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Moving on Is Not Letting Go
I WOKE ON the couch with my phone on my lap and a loud banging outside. It was almost midnight and I had another text from Baylor. Grumbling through the soreness radiating all over my body, I got off the couch and went to turn off the lights to head to bed, but the pounding started again. This time I heard a guy’s voice in the hallway. When I opened the door, I found Lucas sitting with his back to Casen’s door, knocking over his shoulder.
“Hey, man,” he slurred.
“What are you doing?”
“She won’t let me in,” he whined.
“Do you blame her? You slept with another girl.”
He banged his head on her door. “I’m such an idiot. She’s a good girl, man. I mean, the best, but damn if she doesn’t drive me crazy.”
“I get that, but you cheated, so I think it’s over, man.”
He dropped his head to his chest. “I know. I just wanted to tell her I was sorry.” He lifted his head and yelled, “I’m sorry, Case.”
I was surprised no one else was out here berating the drunk. “Dude, you need to go back to the dorms.”
“You’re right.” He pushed himself up, stumbling.
“Do you need my help?”
“No, I’m good. I’m not drunk. Just happily buzzed.” He smiled widely.
“All right, see you at practice.”
“Yep.” He slapped my back on his way down the hall.
I wondered if I looked that pathetic when I was drunk. Probably. I shook my head and was about to go back into my apartment when Casen’s door cracked open.
“Is he gone?” she whispered.
“Yeah, you’re safe.”
She opened the door a little wider and slipped out. “Thanks.” She pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
“Yeah, no problem.” I turned to go back inside, but she stopped me.
“Wait.”
I closed my eyes and focused on being normal. It was okay to have friends. It wouldn’t kill me. I spun around. “What’s up?”
“I heard about your girlfriend. I’m sorry.”
I clenched my jaw and squeezed my fists closed.
“I get it, if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then why did you bring it up?” I said in a low growl.
Her eyes squinted like they did when she was trying to figure me out. “I lost my brother a few years ago.” She blew out a cloud of smoke. “Car accident.”
I knew what she was doing. She was trying to find common ground, to relate, so I would talk to her about Tessa, but death wasn’t common ground. It was depressing.
“I didn’t know him all that well because he was ten years older than me. He moved across the country when he was eighteen, but he was a good brother. He called a lot and sent me presents. It sucked when he died.”
She took another long drag of her cigarette. I wanted to care about what she said, but really, I just wanted to go inside. I didn’t want to talk about Tessa or the accident.
