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Now he did.
Now he wished he would’ve just told her.
He sighed as he looked around, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows and bustling New York streets beyond. He hated the city. After he’d gotten out, he’d promised himself to never come back.
Of course, he’d broken that promise to himself a few times since Beck lived here. He couldn’t not visit his brother. But he never went to Brooklyn, never ventured to their old stomping grounds. He stayed in and around Beck’s apartment.
Which was where he was now. While Beck was off traveling the world, he was holed up in the apartment, drinking himself sick. Or trying to.
The first night, he’d driven straight here. He hadn’t even realized where he was going until he was standing in the massive apartment. So, he raided the bar and drank himself stupid. It had taken all he had not to drunk call Abbie.
Then the next day, he was too hungover to drive hours back home, so he did the only thing he could think of: drink some more. It wasn’t until this morning that he’d decided to lay off the hard liquor and switch to beer. He needed to get sober eventually—he couldn’t hide out here forever.
Even if it would be easier.
His phone vibrated, and he ignored it. It was probably a notification that his food had been delivered. But then it vibrated again, and didn’t stop.
Sighing, he grabbed it. Looking at the screen, he saw Wes’ name. Why was he calling? Dread pooled in his stomach. If something had happened to Abbie, he’d never forgive himself.
Pressing answer, he brought the phone to his ear. “Is she okay?”
Silence greeted him, and instead of getting more annoyed, his anxiety grew. If Wes wasn’t immediately busting his balls, it meant something was terribly wrong. Fuck.
“Is Abbie okay?” he asked again, and a choked sound came from the other end of the phone. He paused, his mouth going dry. That sound…he knew that sound. Hesitating, he rasped, “Abbie?”
“Jett.” Her voice came out in a soft whimper, like she was scared to say it. He squeezed his burning eyes shut, pinching between them.
“Where’s Wes? Why do you have his phone?”
“Because you wouldn’t answer me on mine.”
Okay, that was fair.
He sighed, unsure of where to start. How did he apologize? Worse even, how did he end things with her? He thought when her father dropped that bomb she wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore. But her messages to him have said otherwise.
There’s no way she truly meant it, though. As long as he was with her, he knew her family would be in her ear constantly reminding her of how big of a mistake he was.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
The question caught him off guard, and he cleared his throat. “Are you?”
She huffed out a choked laugh, sniffing hard. “No,” she said truthfully. He inhaled sharply, his stomach twisting. He should’ve known that’s what she was going to say, but it still made him hate himself even more knowing he was the reason she wasn’t okay.
“I’m not either,” he admitted, glancing at the beer bottle in his hand.
“Where are you? I’ve been looking for you, but?—”
“I’m in New York.”
More silence.
“New York?” she repeated warily.
“At my brother’s place.”
He didn’t know why he was being so short with her. Was he protecting her or himself? Both, maybe. He didn’t want either of them to get hurt. But it was too late for that, wasn’t it?
“Oh.” She sounded sad. Broken. And why wouldn’t she be? He’d done that to her. He’d broken her, broken them.
