Chapter 54
DANNY
When I open my eyes,they immediately sting. I quickly press my eyelids shut and groan.
Damn, what day is it?
I contemplate take the necessary steps to find out—opening my eyes, blinking, reaching for my phone, and looking up the date and time. But that would entail experiencing that stinging sensation in my eyes again. No way.
Instead I stay lying down on my couch and take stock of myself. My entire body aches. Probably because for the past few days I’ve done nothing but drink alcohol, paint, and pass out on my couch.
I start to turn my head, but a stabbing sensation rips through my neck.
“Fuck!” I mutter into the couch cushion.
Serves me right. What the hell did I think was going to happen when I relegated myself to sleeping on my couch, which is a foot shorter than me, these past few days? Of course I’d end up with a million painful knots in my muscles.
But this is what I deserve. I’m an out-of-work art professor. I’m twenty-eight years old, I live above my parents’ garage, I’ve got no job prospects to speak of…
This time when I open my eyes, I ignore the pain of the sting. I zero in on the massive sketchbook sitting against the wall in my living room, on the sketch of Eden I’m working on.
Deep brown eyes gaze back at me and I’m instantly hypnotized. I zero in on that sweet and knowing smile that I’m dying to see in person, on that sexy little heart tattoo to the side of her breast, on those lips I’m aching to kiss…
No way. You can’t. You’re the one who ended things, remember? You think she’d want you back after you walked out on her? After you promised you’d be there by her side no matter what, you up and left the moment things got tough. You don’t deserve her. You’re a disaster. She’d never, ever take you back.
The longer I stare at the painting of Eden, the more wrong it feels.
I don’t deserve to look at her.
I ignore my aching muscles as I force myself to stand up and walk over to the painting. I kick over an empty whiskey bottle and a trio of beer cans along the way. I silently take note of what a shithole my place is with all the food wrappers and empty cans scattered everywhere. I see my phone on the floor. It’s dead. Jesus. I look like I’m auditioning to be on an episode of Hoarders.
I grip the frame of the painting and start to turn it over, but there’s a knock at my door.
I don’t even bother to answer it. I’m in no mood to interact with anyone right now.
“Danny, open up.”
I freeze at the sound of Cruz’s impatient tone. Fuck.
My mind races as I contemplate what to do. He’s probably here because he found out that I broke up with Eden. And I bet he wants to kick my ass for breaking his little sister’s heart.
Another loud and relentless knock rattles my apartment. I sigh, resigned to my fate. I deserve it. Cruz was aching to kick the shit out of me when he saw Eden and I kissing at the anniversary party—and that was when things between us were going well. But now that I’ve hurt her, no question I’m in for an ass-kicking.
I step to the front door, square my shoulders, take a deep breath, then open it.
I take in the frown on Cruz’s face and how it flips to shock. Probably at the sight of me. I’m wearing boxers and an undershirt. I haven’t showered since…crap, I can’t remember.
He cups a hand over his face. “Jesus, dude. What gives? You smell like a dumpster.”
“I’ve, uh, been busy.”
I watch as he scans my apartment. “You trying to bury yourself alive in trash, dude?”
I roll my eyes before I tense my body. I need to be ready.
“Can you save the commentary for later and just get this over with?”
Cruz’s eyebrows furrow together like he’s confused. “Get what over with?”
Closing my eyes, I roll my shoulders, then my neck. I wring out my arms at my sides. “I know why you came here, Cruz. To kick my ass. For breaking up with Eden. And you know what? I deserve it. So here. Free shot for you. Punch to the face. Or the gut. Or you can kick me in the nuts. Whatever you want. I’m ready.”
All the muscles in my body go rigid, and my heart races as I wait for him to hit me. But nothing happens.
I open my eyes, stunned to see the pitying look on Cruz’s face. Welp. Wasn’t expecting that.
“I’m not here to punch you, Danny.”
I sputter. “You’re not?”
He shakes his head and steps past me inside my apartment. He walks over to my couch and brushes off the cans and food wrappers littering it. “I’m here to check on you,” he says while frowning at the pile of garbage on the floor. “And apologize.”
“Oh.”
He walks into my kitchen and emerges with two trash bags. He hands one to me and starts picking up all the garbage in the living room.
For a solid minute, I’m stunned into silence. “This is really decent of you, man,” I manage to say.
