7. Daire
7
DAIRE
It’s been eighteen hours since my drunken binge, and from what I’ve been told, the video of my meltdown is circulating everywhere. I didn’t bother going to classes today; I’m too hungover to bother with it.
Every text I’ve sent to Rosie today has gone unanswered. I deserve to be ignored, but it still pisses me off anyway. So here I am, outside her dorm.
As I run my fingers through my hair, my wedding band catches. Shit. Why the fuck is it on my right hand? With a curse, I yank it off and shove it onto the correct finger. I send her another text, letting her know I’m here and on my way up.
Like all the others, it shows delivered but unread.
I hop off my motorcycle and secure my helmet. It’s too cold to ride without bundling up, so I had already put it in storage for the winter, but I figured I’d take it out for one last ride before I sell it. With the way things have gone with Danielle so far, I could see her finding some way to sway a judge into thinking I’m not responsible enough because I have a motorcycle. So it, along with my Porsche, will be going soon.
Yeah, because your drunken rampage wasn’t enough to completely sink your chances at receiving custody.
There’s a group of girls outside the dorm. As a collective unit, they turn and look at me.
“Hey, Daire,” one of them says.
I turn, vaguely recognizing her. “Hey,” I answer as I close in on the door. “You mind letting me in?”
“I guess that depends on if you’ll answer something for me or not.” She flashes a flirty smile. “Is it true you’re married? Some people are saying you were dared to say you were.”
I wasn’t expecting that, though I guess I should have been.
With my stomach in knots, I dip my chin. “It’s true.”
“That’s too bad.” She frowns, adjusting the strap of the bag on her shoulder. “We had some good fun.”
Did we? I can’t remember.
“Mhm,” I hum. “Do you mind letting me in now?”
She puffs out her lips, which is entirely unnecessary given the amount of filler injected into them. “I don’t think I will.”
I bite back a grunt of annoyance. It fucking figures.
Normally I have zero problem getting anywhere I want to go. I’ll need a little more patience today, but someone will come along eventually and let me up. So I step off to the side and take a seat around the corner on one of the many benches that dot the campus. Even though it’s pointless, I send another text to Rosie, asking her to come down and let me in. She might not even be here, but I have to try.
Try for what?
To apologize?
An apology isn’t anywhere close to enough in this situation, but it’s all I have.
I spoke with Nina Voss, my lawyer, this morning and admitted to what a fucking idiot I am. Then I sent her the video. Understandably, she wasn’t pleased. She can join the damn club, because I’m not happy with myself either. My life is an absolute clusterfuck right now. That’s why I’m doing stupid shit. Nina wouldn’t get it, because now definitely isn’t the time for me to be pulling stunts like this.
So why did I?
Fear. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m terrified. And when I’m scared, self-destruction is my default.
I’m scared of graduating—of what I’ll do with a future I’m still not certain about. I’m not like my older brothers, who’ve always had a clear path laid before them.
I’m terrified of being a dad, of fucking a kid up. I want to be a good dad. Like mine. Getting wasted and going on a drunken rant doesn’t really align with the whole wanting to be a good dad thing, but I wasn’t exactly thinking logically in the moment.
And now I’m scared of Rosie.
She’s the only girl I can trust with this—and what does that mean? Does it mean deep down I never actually stopped caring about her? Do I have feelings for her after all this time?
To say I’m fucking confused is an understatement.
I’ve got my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands when I’m startled by a high-pitched voice. “Well, don’t you look like a pathetic piece of shit?”
When I look up, I’m met with a scathing look from Bertie. She’s clutching a textbook to her chest, her knuckles white like she’s gripping it hard to keep from beating me over the head with it.
“I saw your childish meltdown.”
I nod, eyes on the ground. “You and everyone else, apparently.”
“How could you embarrass her like that?” She snaps her fingers in front of my face, forcing me to look at her. “Rosie is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. She’s kind and caring and better than you could ever be. You two had me convinced you were madly in love, but you both lied.” She clutches the book again. “Why did she really marry you?”
I look away, jaw clenching.
“Not as talkative as you were last night, huh?” Her glare burns a hole in the side of my face.
