9. “Do I Wanna Know?” - Arctic Monkeys
“Do I Wanna Know?” - Arctic Monkeys
Walker
In a stroke of brilliance, I managed to pack every summer clothing item I own and still have nothing to wear tonight. I discard a burgundy top onto a pile that threatens to topple over the edge of the bed with each new addition.
What does one wear to a poker night with former friends one hasn’t seen in two years to convey both “I am not the same girl you knew back then” and “Can I pretty please ask a huge favor of you?”
It’s too hot for a blazer, and I can already hear what Rhett will say if I walk in wearing one. Which means my top is of utmost importance. It can’t be too casual, but it also shouldn’t scream uptight .
That rules out 90 percent of my options.
I hold up a black sleeveless turtleneck. It’s a flattering cut, and I’ve received compliments every time I’ve worn it. It will have to work. I’m running out of time before I need to leave for Pierce’s flat.
I flip through my skirts and settle on a tweed suspender number that hits midthigh. It will set off the turtleneck nicely. I pair the outfit with my black lace-up boots, a pair of slouchy socks, and my grandmother’s diamond necklace .
The mirror tells me I’m presentable, pretty even.
My heart tells me I’m an idiot and going to go into cardiac arrest.
* * *
That sentiment only grows stronger the closer I get to downtown. My hands are sweaty on the steering wheel. I wipe them on my skirt, but they soon grow slick again. I’m going to need alcohol pronto.
I pull into the parking garage of the Atlantis. Shit. This idea was so many shades of stupid I’m beginning to question if my brain suffered damaging altitude sickness on the plane ride. What was I thinking?
I park in one of the visitor spots. Only people with too much money put chandeliers in a car park. I haven’t been a part of this world for two whole years.
Nothing good will come from panicking. I need to present a cool and collected front. Otherwise this will all end badly.
I take a deep breath and walk to the lift on the other side of the garage, pressing the button for level twenty-two. The doors whiz shut behind me. And then I’m going up.
It takes much less time to get to Pierce’s floor than I need to compose my racing heart. I walk to the door I’ve been through more times than I could possibly count. I wipe my hands on my skirt once more. Then I lift my fist and knock.
The seconds that pass are filled with every possible question.
What if they all hate me for leaving?
What if it’s awkward and we don’t know what to say?
What if I look like a fool for coming?
What if this is a trap?
What if—
The door opens, revealing Pierce’s wide grin. Lux darts into the foyer behind him. She’s wearing a short-sleeved belted white trench coat and likely nothing underneath it. Tall white boots snake up her impossibly long legs. Her rainbow has three colors: white, off-white, and cotton candy pink.
“You came!” she sings out, and reaches around Pierce to pull me inside. She squeezes me into her rose-scented embrace.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and hug her back. I shouldn’t have worried. With Lux present, no one is allowed to be awkward.
She releases me and gives my outfit a once-over. “Cuuteee.” She looks at Pierce over my shoulder. “Always our little student.”
He puts an arm around my shoulders. His shirt is still tucked into his pants from work, but he’s lost the jacket and tie. “It’s good to see you, Walker.”
I smile and thank him for the invite. I let my eyes land on a painting in the foyer, desperate for something to ground me. It’s a modern take on chains being shed.
“Simone Caldwell’s Emancipation ,” he says.
Lux rolls her eyes and pulls me by the hand into the next room. “Let’s go before he ropes us into an art lecture.”
We walk down the hall to the game room. The other three are already sitting around the poker table. The dim lights cast shadows around the edges of the room and on their faces, but I would be able to recognize my former best friends anywhere.
“Walker, what is up ?” Rhett calls as we walk in.
I toss him a wave and a smile, and he holds up his glass in a mock toast. I want to make a comment about his ridiculous black floral-print shirt, which is unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, but there will be time for that later, when I’ve regained my courage.
Maeve stands when she sees me and comes over for a hug, albeit a less exuberant one than Lux’s.
She’s wearing a typical Maeve outfit: navy-blue silk top with a Peter Pan collar, plaid miniskirt, her family’s heirloom pearls, and four-inch heels.
I try to read from her expression if she’s forgiven me yet, but the only thing visible is her fire-engine-red lips, pulled into that trademark smirk.
