Chapter 42
My phone buzzes as I stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom. I debate not checking, but boredom wins out. It’s not like the white plaster is going anywhere.
The message is from Gus, which isn’t surprising. We were texting for a while earlier, about his upcoming date and his plans to head to Lucky’s with Wade and some other guys, me trying to make up for my lack of attention this afternoon. This message is about the one topic we didn’t touch.
Gus: She’s here.
No name. No context. I don’t need either to figure out what he’s saying.
Twenty minutes later, I enter Lucky’s. The bar seems especially crowded tonight, but maybe that’s just the contrast from my quiet house.
I spot Wren immediately. She’s at a back booth, by the pool table, with a group of friends. The guys are sporting gaudy watches and preppy shirts; the girls are wearing makeup and heels. Since no one I grew up with dresses that way, I think it’s safe to assume they’re all rich.
It’s only been a few hours since she left my house, but Wren looks completely different. She’s wearing jeans and a low-cut top, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that exposes the sharp angles of her cheekbones.
I watch her drain the glass she’s holding. One of the guys she’s with leans closer and says something. She nods, and he hurries toward the bar.
I turn away, heading for the table with my friends.
“Hell yeah, Cap!” Wade lifts his beer as I approach, drawing the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity. “You made it!”
I don’t check to see if Wren heard his shout or looked over. I’m here … I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t really want to be, but I don’t not want to be either.
“Thought you’d show,” Gus says quietly as I take the empty stool beside him.
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Sure.” Gus’s smile is easy. Unencumbered.
I’m envious of that ease, stuck in a state of permanent apprehension.
Gus met a girl he liked, asked her to dinner, and now he’s happily planning their second date.
I met a girl I liked, watched while a friend invited her to his party, then flirted with her, and I wound up fucking her in his room, entirely oblivious to the fact that it was her first time.
I’m such an asshole. I don’t get why Wren ever wanted a repeat.
“Hey, Cap.” Cammie appears, her boyfriend, Luke, right behind her.
Luke gives me a wave, then starts talking to Wade while Cammie gives me a hug.
“How are you?” she asks, the concern obvious on her face.
“Me? Great. How about you? How’s it going at the hotel?”
Cammie opens her mouth. Closes it. Sighs. “Wren was there for brunch this morning,” she says finally. “I said a few things I probably … shouldn’t have.”
Well, that solves the mystery of where Wren got her information. Although I have no clue how Cammie knew I’d sent Wren letters. I must have left one out in my room or in my truck.
“I didn’t say much,” Cammie continues. “Just suggested she stay away from the marina.”
On my other side, Gus grins.
Cammie glances between us. “She showed up there anyway, didn’t she? Unbelievable.”
“It’s fine, Cammie.”
“You always say it’s fine, Cap. And that you’re fine. Because you drank your way through the worst of it!”
My jaw works a couple of times. “That wasn’t Wren’s fault. I had other shit going on too. I mean it—I’m good now.”
Cammie exhales. “If you say so. It’s not like you ever listen to me anyway.”
“Don’t take it personally. I never listen to anyone.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. It disappears slowly, as she stares at me. “I believe her. I don’t think she got the letters.”
“What letters?” Gus’s nosy ass asks.
I ignore him. “How did you know about those?”
“I saw an envelope addressed to her on your desk one of the nights I drove you home. You had it with you when I ran into you at the post office just before Thanksgiving, remember?”
I don’t remember, but saying so will prove Cammie’s point. That fall is a bit of a black hole in my memory, as I floundered, figuring out what to do with the rest of my life, and mourned losing one of the few people who had any faith I would.
“It doesn’t matter if she got them,” I mutter, glancing toward the back.
A different guy is delivering a glass to Wren. She takes it, flashing a brilliant smile, then turns back to the dark-haired girl she was talking to. The guy turns away, a disappointed look on his face.
I fight a frown, asking Gus, “How long has she been here?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I texted you when I arrived. She was already here.”
“How was the date with Lissa?” Cammie asks Gus.
I listen to the recap I’ve heard three times today, battling the urge to check on Wren the entire time. She’s not alone; she came with friends. She doesn’t need—or want, I’m assuming after our conversation earlier—my concern.
It simmers anyway, like an itch I can’t scratch or a leak I can’t fix. My ears strain, trying to pick her voice out of the many overlapping sounds in here.
It wasn’t just sex with Wren. It’s never been just sex with her.
And what would she say if I admitted that?
