Chapter Thirty Harriet #2
Another sip of my drink.
“Maxwell. But he died. Which was too bad. He was the only one of them I actually liked. I mean, I like my dad of course, but…” I shake my head. “You get it.”
I think I might be a little drunk.
Nic nods. “Oh wow, yeah. I remember that. A boating accident, right?”
I look at him with surprise. I don’t think I ever talked about any of this back in the day; I was mostly focused on turning my brain off. It was only toward the end of those two weeks that we started sharing anything personal. And that’s when I ran.
“Yeah. It was awful. My mom was a mess after. I think it killed her faith in love. Which, let’s be honest, was minimal to begin with. A couple years later, she ran into George, and that was that. They’d dated back in high school, and he was filthy rich. An irresistible combo.”
Nic runs his thumb over the condensation beading on his glass. “Or maybe, like Matthew’s mom said, even though he was horrible, it seemed safe, because she’d known him for so long.”
“I think you’re giving her too much credit.
Pretty sure the size of his bank account had more to do with it than anything.
” I take the remaining sip of my drink, and my stomach growls, a reminder I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. “Anyway, if we’re going to continue talking about my mother, I need another bourbon.
We aren’t exactly what you’d call close.
I’m pretty sure I’ve been consistently disappointing her since birth. ”
Nic tilts his head. “How’s that possible? You went to NYU. You had a great career—”
“Had being the operative word,” I say, motioning to the bartender. I know I said I’d stop at two, but I need to wash this conversation down with something stronger than water. “Want anything?”
He’s barely touched his drink, but now he takes a long drag of it. “Actually, yeah. I’ll take another.”
“Great.” I order two bourbons and a plate of french fries, then continue.
“Currently, I am a failure because I’m twenty-six and single.
At my age, she was married with a baby after all.
No matter that her parents pushed that marriage on the two of them, and they broke up before I even turned two.
I’m unemployed. Freeloading under her roof.
Plus, she’s never been shy about letting me know that I ruined her life. You know, unplanned pregnancy and all.”
“That’s awful, Harriet,” Nic says quietly.
“It is what it is,” I say with a smile, raising my drink. “Cheers.”
His expression grows serious. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“What?” I ask, pulling my glass back. A flicker of embarrassment runs through me.
“Blow things off like that. Make a joke out of everything. You can tell me stuff. I want to…” He shakes his head.
“Well,” I say when it’s clear he’s not going to finish his sentence. “At least I escaped for a while. But it’s like I said in the car: The island’s always felt way too small. Especially after Kozel did what he did.”
“You mean after he ghosted you?” he says sardonically. He’s not being mean exactly, but his meaning is clear. Kozel did to me exactly what I did to him.
Heat flushes my cheeks. “I guess.”
“Shit,” he says off my expression. “I didn’t mean…
Look, it’s okay. Back then, was I pissed and hurt?
Yeah. I was. I thought we— It doesn’t matter what I thought.
And then at the party when you didn’t recognize me, all those latent feelings popped back up.
But it’s been eight years. I know I look different. I get it. We’re fine. It’s cool, okay?”
He sounds like he means it, but I can’t let myself off the hook that easily.
“Nic, no. It’s not. I acted like an ass.
As soon as things started getting real between us—that night at my house.
You came over, cooked me dinner, like you were my boyfriend, and started asking me all those personal questions.
I could tell you actually cared about my answers.
I got totally freaked out. I went into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror, and it was like…
I don’t even know. Like everything that had happened over the course of that month crashed into my brain, and I just wanted to run away from it all. ”
“You don’t have to do this—”
I nod emphatically. “Yes. I do. I should have talked to you, at the very least, instead of disappearing. I’m sorry.
You deserved better. You’re the guy who tried to patch up my broken heart when I was quite literally blinded with grief.
You’re the guy who’s set aside your resentment toward me in order to help your sister.
You’re the guy who stayed behind on the island to help your mom instead of leaving. You’re amazing.”