Rubbing at my jaw, I force myself to look up at her again. “Can you at least let me in so I can talk to her?”
Bertie tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and shrugs. “She’s not answering me, so I’m not sure she’s even here.”
“Bertie, please?—”
“You can come up with me,” she snaps. “But only because you look so pathetic.”
“Gee, thanks.”
When she walks away, I haul myself up and jog after her, following close in case she changes her mind.
She doesn’t speak to me again until we reach their dorm. She turns, standing with her back to the door, and says, “If you’re not nice to her, I will drag you out of this room by your ear. You got me?”
I may be a foot taller than the girl and weigh a hell of a lot more, but I don’t doubt her for a second.
“Got it.”
She unlocks the door and lets me in first. I half expect her to kick me in the back of the knee just so she can laugh as I flail.
The main room is dark and eerily quiet.
I shuffle to Rosie’s bedroom door and knock. When she doesn’t answer, I ease it open.
She’s not here.
I flick on the overhead light and curse at the bags covering every surface of her bedroom area.
“What the hell?” I mutter, taking it all in.
I clear enough space on her bed to sit and wait.
Bertie appears in the doorway and scans the room. “I told you she might not be here. And apparently she went on a bit of a shopping spree. She tends to do that when she’s feeling down.”
I swallow thickly at that. Rosie was never like most of the girls we grew up with. So many of them were all too eager to spend Mommy and Daddy’s money every chance they got. Rosie rarely asked for anything, but once in a while, she’d go on a shopping spree. That’s when I’d know something had happened. Usually her mom had commented on her weight.
I fucking hate that I might have made her feel the same way that shit does.
“If it’s okay, I’ll wait here for her.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
I settle in, determined not to leave until we talk. It’s probably foolish of me to stay, but if I went home, I’d be sitting around stewing too. At least this way I have a chance of seeing her.
I sit in that small patch of space for a long time, but eventually, I clear off her bed and make myself comfortable.
I swear I only close my eyes for a minute, but I’m startled by an ear-piercing scream. I jackknife up at the sound, my heart beating rapidly.
“What the hell?” Rosie is standing in the middle of her room with a hand pressed to her heart. She’s damp with sweat and dressed in workout clothes, earbuds still in her ears.
I stifle a yawn. “I was waiting for you.”
“Clearly.” She pulls out her desk chair and sits to take off her tennis shoes. “What for?” she grits out, keeping her focus fixed on her shoes rather than looking at me.
I rub the back of my head and pat down my hair. “I’m sure you’ve seen the video by now.”
She stiffens. “I already knew you hated me. I didn’t need a video to tell me that.”
My heart jerks in my chest at the hurt in her tone. Jaw clenched, I take a deep breath through my nose. “I wanted to apologize.”
She sits up, one shoe still half-on. “What’s the point, Daire? You’ll still hate me, and I’ll still hate you, and we’ll still be married.” Instead of flashing me her middle finger, she waves the one adorned with my ring. “The best we can do is be cordial.”
I look away and bite back a curse. I’m livid, but not at her. I’ve been married for a matter of hours, and I’ve already fucked everything up.
She yanks the shoe off and drops it to the floor. “If that’s all you came here for, I have a shower to take.”
“I—”
She bolts out of her chair, ignoring me, and rummages through her dresser. Once she’s found the clothes she’s looking for, she walks out and closes the door behind her.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.
I waited all this time to say I was sorry. For as shitty as my day has been, I can’t imagine hers. And there’s no one to blame but me and my big, fat, drunken mouth. Selfishly, it pisses me off that she doesn’t want my apology. That she expected this kind of behavior from me.
And this video? It’s exactly the kind of thing that can be used against me in court.
Fuck.
I cover my face and groan into my hands.
I could wait for her to come out of the shower, but what would be the point?
I get up and let myself out of her room. Bertie is sitting on the couch in her pajamas, legs curled under her and a rom-com playing on the TV. She shakes her head at me, tsking.
“You better fix this,” she hisses. “She doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit by you or anyone else.”
I jerk my head in a nod.
I don’t have the first clue how, but I have to try, because I need her.