He stops and turn to me. “What are friends for?”
There’s a tightness in my throat that seeps to my chest. Damn. Cruz is one hell of a friend.
I get to work picking up my place. We work in silence for the next hour, until it’s clean.
Cruz ties his garbage bag, sets it by the front door, then looks at me. “You got anything to drink?”
When I laugh, he does too.
“Yeah, I think so.” I come back with two beers and together we sit on the couch and take our first few sips in silence.
“I think I already know the answer to this question, but how are you doing?” he asks.
I stare down at my bottle. “I’ve been better.”
“I figured that.”
I run my free hand through my hair, grossed out by how greasy it is. “I just feel like the world’s biggest loser,” I mutter before telling him about how I lost my job at the college and how ever since I broke up with Eden, I haven’t worked for Dream Guy. “I really don’t know where to go from here.”
“I get it.”
“Do you?” I take in the sharpness of my tone. I swallow. “It’s just… Don’t take this the wrong way. But it’s hard to believe you know what this feels like. You’ve always had your shit together. Good job, stable personal life, supportive family, all that. How could you possibly ‘get it’?”
Cruz stammers. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like. And I’m sure that’s infuriating as hell when I say shit like that. I’m sorry, man.”
I sigh. “It’s all right. I just wish I wasn’t such a train wreck.”
“You’re not a train wreck.”
I gesture to the trash bags in my living room, then to my disheveled, unshowered self. “You sure about that?”
“You’ve hit a rough patch. This doesn’t define you.”
I take in the conviction in his tone, how serious he sounds.
“If only it were that simple,” I mutter before downing more beer.
Cruz runs a hand over his shaved head before regarding me. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend to know what it’s like to be you, Danny. I’ll never know how it felt for you to get cheated on and call off your engagement. I’ll never know what it’s like to try and make it as an artist, one of the toughest professions out there.
“But I’m your friend. I’ve been by your side since we were in diapers. I’ve seen you work your ass off. I’ve seen you struggle. But that’s life, isn’t it? It knocks you on your ass sometimes, but you just gotta keep trying. I know you can. I know you have it in you to make it through this, to come out on the other side of this mess better. Stronger.”
I’m stunned at Cruz’s words. He believes in me. And right now when I’m this low, it means everything.
“I owe you an apology too. About Eden,” he says, expression regretful.
I start to speak, but he cuts me off.
“Just let me get this out. I know you two aren’t together. And I’m really sorry to hear that. Truly.” He blinks and looks off to the side, his expression on the edge of pained.
“I had no right to be upset, to interfere in your relationship. Eden’s my little sister and I’ve always tried to be her protector. But I realize now that she doesn’t need that. She’s an adult and can make her own decisions. I have no right to involve myself in her life. Or yours. I’m sorry I did that and for all those awful things I said to you. That was out of line.”
I’m sputtering once more. “It’s okay,” I finally manage to say.
He shakes his head. “It’s not.”
A long moment of silence passes. We take dual sips of our beers.
“I’m sorry you two aren’t together anymore,” he says.
“Are you really?” I’m genuinely curious.
“Yeah.” He narrows his gaze on me before gesturing at my place and then me. “This isn’t just because of your work situation, is it?”
I shake my head.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” he says after a second. “I mean, you were sad when you broke things off with your ex after you found out she cheated. But you weren’t like this.”
“Yeah, well…” I trail off when that familiar lump lodges in my throat.
For a long moment, Cruz doesn’t say anything. He just sips his beer and stares ahead at nothing in particular. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but… I can tell Eden is sad without you. She’s putting on a brave face, but I can tell. She’s in love with you, man.”
I choke on my sip of beer. He thumps me on the back. “Wait, she is? She’s in love with me? She said that to you?”
He shakes his head. “She started to say that she loved you, but she cut herself off. Because that’s Eden. She always wants to show that she’s strong and capable and unflappable. But on the inside she’s sensitive. She feels deeply. She always has. I’m not saying that to make you feel bad. Or to guilt-trip you into trying to win her back or something.”
Cruz finishes by saying, “I guess I just thought you should know.”
“I love her too,” I blurt. “I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone before. I know that sounds nuts—we’d only been together a few months. But it’s the truth. Eden is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. She’s incredible. More than incredible.”
“Then why’d you break up with her?”