Ciao? I put myself out there with her; I went over to her house, intending to tell her I loved her; and I got obliterated.
What is any different now? She’s headed to Europe instead of California?
I have a destination, too, rather than flailing around here?
“Hey! Wren!” Wade, the unsubtle idiot, has apparently just realized who all is here.
I don’t follow his gaze. I’m not sure if she’ll come over here or ignore Wade’s yell. I’ve rarely known what to expect with Wren, and my predictions right now are probably particularly inaccurate.
I sense her approach before I see her.
Know for certain she’s headed this way when I hear a guy at the table one over from ours say, “Hey, gorgeous. Can I buy you a drink?”
“I have a drink,” Wren’s voice replies while I study the stack of napkins on the table to avoid making eye contact with anyone at my table.
I don’t know if Wade thinks he’s helping me, is thinking with his dick, or is simply stirring up shit for fun, but I’m going to make a list of the most unpleasant marina tasks first thing tomorrow and assign them all to him.
“Then what about your number?”
“Lame line,” Ricky mutters.
“You want my number?” Wren asks.
“Oh, I definitely want your number,” the guy replies.
“And what do I get?”
“Uh, my number,” is the response, setting off laughter and jeers among his friends. “And a hundred bucks for your next round?”
“I’ll think about it,” Wren says.
I still don’t glance up, but I hear chair legs screech before Wade says, “Been a while, Kensington. I wanted to say hi at the marina earlier, but didn’t make it to the parking lot in time. Cap said you’re becoming a member?”
“I changed my mind. I don’t really like boats anyway.”
When I look up, Wren is standing alongside our table. A drink is in her left hand, a hundred-dollar bill in her right.
“You were buying a boat this afternoon,” I drawl. “You still split when shit gets real, huh?”
Wren takes her time looking over at me. “Did you really mean that insult, Cap? Or are you just pretending to give a fuck?”
I hold her gaze as everyone else shuffles awkwardly. Most of them have never witnessed us fight before.
“I’m not that good of an actor, Wren.”
“I thought we weren’t arguing. Or talking.” Wren tosses the hundred on the table. “Good to see you guys. Enjoy a free round.”
Total silence lurks in her wake, like a bubble has been dropped over our table while the rest of the bar continues with its usual commotion.
I rake a hand through my hair before sliding off my stool and striding after her. I pass the guy who asked for her number, who’s gazing mournfully at the hundred she left behind, shooting him a sharp glance that quickly has him refocusing on his friends.
I catch up to Wren and grab her hand without saying a word, tugging her toward the alcove next to the side door.
“Let go of me,” she hisses, and I do.
Wren doesn’t stalk off the second I drop her hand, which is something at least.
“You’re drunk,” I state.
“Yep.” She pops the P obnoxiously. “I started drinking more when you showed up.”
I exhale. “I’ll go. I just wanted to make sure you were—”
“You don’t get it.” A tear slips down her cheek. She swipes it away angrily.
I stare in shock. I’ve never ever seen Wren cry. And I sure as hell don’t deserve her tears.
“I’m not mad you’re here.” She sniffs. “I’m mad at you.
But I started drinking more when you arrived because I knew I could.
Because I feel so safe around you, even when you’re being an absolute asshole.
You hurt me, but you’d never let anyone hurt me, so I can get wasted without worrying about anything except a hangover. ” Another sniff. “So, don’t go, okay?”
“Okay,” I say hoarsely.
Wren nods once, then turns and heads back toward her friends.
“Closing Time” starts playing at one a.m.
Gus glances over at me. He and I are the only two left at our table. Wade wandered over to a group of girls about an hour ago and never returned, and everyone else headed home a while ago. Like Gus and me, they all have work in the morning.
“What’s your plan?”
“No clue,” I reply.
He nods like me sitting here all night and coming up with no strategy makes total sense. Or maybe he’s just accustomed to Wren’s and my dysfunction.
“You should head out, man,” I say. “You’ve got your big date tomorrow night.”
“You sure? I don’t mind staying.”
“I’m sure.”
Gus drains the rest of his water, stands, and claps me on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“Night, Owen!” Gus calls, heading for the door.
“See ya, Gus!” the bartender calls back.
Wren glances at Gus’s retreating back, then over at me. Walks this way, ignoring the nearby table of guys checking her out. One guy’s hundred still sits on this table.
“Wanna take me home?” Wren asks when she reaches me.
“Sure,” I reply.
She smiles a little. “I’m kidding. I’ve just always wanted to use that line during this song.”