I’ve never seen her lips a shade other than Chanel Dragon, including natural, and though she would vehemently deny it, I secretly suspect she’s had them permanently colored.
I don’t even know if that’s a thing, but if it is, Maeve would be the first in line.
She is not a believer in redundant actions. Or redundant people, for that matter.
The last remaining figure doesn’t look at me.
There’s an awkward beat of silence while everyone waits to see what’s going to happen, but then Lux diffuses it by announcing that I should sit next to her.
No one objects, so I slide into the chair beside her, and Pierce sets a dangerous-looking cocktail in front of me. I reach for it eagerly.
“I wouldn’t drink that.” The voice beside me is quiet, especially given the noise level of the rest of the room. Something flutters inside me at the intimacy of it, as if we are sequestered in a dark corner alone.
I turn my head and look at the one person I vowed to ignore the entire night.
Intentional or not, in seating me next to herself, Lux also sat me next to him.
My eyes land on his face, and it’s exactly the way I remember it, but also different in a million ways that would take me a lifetime to chart.
Heath.
He has on a long-sleeve T-shirt with a faded logo for Pap’s Seafood Grill. Waves of golden-brown hair spill out from beneath his backwards ballcap. The braided necklace he never goes without is strung around his neck. My brain registers these things in the nanosecond it takes me to meet his gaze.
Then there are those eyes that will forever haunt my dreams, deep, brown tidepools that will suck me down if I stare at them too long.
I grab my drink and take a big gulp. A jolt of tequila hits my tongue, followed by the fire of jalapeno.
A sputtering cough rips from my throat, making my eyes water.
“Told you not to drink it,” he says with a bemused expression as he lifts his own drink to his lips.
I jerk my head back to face the rest of the table and discreetly wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes.
Pierce winces when he sees me. “Sorry, Walker. I forgot you don’t like spice. I can make you something else—”
“It’s fine.” I pick up my tumbler again and take a tiny sip, just enough to show everyone that Walker Halifax may look like the girl they all remember, but inside she is different. Stronger. Braver. Much more badass.
It will take a very long time to get drunk at this rate, but at least the sipping will keep me busy.
And busy is what I need to be if I’m going to keep my mind from straying to the fact that Heath is less than two feet away, close enough that I can smell the ocean rolling off of him, that saltwater-sandalwood-rum combination that used to make me heady with desire—
I yank my thoughts out of that spiral.
Maeve is shuffling the cards. “Antes?” she says, glancing at each of us in turn.
And just like that, my body relaxes. Not entirely. I’m still sitting next to Heath , for god’s sake. But enough to remember how it used to feel to sit here among my friends, laughing as we plotted the sabotage of our next victim.
Heath shifts beside me. Even after two years apart, my body is still painfully aware of his.
Every time he reaches his arm across the table to take his cards or place a chip on the pile.
Every time he cracks his knuckles and sends Maeve into a fit of exasperation.
Every time he adjusts his hat or fiddles with his necklace.
Everyone submits their first grievance. I spent so much time trying to prepare emotionally that I forgot to prepare for the game. When they all stare at me expectantly, Lux bails me out. “Walker gets a freebie,” she says with a wink. “In honor of your first night back.”
Unease crawls down my spine at her use of the word “first.” It’s essential that this is my only night with them. Otherwise . . . I don’t want to think about the otherwise. “Thanks,” I say. “Isn’t poker night usually Tuesday?”
Lux twirls a piece of hair around her index finger. “We made an exception when we found out you were in town.”
No one mentions my sudden departure. No one mentions the fact that it’s been two whole years since we’ve seen or talked to each other. No one mentions that this is awkward as fuck.
Apparently the MO tonight is “avoid the elephant in the room . ” I’m cool with that. If I can accomplish what I came here for and leave with my dignity intact, I will consider the night a success. I just need the perfect opportunity to broach the subject.
I lift my glass for another sip. The cocktail is growing on me, even though I have to studiously avoid tearing up every time that jalapeno makes its presence known. Maeve reaches across the table when I set the drink back down.
“Oh my god,” she says, grabbing my hand. “You finally stopped biting your nails.”
Lux joins her in admiring my short-and-bare-but-clipped-instead-of-bitten nails.
That’s not the only thing that’s changed.