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“We’ll tell Zane you said hi,” Benji says nonchalantly.
“No, we won’t,” Wyatt protests with a scowl.
“Don’t,” I say firmly. “I don’t think he’d care anyway.”
“He cares,” Benji counters.
But I’m too overwhelmed to think about Zane right now. I wave goodbye to the guys, and they watch me drive off. I steer the vehicle back toward my temporary home, my mind wandering through all the things I need to do.
When I make it home, I take a shower and pack my things. I read a book until my eyes are too tired to stay open any longer and the light has faded outside the windows. When I walk into the kitchen for a drink of water, my gaze is stuck on the reclining chair that Zane and I christened the first night he slept over.
I lean against the countertop as visions of my vacation float through my head. Each memory is dominated by the dark-haired, dark-eyed man that I spent most of my time with. I fell for Zane like rain falls from the sky—hard and fast. And he pulled the rug out from beneath me just as quickly. Maybe on another day, at another time, I could’ve fought harder for us. ButI’m exhausted, and all the fight has left me. Besides, I’m not in the wrong here. He is.
I crawl into bed and lie awake for an hour, trying not to think about things I can’t control. And trying not to feel the hurt that seems inescapable at times. Eventually, I fall asleep.
The next morning, I wake up and load my things into the SUV. It feels like just yesterday when I first arrived, but now, my vacation is over. I drop the keys off at the office and drive back to the city.
It’s time to face the music.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ZANE
My head is throbbing as I drive the 4Runner by Willow’s place. I guess I should’ve stopped drinking after the fourth or fifth beer last night. Though it was probably the four shots of bourbon that really threw me over the edge. Whoever said alcohol was a good escape or that drinking alone in an empty house was a smart idea forgot about the morning after.
And I should’ve remembered the saying,Beer before liquor, never sicker.
Willow’s face that first night at Cowboy’s flashes through my mind. I pull to a stop in front of the house and lean my arm out of the open window. It’s quiet, and Willow’s SUV is gone. The place looks deserted. I tip my head back against the headrest and sigh, ignoring the ache inside my chest that I haven’t been able to relieve since I heard the news about her and Ron Cooper. The pain that’s growing now that her rental sits empty, rivaling the pounding in my forehead.
I don’t even know why I’m here. Nothing has changed.
I shift the vehicle into drive and turn around in a nearby driveway. Then, I leave the housing addition without looking back. I drive through town, waving at a few people who recognize me. I parallel park a few spaces down from the coffee shop.
The bell rings overhead when I enter the café. Nadia is behind the counter, and Benji sits in one of the booths, eating breakfast and scrolling through his phone.
“Zane!” Nadia shouts, coming around to give me a hug.
Nadia is married to one of my friends, Cyrus. When the two of them started this place, Nadia took the reins, making it her own. She came up with a menu, which initially only had coffee drinks. Within the first six months, they expanded to include a few items from the bakery down the street. And now, there’s a full breakfast and lunch menu.
In 2020, when all businesses were having trouble staying afloat because of Covid, I stepped in to provide some financial support. I was looking for a new venture at the time. Something—anything—to fill my days and pull me out of the slump I’d found myself in since my snowboarding dreams came crashing down.
“I have a cup of dark roast with your name on it,” she says.
“Thanks.”
I slide into the booth across from Benji. He sets his phone down and fist-bumps me. Nadia places a mug of steaming coffee in front of me.
“I’d go bankrupt if the two of you were my only customers,” Nadia grumbles good-naturedly as she walks away to help a customer who just stepped up to the register. She’s always complaining because Benji, Wyatt, and I only drink our coffee black.
“What’s going on?” I ask Benji.
“Not much,” he answers. “Just finished eating.” He pauses, studying my expression.
I run a hand down my face, wondering if he can see my bender last night in the tired lines around my eyes. I sip the coffee, hoping it relieves some of the pain in my temples.
“What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you for a couple of days,” my friend says.
Not since we went to Cowboy’s. That wasn’t my best night.
