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Stumbling after Jordan as she yanks me through the crowd toward the front, I let the anonymity of the situation wash over me and relax for the first time in hours. We get shoved into the barrier, but that’s fine. I stand behind her to protect her from anyone who tries to get handsy, but let’s be honest—she’s my protector, not the other way around. Her ripped jeans, tattoos, and combat boots are a lot tougher than my skinny jeans and pearl necklace, but whatever. I’m used to getting felt up by strangers in the dark.
She screams and throws her hands in the air as her favorite song comes on, “Lie.” I try to get swept up in the energy of the space, but I know what that message on my phone says and who it’s from. He haunts me. Every year, on my birthday and Christmas, I get a text from the only boy I’ve ever let close enough to hurt me. Asher Vaughn. I’ve never responded, but he sends them anyway. I leave him on read. It hurts to pretend like he didn’t leave a gaping, bleeding wound in my chest when he left. Then had the audacity to succeed in his dreams. Dreams I never would have been able to stand next to him for. No, I would have been relegated to “just the roommate” in the public to protect his image while rumors spin about him fucking the fem twink he claims he isn’t in love with. He left me for the NFL. Football meant more to him than our ten years of friendship. Would he have walked away from Marcus too? Was that his plan when he came home that summer?
I shake my head to stop my thoughts from spiraling down that dark path any further. I don’t have the energy to pull myself back out of that all-consuming, painful pit.
No one really knows about him, about how he disappeared the night my brother died with nothing more than an “I’m sorry” text. Jordan knows that I grew up with the San Diego Thunderbolts star running back, but only that he was my brother’s best friend. It shouldn’t still hurt. Not after six years, but it does. He abandoned me on the worst night of my life. Left me to find out about my brother’s death while I was alone in the house for days before my parents showed up. For three days, I sat in Marcus’s room and did nothing. Just hoped he would show up and tell me the police were wrong.
I called both of them so many times, but no one answered. Ever.
There was an investigation, of course, but Asher’s dad stepped in and got thingshandled,I guess. Marcus’s death was marked an accident and everyone’s lives went on as normal while I tried to pick up the shambles of my world. My parents told me he drowned at the lake, so I never went out there again.
I clear my throat, trying to get rid of the ache at the back and shake off the memories of that first week without the most important people in my life. Of the interviews with the police. Of Asher’s father telling me not to speak to anyone without him present. It was the most I had ever seen him in the ten years I had been friends with Asher. I wasn’t allowed to know anything that was going on or what they found out. Mr. Vaughn managed to block me at every turn like it was a national fucking secret. The not knowing hurts almost as bad as being abandoned by everyone that loved me.
The song comes to an end, and Jordan spins around, forcing me to plaster a fake smile on my face. The band bows and thanks the crowd, then leaves the stage. The lights turn on, and everyone flinches at the shock to their eyes.
Jordan is flushed and beaming. I’m glad she enjoyed this, and I’m glad I got to see it, but all it does is remind me of how empty I am. All the fucking time.
“That was amazing!” she hollers, wrapping her arms around me in a hug I try not to cringe from. I’m a huge cuddler. I live for hugs and lazy days on the couch, curled up watching movies together, but I don’t let myself have it. Not anymore. Not since the only person I ever wanted to touch me walked away without looking back. I can’t afford to be hurt like that again, so it’s easier to just tell myself I don’t want it.
We stand shoulder to shoulder, both of us barely five-foot-six, and move with the crowd toward the doors. Since we were so close to the stage, it’ll be a minute before we get out of here.
Jordan pulls her phone out of her pocket and smiles at her screen before shoving it back in her pocket.
“What’s got you smiling like that?” I yell over the buzzing in my ears.
“You’ll see.” She winks and wraps an arm around my waist to keep me close to her while we move through the first set of doors.
Dread drops into my stomach like a lead rock. That doesn’t sound fun to me. Fuck. I need to hide in my apartment for at least a week after this. How does she have an endless supply of energy?
Jordan’s dad is a rock god, so she grew up touring with her parents. She’s always on the go, ready for an adventure at any time. I adore her, but I can’t keep up. She’s usually a lover, but she can brawl with the best of them, can drink hulking men under the table, and knows more about music than anyone I know. The woman plays like five instruments too, but fame isn’t what she wanted.
We finally make it out of the arena and to the parking lot. It doesn’t take us long to get to my old G-Wagon and climb in. I should have sold it years ago, but it holds too many memories. Sometimes they’re suffocating, sometimes they’re comforting, and I never know which one it’ll be until I climb inside.
Jordan turns on the radio and reconnects her phone to the Bluetooth to blast music through the speakers. It’s a mix of bands, most of them are familiar, but I don’t know all the words like she does. As we drive down the freeway, she rolls down her window and hangs out of it. I chuckle at her but am not surprised. She’s pumped up from the energy of the concert. The same energy that drained me further than I already was.
A few songs play, the wind drying the sweat that was dotting my skin and unsticking my curls from my forehead and neck. My thumbs tap out the beat on the steering wheel as I head to her house. Hopefully, I can drop her off and head home without having to stay.
I pull onto her street, and she shuts off the music and rolls up the window.
“I know you’re exhausted, so I’m not going to ask you to stay. You are always welcome to, though.” She looks at me seriously for a moment, and I panic as I fear my mask has slipped. “I know your depression has gotten worse, bestie. I see it.”
Tears prick at my eyes, and I chew on one side of my lower lip to keep from blubbering like a baby.
“I love you,” she says as I pull up into her driveway and put the car in park. Jordan reaches for my face and cups my cheeks, resting her forehead against mine. “I love you. So, if you aren’t taking care of the depression, I will hound you until you do. If I could make those appointments for you, I would.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and she brushes it away.
“I know it’s hard and overwhelming, but you can do it.” She wraps her arms around me, and I collapse into her, sobbing into her shoulder. Jordan rubs my back and tells me it’s going to be okay.
It takes a few minutes, and my throat feels raw, but I’m able to pull it back and shove it back behind the door in my mind. I sit up, and she wipes my face.
“Get some rest tonight, then come out with me tomorrow.”
I sag in my seat, already exhausted. “Tomorrow? I won’t be recovered from today!” I’m whiny, and I know it.
“Yup. We’re going to eat breakfast and go do something fun for your birthday.” The mischief in her eyes makes me nervous.
“I’m locking my door,” I grumble at her.
