25. Lee
TWENTY-FIVE
lee
The days without Salem by my side make time feel different. The hours and seconds bleed together. Everything is torture without her. It’s your own fault, idiot. I remind myself of that and let the loss of her presence disappear between the drinks.
The Mill feels different in daylight—emptier, older, honest. I hate it. The afternoon sun streams through windows that usually only reflect neon and shadows, catching dust motes that dance like memories I can’t quite catch.
I’m angry with myself, with my mother, at this entire fucking world. And if I stay inside this house another second, I’ll lose my fucking mind. None of The Mill activities have started yet, not until the fall, but I can’t go home either. Not when every surface reminds me of her being there, telling me how proud she was.
How could I have ruined things so badly with her at the photo shoot? I throw back a shot of whatever bottle is within reach. It’s brown, and it burns as it goes down, and that’s all I really care about. When I get tired of watching the dust motes stream through the light, I totter off the stool. The world shifts, and I wobble on my legs.
Shit. How much have I had already?
What’s the point? Does it really matter? I’ve been drinking and walking around this lonely, empty house all day. It was either get drunk or make a scene, and god knows I’ve done enough of that. I don’t know why I do it, but when I check my phone for the hundredth time, the screen is still blank. No texts or phone calls.
Why would she text, you idiot? I guess I don’t know. I’ve been too much of a chickenshit to text her, and an apology seems too small for what I did to her, how I made her feel. I don’t know how to fix this, fix myself, fix us. All I can think to do is drink until the pain in my chest no longer exists.
Fuck this place. I grab my wallet and keys and head to the door. Fuck. I can barely walk; how the hell am I supposed to drive somewhere? I look down and notice a different bottle of alcohol in my hand.
Shit. Where did this bottle come from?
I squint to make out the words.
Jack Daniel’s Coy Hill .
Well, apparently, when I’ve given up on life, I reach for the good shit.
Instead of fighting gravity, I sink to the steps and sit. How pathetic; even my legs have given up on me. When my phone vibrates, I spin it in my hand to check the screen, but it won’t recognize my face. Fucking story of my life. I spend another minute remembering and punching in the passcode the fucking thing demands in place of my image.
I click the first lit notification, hope soaring in my chest, only to deflate like a balloon when I realize it isn’t Salem but Ely.
Ely: Come save me from Sebastian.
I can’t help but grin.
Me: I’m not getting between that man and your vagina. Wait a minute, I might. He is awfully pretty.
Ely: [ smiley face emoji] Regardless, he’s being overly overly protective at this point. I just want to get an iced coffee by myself. You also haven’t met the baby yet.
The baby. Fuck. I scrub my hand clutching the bottle up my face and bop myself in the cheek with it. I’m the worst fucking friend on the planet. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit I didn’t even check on Ely since the day after the birth.
Me: Do you want me to bring you an iced coffee?
It would be an expensive as fuck rideshare app trip, but I’d do it for her.
Ely: NO! I want five minutes when I’m not a mom. When I’m Ely. I want to get coffee alone. Completely alone.
I consider the screen and nod but then remember she can’t see me.
Me: On the way.
It only takes a few minutes for a rideshare app to show up, and then I direct it to Seb and Ely’s house. They are still living in Seb’s family estate, so it’s not too far. Once in the back seat, I bring the bottle to my lips and take a swig.
“Hey!” the driver snaps. “You can’t have that in here. I could go to jail!”
I scoff. “No, you won’t; you’re not even drinking. How much would it cost to say … have you forget you saw it?”
He shakes his head. “Whatever, but …” He narrows his gaze at me in the rearview mirror. “You’re not going to puke or anything, are you?”
I just take another swig and stare out the window.
“Fine. I want a five-star review and a hundred-dollar tip.” He keeps watching me like I’m going to balk.
“Whatever, man. Just get me there, and it’s all good.”
My phone vibrates again, and my heart rockets into my esophagus. Fuck me. Not Salem.
Sebastian: Don’t be a fuckface. She’s feeling self-conscious still, so don’t fucking say anything about her appearance. Or the baby puke. Or any-fucking-thing that will upset her.
Excuse me. Who the fuck does he think I am? I’d never hurt Ely like that. Or would I? Look what I’ve done, all the pain I caused. It doesn’t matter; saying and actually doing are two different things. I didn’t want to hurt Salem and look at us now. She won’t even talk to me.