His eyes soften at the edges. “Harriet—”
And just like that, reality slams back in at the sound of my name. What am I doing? I’ve said too much. I feel naked. Raw. Exposed.
“Anyway!” I down half my bourbon in one fell swoop, coughing as the burn of the alcohol smacks against my throat. “Shit!”
I lean forward, pressing my hand over my mouth, trying to get the rest of the liquid down so I don’t spray it all over the bar.
“Are you okay?” Nic says. His hand lands on my back, softly patting.
I hold up a finger.
After a minute, my coughing finally subsides. “Jesus,” I choke out, wiping the tears from under my eyes. “That’s what I get for being so fucking sincere. Gross. I don’t know what came over me.”
Nic rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s appreciated. I know, gross. But it is.”
An hour later, I am properly drunk.
Exactly what I promised myself I would not be. Whoops.
I’m clinging to Nic’s arm as we walk into the brightly lit lobby. He smells so good. His arm is so solid. He’s so kind, reliable, steady. So different from every other person in my life.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he steers me toward the elevator bank.
“I’m fine. Why?” I slur. “You know, I’m a real dumbass for not recognizing you at my party. I should have known who you were. I should have invited you.”
Nic presses the button for the elevator, and the doors open.
“I’m serious,” I say as we walk inside. “You’re awesome. You’re the best.” I lean into him, into his warmth. I nuzzle my nose into his armpit.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, patting my shoulder.
The word bed sends a jolt through me. “Are we sleeping together?”
I feel him stiffen. “What?”
Oh god. That sounded bad. “No, I mean. Not like that. In the same bed. There’s only one. Bed, I mean.” Even in my drunken state, I’m aware I should stop talking. I pop my mouth shut.
“You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
The elevator stops, and I tumble out of it, Nic catching me by the back of the arm before I face-plant onto the tattered carpet.
I bat my lashes at him. “We could have another drink from the mini fridge.”
“Or,” he says, “you could get some sleep.”
“Or!” I counter. “We could get some more whiskey.”
He pats his pockets. “Where’s your key? I think I left mine in the room.”
“Here?” I hold it up, and he snatches it from my fingers. “Hey!”
He steps past me to unlock the door, and I lean in, rising onto my toes to lick the curve of his neck.
I lick. His neck. I’m drunk but not so drunk that I don’t immediately realize that was fucking weird.
He turns, wiping at the spot. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“Did you just lick me?”
If only the floor would open up and swallow me whole. “No?” I venture.
He raises a brow. “Uh-huh.”
“I…”
I look up into his eyes and lose my train of thought. He’s so close his breath tickles my cheek.
“Hey,” I say, leaning into him. “Hi.”
Jesus Christ, I want him.
Our bodies connect, my chest pressing against his. My hands find his waist, the seam of his shirt, fingertips slipping under, dancing over ripples of muscle, across his skin. He’s so warm, so alive, so close. Such a good brother, son, friend. He’s…so fucking hot.
“I remember, back then,” I murmur. “How it felt to kiss you. How it made everything else in the world disappear.”
“Harriet,” he sighs my name low. “I…”
“Shh.” My fingers roam, finding the soft trail of hair that runs down off his belly button. I follow it down, down, down…
His Adam’s apple bobs. He reaches up and plants his hand over mine. “Harriet.” He clears his throat. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not—” I start to protest.
“You are. And…” Another sigh. An exhale. “This… I can’t. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking so clearly.”
He shakes his head and gently pushes me away, turning back to the door.
My heart sinks as he pushes it open. I trail in behind him with my tail between my legs, and he tugs apart the bedsheets. “Here. Get some sleep, okay?”
I sit at the edge of the bed, slip my shoes off, and by the time I look up, he’s disappeared into the bathroom. I’m still in his hoodie and my slacks from the memorial, and I slowly unzip the top, hoping he’ll reappear.
He’s still in there by the time it’s off, and I decide to lie down for just a moment to wait.