I set my empty beer bottle on the coffee table, rest my elbows on my knees, and cradle my face in my hands. “Because I’m a mess. My life is a disaster, and I thought that it would be easier to figure this out on my own. But I was wrong.”
Dread pools in the pit of my stomach. I lean up and stare straight ahead. “I made a mistake. God, I’m a dipshit.”
Cruz claps my back. “You’re not a dipshit, dude.”
“I am. I broke your sister’s heart. And I know that even if I try to go to her and apologize and beg for forgiveness, she wouldn’t take me back.”
I register the way Cruz winces at what I’ve said. That dread inside me burns. It feels like acid pooling in my belly. That face says it all. I’m right—Eden isn’t interested in taking me back, not now—probably not ever.
“She just needs time,” Cruz says. “She’s really hurt right now.”
I nod. Cruz offers to grab me another drink, but I stop him. “I think I should stick to water from now one.”
He pats my shoulder. “Good call.”
I down a glass of water, then plug in my phone to charge it. I plug in my laptop, which is dead too. Maybe I can’t win Eden back, but I can at least try to get the rest of my life together.
I watch as the battery icon appears on my phone screen. I make mental list of all the things I’m going to do when my electronics are functioning again: fill out job applications, update my resume, organize all of my paintings.
A wave of determination surges through me. The upside is that now that I don’t have my adjunct position, I’ll have more time to work on my art. I can even start reaching out to galleries and inquire about possible showings. Just thinking about that has me feeling excited.
An alert sounds on my phone. Then another, then another. I pick up my phone, careful not to yank it from the wall charger since it’s at only one percent battery. I see a dozens of texts from Gavin, Ian, and Jamie.
Ian: You alive? Dream Guy is saved!
Jamie: Tell me you’ve been keeping up with the Dream Guy drama on social media. Catch up, man. It’s wild.
Gavin: Dude!! We’re saved!! I know Eden and you broke up and you’re on some kind of hiatus, but this is huge news! You gotta come back!
I skim all the links that they’ve texted me and am stunned. It’s almost too much to process. I read about how all the Dream Guys teamed up on a social media campaign to refute the blog article that caused the app’s downfall, how Ava decided to publicly defend Dream Guy after all, and how it ended up being Ava’s ex Brock that was responsible for the false blog article.
I scroll through my social media feed and see the thousands of posts in support of Dream Guy. I see article after article in support of the app. I skim a post about how Ava and Dream Guy are suing Brock for fraud and libel.
“Hey. You okay?”
I look up at Cruz, who’s staring at me from the other end of the couch. “What? Oh, yeah. I’m just catching up on all this Dream Guy stuff.”
“Yeah, you missed out on a lot when you were on your bender.”
I throw a pillow at him while I keep reading. Just then my phone sounds with an email alert. When I see it’s from Portland State College, I’m confused. I don’t work there anymore. Why are they contacting me?
When I skim the message, I almost drop my phone.
Professor Darden,
It has come to our attention that the reason for your termination was based on fraudulent information. On behalf of the university and the art department, we would like to formally offer to reinstate you as adjunct professor in the art department. We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused and look forward to working with you again.
“Well, shit,” I mutter to myself.
“What’s going on?” Cruz asks.
I show him the email. He looks stunned.
He starts to say something else but stops himself.
“What is it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing.” But the way he purses his lips, it’s like he wants to say more.
“You think they’re trying to cover their ass by hiring you back?” he quickly says. Something tells me this isn’t what he was thinking of saying, but I don’t push it. Whatever it was, he doesn’t want to share and it’s not my business to pry.
“I mean, now that everyone knows that the original blog post was all lies and that Brock guy is getting sued, it’s a legal liability,” Cruz says.
“I bet you’re right.”
Even if he’s right, something about this doesn’t sit well with me. The college isn’t hiring me back because they feel bad for what they did and want to make it right; they’re doing it because they want to avoid legal issues.
“This is good news though,” he says. “You have your job back.”
I force a smile. “I guess I do.”
I wait for the wave of relief and joy to hit. But it doesn’t. And I know why: because I don’t want to work for a place that discarded me because they looked down on my work as a Dream Guy.
I still love art, and I still want to teach—I just don’t think I want to work for the university anymore.
And I want to keep working as a Dream Guy too.
With that realization at the forefront of my mind, I try and figure out what my next move will be.