I swallow more of the Jack and sink into the plush leather seats, staring out the window until we finally arrive at Seb’s estate.
The gate opens as I step out of the car, the driver calling after me, “Don’t forget our deal!”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him goodbye with the bottle in my hand and walk up the driveway, opening the rideshare app so I can complete my end of the deal. I hit send on the tip and give him five stars. By the time I reach the front doors, they’re already opening. I’m given no warning as Ely rushes toward me. She knocks the air out of my lungs as she wraps her arms around me, pulling me tight to her chest. Well, hello to you, too.
After a moment, I pull away and greet her with a smile. “Shit, you must be dying to get out.”
She tucks me against her and leads me inside, which is good because the ground is rolling under my feet. Sebastian stands in the foyer, perfectly dressed as always, with the exception of a baby towel thrown over his shoulder and one tiny bundle tucked tight into one arm.
She’s a little bigger than a football, and I step closer to peer down at her pudgy little face. Shit. I don’t even want kids, yet I can’t help but think she’s adorable. She has Seb’s golden-blond hair.
Ely moves the blanket down a little so I can get a better look. “What did you guys end up naming her?”
Sebastian smiles. “Calliope.”
That’s sweet . The thought of being responsible for another human, let alone naming them, gives me hives. Good thing I don’t plan on having any tiny, pudgy footballs.
I raise the bottle in my hand and take a swig while I admire the little one’s face.
“What the fuck?”
I jolt and look around at the sharp edge in Sebastian’s voice. “What? What’s going on?”
Sebastian hands the baby over to Ely, who takes her, eyeing me with a mix of … what even is that look? Pity, disgust? Whatever it is, I don’t like it.
Before I can make sense of what is happening, the world around me spins. Sebastian grabs me by the shirt and propels me backward until my back meets the wall, the air leaving my lungs in a swoosh.
“What the fuck?”
“Did you seriously come to my house to visit with my wife and infant daughter drunk?” he growls in my face, his eyes hard and flat in a way I usually don’t see directed at me.
I try to shrug him off, but I’m uncoordinated, and he has some weight on me.
“First of all, I’m not fucking drunk, just a little buzzed.”
His eyes narrow with suspicion, but I’m saved from Sebastian’s next tirade when the door opens.
“Hey, Seb, what the fuck is going on with Arie …” Drew stops, hand still on the door, his gaze darting between us. “Did I miss something? What’s going on here?”
Sebastian merely shakes his head and tosses me at Drew like I’m a sack of potatoes. Thankfully, Drew catches me, keeping me upright since my legs are failing to do so.
“You don’t have to be an asshole,” I shout. “I’m here because Ely asked me to be.”
I know I’m only pushing him, tempting him to lose his temper. Maybe a good black eye will help me get back to reality. I struggle to stand upright, pushing against Drew. Nausea swirls in my gut.
He steadies me again and calmly steps to the side to stare at Sebastian. “What’s happening?”
Sebastian smooths his suit jacket, then shakes his shoulders while fixing his hair. His version of calming down.
Fuck. No. I want him to hit me. Throw a punch. Anything to stop the endless pity party that’s taking place in my fucking brain.
Sebastian keeps his eyes on Drew, who is standing a foot away from me in jeans and a black Henley, looking just as expensive as Seb in his fancy suit. “Ely invited Lee over to meet the baby. But in typical Lee fashion, he shows up drunk with an open bottle of alcohol.”
“I’m not even that drunk,” I mumble and try to stay still, but I can feel the world slipping to the side, so I must be leaning, right?
Drew grabs the back of my collar and tugs me toward the door. “I’ll take care of it.”
Sebastian takes a step forward, stopping only once we’re face-to-face. Maybe he decided to punch me after all? “Stay the fuck out of my house until you can get your shit together. We’ve graduated, Lee. We’re fucking adults. There are no more parties. No more things for you to hide behind. Fix your fucking shit because I’m not allowing you near my family until you do.”
I keep my gaze locked with his as I raise my bottle and take a long drink, maintaining eye contact the entire time. He’s just like everyone else. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. When I swallow, I shrug. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t need to be anywhere near your fucking family.”
A soft gasp comes from behind me.
