Chapter 9
NINE
“Fuck,” I curse, bending over and placing my hands on my knees. I feel so sick I could puke. My head is spinning, and it’s hard to swallow while I’m panting heavily.
I thought it would be a good idea to go for my morning run before work to burn the alcohol out of my system. But not eating anything and barely sleeping the last few days is now taking a toll on me.
And I still have so much whiskey left in my veins. A mosquito would get drunk if it bit me right now.
Standing next to my car in the parking lot where the boardwalk begins, I’m trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.
My thoughts simply won’t stop revolving around her.
I need to see her.
Need to hold her.
Apologize.
Hunter and Lio came home from her yesterday when I was sitting at the kitchen table next to Nash, sipping my second glass of whiskey while Nash was at his laptop, googling how to make a good apology.
If it weren’t so fucking sad, I would have laughed.
Nash told us he had apologized, but she told him it wasn’t real, making me wonder what a proper apology would look like to her.
I have no fucking idea.
Hunter brought her food, and she sent him away too. He shared with us what Tally told him. Sloan is hurt, not eating or sleeping, living in a van that finally gave up on her completely.
She’s not safe.
The way she’s living and treating herself.
Unsafe.
And I can’t do a goddamn thing about it.
So I drowned my sorrows again.
It’s the only thing I know how to do.
Stretching my legs, I let my eyes fall closed and take a few deep breaths, tilting my head from left to right. My muscles are tight with tension I can’t seem to release. I’m just about to pull out my headphones when I open my eyes and see her walking past me.
Almost choking on air, I have to do a double take to see if exhaustion and alcohol are causing me to have hallucinations. But no, Sloan’s blonde ponytail swings back and forth, and her perfect ass wiggles as she makes her way toward the boardwalk, passing me without a second glance.
I don’t even think as I move to follow, maintaining a few feet of distance, jogging along the boardwalk, even though my body protests, warning me that it might make me puke after all. Continuing along the path, I quicken my pace as Sloan does.
She’s wearing a tight black jacket and black tights, and her sneakers thud softly against the wooden planks. Her movements are sluggish, and I can tell she’s tired, worn down by her own demons haunting her.
My heart aches as I watch her. The sight of her so defeated and hurting tugs at something deep within me. I’m responsible for what happened, even though it wasn’t solely my fault.
But I started the fire.
I should have listened to her, believed her, and made sure she didn’t slip away like this.
I keep my eyes on her feet, obsessing over her steps, making sure she doesn’t twist her ankle again. As we approach the end of the boardwalk, Sloan suddenly stops and turns, her eyes narrowing as she spots me. I freeze in my tracks, guilt washing over me like a tidal wave.
I feel like a fucking stalker, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to follow her.
Watch out for her.
She glares at me, her gaze piercing through me as if blaming me for everything that’s wrong in the world.
You’re not wrong, baby.
Then, without a word, she runs past me, back in the direction we came. My heart sinks, but I don’t hesitate to follow her. I can’t let her out of my sight.
Not again.
We race back along the boardwalk, and she’s muttering to herself. Like always, my headphones have no music playing, and I can faintly hear her voice, filled with frustration.
“He’s an idiot,” she hisses, her voice trembling. “A fucking coward. I deserve better, and you know it too.”
My heart clenches at her words. I don’t know who she’s talking to, although I have an idea. If I didn’t know what I do know now, I would still think she’s crazy, like the other times I caught her talking to herself. But now I wonder…
But could that even be?
Fuck, I’m such a fucking asshole.
It’s clear she’s hurting, and it tears me apart to see her like this.
All my fault.
I push myself harder, closing the gap between us. I need to reach her to ensure she’s okay, even if I have no idea what to say or do. I just can’t stand by and watch her suffer any longer.
As we reach the end of the boardwalk again, Sloan slows, her breath ragged when she bends almost in half, starting to cough.
She pushed herself too hard.
Because of me.
She’s not wrong. She deserves so much better—better than me.
But I’m a selfish prick, and I can’t fucking live without her anymore.
Even if it’s hurting both of us.
I finally catch up to her, pulling out my headphones and letting them hang around my neck. “Blue,” I try to keep myself from reaching out for her, my voice gentle but filled with concern. “You okay? Should I drive you home?”
She stands straight again and looks at me with a mix of hurt and anger. “Home,” she spits sarcastically as if there’s no such thing for her.
You can have mine. I’d give you all I have.
She glances to her right, nods slightly, and turns to leave me standing there without another word.
Do you hate or love me? Decide already, Thundercunt.
Walking back to my van, my head is spinning from the encounter with North. I’m so confused about him, about what he wants from me.
It’s like he tried to watch out for me, but I can’t quite figure out his intentions. Maybe he’s just feeling guilty, and this is his way of making amends. It’s a little stalkerish, but that doesn’t surprise me.
It’s North, after all.
Maybe he genuinely cares. He told me he did before everything went down.
Their intentions and so-called apologies are all so overwhelming. I have no idea what to think.
Saylor is silent as we walk before he finally brings me out of my thoughts, his voice warm and reassuring, “Looks like North is torn up about what happened. Maybe he genuinely wants to make things right. People can change, you know.”
I huff in frustration. “He called me a gold-digging, crazy whore.”
Saylor cringes at the reminder. “True.”
“I just know that following me like a psycho isn’t going to make things right,” I say in a softer tone.
But I can’t tell what would either.
“True again, and I’m not saying it’s enough. I’m just saying I can see that he cares, which is something I haven’t seen in a very long while.”
All I feel is drained right now, and I can’t escape the feeling that things are about to get even more complicated. As we approach the van, an envelope tucked under the windshield wipers catches my eye.
Oh please, don’t be a parking ticket.
I have absolutely no money to spare for that.
Standing on my toes to reach it, I tug it with more force than necessary and pull out the paper, surprised to find that it’s a poem. Nash’s handwriting is messy and not that easy to read.
Words are my thing, you know, my heart laid bare,
With words I should have spoken, the weight I couldn’t bear,
I’m sorry for the times I faltered and fell short,
For not standing up for you, for not holding your fort.
I should have acted, been your shield, your guide,
But fear held me back, and my feelings I tried to hide,
I should have stepped up, been the one to defend,
But I failed you then, my courage at its end.
There’s more, but I lower the paper, my energy drained and a sense of bewilderment clouding my thoughts as I turn my gaze to Saylor. “A poem?”
The words are a bit cringy, but it’s clear that he put some effort into it.
Saylor chuckles softly. “I know he’s not Shakespeare, but that’s Nash’s way of expressing himself. He’s never written a poem for anyone before or even showed them to anyone. He has stage fright, so even if it’s shit, you should feel honored.”
I’m looking back down at the paper when I turn to walk up to the side door of the van, almost tripping over a Tupperware container.
I crouch to find it full of what looks like chocolate chip cookies.
“Ooh, they are so good. Hunter makes the best cookies.” Saylor smiles before it falls from his face again. “Fuck, I miss food.”
Rolling my eyes at the absurdity of it all, I groan, “I can’t deal with them. Why are they suddenly everywhere?”
They were just there before, and now they are everywhere I turn. Literally.
Saylor pulls me from the turmoil brewing within when he says, “You mean more to them than you realize.”