’t remember, but I know when I got accepted into law school, we had a bit more than a few ounces and polished off the last of the bottle, so I replaced it as a gift to him when we graduated.”
“And you kept up the tradition after?”
This was where it got tough, and I took a deep breath. “Yeah, but when I started law school, I didn’t have a lot of time. You know how it was.” When she nodded, I tossed her a grin. “Plus, there was this brown-nose girl who kept getting all the top grades. She was a real pain in my ass, competitive witch.”
She inclined her head with a smile, but my humor eventually faded, and I licked my lips, forcing myself to go on. “Patrick was hit by a car while riding his bike.” Taylor gasped quietly, and I had trouble meeting her gaze again. “He had a couple of broken bones and was prescribed Percocet. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. During high school and college, we all drank and dabbled in some stuff, but I should’ve known…” I curled my fingers into a fist, digging it into the top of my thigh. “I started dating this girl, and we were pretty hot and heavy. Believe it or not, before…” I swallowed thickly. “Before Patrick died, I was really into monogamy. I was with my high school girlfriend, Kayla, for a long time, even a couple years into college. And then I started dating Marin, and between her and all the work in school, I wasn’t home a lot. I didn’t see…”
I closed my eyes, grimacing at the memories, and Taylor’s voice settled over me like a warm blanket. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” I ground out, bending my head, so she couldn’t see when tears formed in my eyes. “He was addicted, and I didn’t see it. I should have noticed, questioned why he always needed money, talked to him more about why he wasn’t sleeping. But I was too…” I jammed my fingers into my eyes, and Taylor let go of my fingers to wrap her hands around my head and neck, forcing me to look at her.
“It isnotyour fault. I know it’s hard to accept, but it isn’t your fault. There is no use thinking about all the what-ifs because they will go on forever.” Her fingers dug into the skin at the nape of my neck, anchoring me to her. “You can’t keep blaming yourself.”
I let my forehead drop to hers, closing my eyes, and everything else disappeared except for her and me. I didn’t hear the clink of glasses or shouts from patrons anymore. Only Taylor’s slow and even breaths. “I came home from taking my last exam right before winter break, ready to celebrate with our whisky, but when I opened the door to our apartment, he was there, on the floor.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her lips ghosting over my temple as she pulled me into her, holding me close.
I inhaled her scent, finding comfort in the least likely of places, her arms, and I was wrecked. Completely and utterly wrecked.
Which was why I never told anyone. Remembering it was hard enough. To speak of it was like going into battle. Without any armor. Just me, standing there with my arms wide open, asking for their arrows.
Sometimes, I thought that might be easier.