“Lee …” Ely says softly, so softly, yet I still hear the hurt in her voice.
Another bolt of pain shoots through me, adding to the mass in my gut, weighing me down further, dragging me in the muck.
I’m so fucking worthless.
Drew drags me out by the collar. “Come on, before you dig a deeper hole. I’ll take you home.”
It’s all a blur, but he gets me into his car. When he goes to grab the seat belt and fasten it, I put the bottle between my knees and jerk it out of his hold. “I can fucking buckle a seat belt, Drew.”
He raises one eyebrow, then closes the door with a sharp slam that shakes the vehicle. He climbs in without a word and does a quick U-turn in Sebastian’s drive. All I do is stare out the window. “Don’t take me home. Just take me to a hotel.”
“A hotel? Why not your house or Salem’s?”
I lean my head back against the headrest and take a long drink of Jack. At least he doesn’t complain about stupid fucking open container laws.
“There is no Salem. I fucked up,” I find myself saying. “Ruined everything with my stupid, selfish needs.”
Drew changes lanes, heading out of town instead of the city center. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing and everything at the same time. I’m a fucking mess.”
Drew studies me for a long moment, seeing too much like always. Seeing the cracks in my careful facade. Seeing how everything’s unraveling faster than I can cover it up. I’m tired of even trying to cover it up. Here, with Drew, I don’t have to try. Not when it won’t get me anywhere. He’s always been able to see through my bullshit.
“No surprise there. We’re all messes,” he says quietly. “But that doesn’t explain what the actual problem is.”
Where do I start? How do I explain that Salem’s made me better and worse at the same time? That she’s taught me to find beauty in broken things while making me terrified of my own jagged edges? I want to tell him, but I know it won’t change anything. Patterns remain patterns. So instead of pouring my heart out to him, I reach for the bottle again, measuring memories in ounces of escape. Remembering the hurt and betrayed look on her face at the photo shoot and how she disappeared after I was an asshole to her.
“Talking about it won’t change what happened.” I pause. “I’m fine. Everything will be okay in time,” I lie, flashing my practiced Sterling smile. The one that charms society matrons and fools everyone except Drew.
“Bullshit. You just told me you ruined everything with your stupid, selfish needs, and now you expect me to accept your ‘everything is fine’ response?”
“Forget it. Nothing matters. What’s done is done.” The words come out sharper than intended.
“What do you mean, what’s done is done?” His voice remains neutral. “If you fucked up, I’m sure it can be fixed. Salem cares about you. There is almost nothing you could do that can’t be fixed in some capacity.”
The whiskey doesn’t burn enough anymore. Doesn’t quiet the chaos in my head the way Salem does just by existing in my space. By counting with me. By making everything make sense.
“She deserves better.” I continue to look out the window, watching as everything passes by. “Someone who isn’t broken in all the wrong ways.”
“Lee—”
“Someone who didn’t need Promised Land to fix them.” The confession is out before I can shove it back into my mouth. The stupid whiskey is making me spill all kinds of secrets.
Drew is quiet, too quiet. We don’t talk about Promised Land. About those months I disappeared during our junior year of high school, or about why I started drinking to begin with. It’s easier to pretend that the pain doesn’t exist, that bad things never happened, than to rip open the wounds and try to heal them.
“We both know that’s not true. You never needed to be fixed,” he says quietly. “And Salem would agree.”
“You don’t know that.” I reach for the bottle again, but Drew’s fingers grasp onto it before I can, and he moves it just out of reach. Asshole. “None of you know a damn thing about what I went through when I was there. What they did to me, or the methods they used to fix me.”
“You’re right. We don’t. We don’t know anything. And not because we don’t give a shit about you. We care. You’re like a brother to me, Lee. But you’ve never trusted any of us enough to help you carry your secrets.”
Another minute or two and I’ll be sharing too much. Too much of how my insides are a festering wound of self-hate, and the only things that can turn it off for a few minutes are the alcohol, the sex, and the fighting.
And Salem , my stupid brain supplies.
And Salem.
“I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve to even have her in my life. Or even have a fucking life at this point.” I spin over the console and go for the bottle. He tries to grapple me away while keeping his hand on the wheel, but I still manage to get it. “If you want me to talk, you dick, I need this.”
