Chapter 8 Dillon
Dillon
I’m startling to realize just how quickly Charlie was able to pack up her belongings—her life—and disappear through the door, leaving me with no idea where she was going.
I made myself scarce, knowing it was the least I could do…especially once I calmed down enough for reason to slink in. That rationality forced me to acknowledge how much worse I made everything by reacting so badly and running my mouth.
Still, I couldn’t force myself to leave. If I walked out that door before Charlie did, I was admitting I was okay with what was happening; that I was accepting we were done.
And I wasn’t.
I wasn’t okay, and we weren’t done.
We couldn’t be.
I look around now, seeing all the empty spaces next to my stuff that shouldn’t be there, wondering how everything went up in flames so fast.
This was my apartment before Charlie. She had been hesitant when I first asked her to move in, unsure about living in a place that had essentially been a bachelor pad…
And yet, she made the apartment ours in subtle ways: the bright canvas above the guest bed, colorful ceramic owls lining the bookshelves, perfume lingering in the air, making it seem like she’d always just stepped out of the room.
Charlie is a self-proclaimed neat freak, so she never cluttered the space, putting everything in its rightful place as soon as she was done—and leveling me with looks if I didn’t follow suit. Her only “mess” had been books. Usually a pile of three, stacked carefully on the end table by the couch.
I teased her about it because Charlie only ever read one book at a time, but she claimed that she needed the other books there to remind her of what was coming next.
Whenever there was an NHL game on, she would curl into the corner of the couch with a book in her hands.
I would sit close enough that my leg was pressed up against hers, feeling like every breath came easier without an inch of space between us.
Our attention would be on completely different things, but my hand always ended up tucked between her thighs.
It became a ritual, a way for us to connect, even while doing our own thing. Now, I stare at the black television screen, already knowing those books are gone without looking.
The lingering quiet slams into me with brute force, and that’s what chases me from the apartment, barely sparing a second to grab my wallet, keys, and phone. There’s no plan, just a desperate need for air that doesn’t feel like it’s burning my lungs from the inside out.
Without even realizing where I am headed, I find myself standing outside The Foundry Taproom, a local bar that Charlie and I were semi-regulars at. It’s close enough to the apartment that we found ourselves here whenever we wanted good, inexpensive food and beer straight from the tap.
I hesitate a beat before deciding not to fight the pull. I step inside, surprised at how busy the place is so early in the afternoon. The ambient noise washes over me—robust conversation and laughter, and the low thrum of easy rock music—as I make my way across the scuffed wooden floors to the bar.
The bartender—a greasy guy with a thick beard—does a double-take as I slide onto a cracked leather stool in front of him.
“Beer, please. Whatever’s good.”
He narrows his eyes but, after a moment, nods, silently grabbing a smudged glass and filling it to the top.
He slides it across the bar to me, and I fumble for my wallet, already deciding that I’m not having more than one—not after last night.
I slap some notes on the counter just as a hand lands on my shoulder.
“Fancy seeing you here,” a voice booms in my ear.
“Didn’t think the old ball and chain would let you loose two nights in a row.
” I slide a look at Jack, shrugging his hand off.
He doesn’t notice, already ordering a drink before looking at me again.
“You should’ve called. I would have come down earlier. ”
He takes the stool next to me. As he turns to me, he finally catches a good look at my face. The grin slides right off his mouth.
“Dude, what the fuck? You look like you’ve been knocked in the face with a concrete block. What the hell happened to you?”
I reach up, probing at the swollen, tender skin around my nose and eyes with a grimace. Honestly, I almost forgot Barrett’s gentle treatment, the dull ache of it just kind of blending into everything else. Explains the look the bartender gave me.
“Not far off the truth,” I mutter to Jack, looking down at my beer, wishing the drink had some answers for me. “Not really up for company tonight, man. ”
He splutters out a laugh. “You can’t turn up with a face like that and expect me not to ask questions.” Jack tips his chin when the bartender puts a beer in front of him, waiting for him to move out of earshot before leaning closer, asking, “Are you embarrassed? Is that it?”
I flick him a bemused look. “Embarrassed about what?”
“I don’t know.” Jack shrugs, angling his body toward me and resting his elbow against the bar. “Maybe you walked into a pole or some shit. I can’t think of another reason why you wouldn’t just tell me what”—he lifts a finger, making a circular motion around my face—“this is about.”
“Leave it alone,” I grunt, looking away from him and raising my beer to my lips. He must sense just how on edge I am, because he lifts out a palm in surrender before picking up his own beer.
“Alright,” Jack agrees after he takes a sip. “Why don’t you tell me what happened last night, then?”
I drop my chin to my chest with a groan, frustration beating at me, because if there’s something else I really don’t want to fucking talk about…it’s last night. His eyes are on me, curiosity blazing. I pretend I don’t notice.
“Oh, come off it, man. Charlie just disappears without a word, and you’ve got nothing to say about it?
It was obvious you had no idea where she went.
You didn’t get off your phone once you realized she wasn’t coming back, and then you just left, right in the middle of a conversation.
” Jack pauses, clearly waiting for me to fill in the silence.
I press my lips together. He shakes his head, blowing out a breath.
“If she does that all the time, I gotta say…It’s fucked.
Not even letting you know she was taking off?
” I look up at Jack then, catching the smirk playing on his lips.
“Didn’t think she was the type, honestly.
Guess you never know with some girls. It’s the quiet ones, yeah?
” He bobs his eyebrows suggestively, a bark of laughter bursting out of him.
My fingers tightens around my glass. “Didn’t think she was what type?”
“You know…” He flaps a hand around his head. “The type to play bullshit games. I mean, we all figured she was leading you round by the balls, and last night, we really saw it.”
My knuckles go white. “Shut up, Jack.”
The fact that he’s so unconcerned, so sure she just took off, rather than asking if she is okay, says everything about him. I wonder if he’s always been this much of an asshole, and I just never noticed. And if he has…
It sends a pit into my stomach, wondering what it says about me that he—and Bliss—are some of my closest friends. Bliss was the one to start in on Charlie.
She’s the first one to start shit, but then the rest of us just go along with it, laughing like we’ve never heard anything funnier. I laughed last night—Charlie heard me laugh—but I didn’t think Bliss was funny.
Did I?
A shoulder bumps into mine, Jack unbothered by my moody silence. “What happened to her, then?”
I swallow thickly, fighting down a surge of anger, knowing that Jack might be an easy target, but going after him won’t help. He might’ve been an asshole last night, talking loads of shit, but what happened isn’t his fault. Not really.
“She came out of the bathroom,” I say stiffly. “And heard…”
“What?”
“Fuck.” I scrub a hand over my face, swigging my beer. “She overheard us talking about her.”
I hate saying the word us. But I was complicit, wasn’t I? Bliss took my silence as permission. I allowed it, and who does that to someone they love? Just because they weren’t supposed to hear it.
Jack looks confused, but then his expression creases into amusement, a hoot escaping him.
“Oh, fuck. That’s funny as hell. Might teach Charlie not to listen in on conversations, I guess.
Lesson well-fucking-learned.” He shakes his head with a quiet snort.
“I don’t even remember half the shit Bliss was saying, but I know it was bad. And it wasn’t even about me.”
I bite my inner cheek, rage curdling in my stomach like sour milk.
“I don’t get why Charlie left, though,” Jack continues. “She should’ve come out and put Bliss in her place. What has running away ever solved?”
I lift the glass to my lips again, my hand shaking. The glass clatters against my teeth, so I set it down, clenching my fingers into a fist to hide the tremble.
“What would’ve happened if she came after Bliss?” I demand coldly. “Bliss would have torn her to shreds, and you know it. And that’s excluding the fact that she had everyone on her side at that table.” I drop my chin to my chest, muttering, “Including me, apparently.”
Jack blinks, taken aback. “She wouldn’t have…Bliss respects strength, you know that. It’s why she and Marisa get along so well, because Ris always calls her out when she’s taking shit too far. No one else ever has, even us.”
“Marisa tried calling her out,” I say quietly. “It didn’t help.”
“Yeah, well, Bliss and I were drinking before we got there.” Jack thinks back. “Honestly, how bad could it have been? I remember her going after Charlie when she left the table, and Amber joining in. They were just being their bitchy selves. Nothing unusual for Bliss these days, that’s for sure.”
The noise that leaves me is pure aggravation. “You weren’t any fucking better, asshole. Talking about how I shouldn’t be fucking her because of my image, like she’s somehow not good enough to be seen with in public.”
Jack’s head jerks at my tone, right before his eyes narrow. “Oh, I get it. Charlie got her feelings hurt, listening to something never meant for her, and now you’re blaming the group? Me?” He scoffs loudly.
“She’s my goddamn girlfriend,” I shout, slamming my fist on the bar.
Several heads turn our way, other patrons eyeing us curiously, and the bartender glaring in warning.
“The least you assholes could do is show her some respect.” The words land between us like weights, something in Jack’s expression darkening.
“Why would we?” he asks icily. “It’s not like you showed her any.
” I open my mouth to argue, but the words die a quick death before I can even think to give them life.
He sees it, shaking his head with a wry smile.
“Yeah, you weren’t shutting Bliss down, were you?
Not really. That’s just like you, Dillon.
Never willing to rock the boat when you could just smoothly ride it out without ever getting wet. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, lips strangely numb.
Jack’s eyes are mocking when he simply says, “Yes, you do.” He brings his glass to his mouth, tipping his head back, throat working as he drains it. Once it’s gone, he slams it down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m an asshole,” he announces calmly, as if telling me it just started raining.
“I own that shit, and always have. But you?” He huffs out a laugh, gaze slicing to me.
“You hide behind this mask of nice, but really, you’re just scared of being left behind.
” He narrows his eyes on the bruises on my face, cogs turning in his mind. “Where’s Charlie, Dillon?”
I don’t answer him and, after a moment, Jack nods, tapping his fingers on the wood. “I get it. No girl wants to be with a douche who shit-talks her behind her back.”
I snarl. “I didn’t—”
“Yes, you fucking did.” Jack’s tone is neutral, lacking any emotion, and for some reason, that hits harder than anything else.
“Your silence spoke for you, man, so now, all you have to do is decide whether you let Charlie find better. Sometimes, the asshole doesn’t get the girl, and maybe it’s your turn to learn that. ”
There’s an edge to his voice, something pained.
I look away, too torn up on my own problems to give a shit about his.
Instead, I watch from the corner of my eye as he raps his knuckles against the bar one last time.
And then he’s gone, leaving me staring at my beer, wondering what the fuck I do now.