“Stop being stupid. You don’t need that, and so what? You messed up. Just means you’re human. No point in crying over it. Just man up and fix it.”
“I’m not crying, asshole,” I growl. The secrets, the pain … all of it’s boiling to the top, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep a lid on it.
“Then stop whining about it and tell me what the hell happened. Tell me the truth so I can help you.”
“I don’t know if you can help me. If anyone can help me. Maybe I’m past the point of help.” My voice trembles, and I hate it. I hate how vulnerable I am, hate how I can’t hide behind the lies or any of the many masks I’ve worn anymore. The pain reaches the very top of the pot, and all of the darkness pours out of me. “They tried to pray it away.” The words taste like ash and old fear. “Six months of scripture and therapy and learning how to be the perfect Sterling son. Six months of lashes with the belt when I didn’t say the words the way they wanted. How to want the right things. The right people. How to be fucking normal.”
Drew doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just lets the confession hang between us.
“They did what?” There’s an undercurrent of anger in his voice. “I’ve seen the scars and knew it had to be bad, but shit, man. Fuck.”
This time, I take a long draw of the liquor, needing it to burn away this ache, this pain inside. “Well, it didn’t work, did it? Still bi. Still a disappointment. Still drinking just to be able to handle family functions. Still …” I remember Salem’s face when I propositioned her at the photo shoot. “Still fucking up everything good in my life.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. We both know Salem isn’t the type to judge. She wouldn’t care about Promised Land.” Drew’s voice is gentle but firm. “The only thing that would matter to her is that you’re hurting. That you’re pushing her away instead of letting her in and giving her the opportunity to understand.”
I’m past wanting to hear any of this shit. I haven’t texted her, but she also hasn’t reached out to me either. Not even a fuck you very much to let me know she’s safe or still alive.
“Take me to Salem’s house,” I say, shifting to look at him. “I just need to know she’s okay.”
Drew lets out a low, dark chuckle. “Not fucking happening, man.”
“She makes everything quiet,” I whisper, admitting it finally. “When I’m with her, counting tiles or measuring spaces or just … existing in her careful world … Everything makes sense. The noise in my head stops.”
“Then you keep her. You do whatever it takes, and I mean anything, to keep her beside you.” Drew’s tone is iron, steel-threaded, and I look over. His eyes are on the road, his jaw set tight. He did whatever was necessary to keep Bel. Sebastian did everything in his power to keep Ely, even fucking married her. How is what I did to make her mine any different?
It doesn’t allay the guilt in my gut, but it hardens my resolve.
“You can take me back to The Mill,” I say, staring out the window again.
“Are we done with this little heart-to-heart?” Drew asks, his tone lighter again.
“This wasn’t a heart-to-heart, dude. It was you being a bully and me being drunk. It means nothing.”
He makes a hmm noise in his throat and heads back to the house. Bel calls as we pull in, so it’s easy to climb out of the car and wave him off; he’s already distracted.
He has Bel. Sebastian has Ely and the baby. It’s just Aries and me, and even Aries is off doing his own thing. None of them need me anymore.
I take another swig of the Jack. None of them need me. Did they ever even want me to begin with? If I’m not partying or joking or fucking?
I slump to the top steps of the house and lean back, the sun streaming down on my face. A cold sweat breaks out over my skin as my thoughts wander deeper, darker. None of them need me anyway. If I were gone … my mother would leave Salem alone. And my friends would ensure she stayed safe; I know that, even if they think I’m a spoiled dick.
I scoot up to be able to lie across the top step. It would be too easy. A few pills, drift off to sleep, and never have to experience pain again. Even as I think about doing it, my insides clench up. No more pain. No more doubt. No more self-pity and wallowing. No more masks.
But also no more Salem. That stops all the swirling thoughts. My phone vibrates, and I fish it out of my pocket. Probably Sebastian, threatening to rip off my balls or give me another lecture about how immature I am. But as I focus my attention on reading the screen, everything stops. The world goes still, well, except this roil in my stomach. I click the message and read the words. It’s simple, but it might just be … hope?
Salem: Meet me for coffee tomorrow. I don’t like not following through on promises. But to move forward, we need to talk.
Whatever it takes.
Drew’s voice is in my head, and I smile for the first time in days.
Then I roll over and puke my guts out.