25. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
Abby
T o say I’m shocked is an understatement. The sober, bartending, college guy I met now sits next to me with a drink in hand. Actual alcohol. I honestly never expected him to drink again after learning about his brother. I figured he’d stay sober for the rest of his life. I’m not judging his desire to drink, but I am concerned as to why he chose to drink. Although, I can’t say I’ve never used alcohol to get through a situation, as unhealthy as that is.
He finishes his drink in one more swig before Rose pushes her chair back, anger lacing her words when she says, “I’m not going to just sit here and watch this again. This isn’t you.”
Again?
First Logan says this isn't just once. Now Roes says it's happening again. Does everyone know something I don't?
Rose grabs her purse and storms through the bar, disappearing out the front door. Meredith tips her head back, eyes squeezing shut, and shoots Dallas a hostile look before she takes off toward Rose. I send her a sympathetic look as she passes, but she just shakes her head.
Dallas’s jaw clenches again so much that his ears twitch with the movement. Surely, he knew this was going to cause some problems, further problems, especially with Rose.
He stands and heads back to the bar, taking a seat on one of the empty stools. Logan and I wait, watching him order another drink. Even from here, I can see the whites of his knuckles on his clenched fist.
“I feel like I'm missing something here. Has he done this before?” I turn back to Logan, who sits with his arms crossed, elbows leaning on the table.
“Kind of. He’s been pretty dedicated to his sobriety since Cole passed. After a few weeks, that is. It didn't happen immediately.”
I twist my brows together. “What do you mean?”
“He never told you?”
My jaw ticks to the side and I shake my head. “Told me what?” I ask in a flat tone.
He adjusts in his seat as if preparing to tell me some big story. “He was a mess for a while after Cole died in more ways than one. Who wouldn’t be though?” He pauses, watching as Dallas takes his drink from the bartender. But rather than returning to the table, Dallas stays seated at the bar, sipping his drink this time rather than chugging it. His head is hung low. So, Logan continues. “He went down a dark hole of drinking. He used to drink like most college kids, get drunk at random parties throughout the year. Normal stuff. And then Cole died, and he got really bad. Like, black-out drunk almost every night, binge drinking for like two weeks. He plummeted fast. Almost got kicked off the baseball team. Almost lost his job.”
“Oh.” It’s the only thing I can say, the only word that falls out of my mouth, which just sounds plain stupid right now.
“He chose that path. He knew what he was doing.” Logan shakes his head slowly as if he’s replaying the memories. “I got so fed up with it that I almost moved out, but something clicked and I knew if I left, he’d likely only let himself get worse. I knew it wasn't my job to fix him or change his habits. I knew that had to be his decision. But I told him, and myself, that I wouldn’t leave him hanging like that. So, I stayed, encouraging him to tone down the drinking. It took almost a month for him to jump on the sober bandwagon. I wasn’t the one encouraging him to go fully sober. He actually did that himself. I’m not sure how. He just … decided one day. I had already gotten rid of all the alcohol in the apartment when I noticed it becoming a problem. We successfully kept it out of the apartment for a few months until I accidentally brought some home one night. I panicked when I woke up in the morning, but he said he was fine. It didn’t bother him. I still got rid of it just in case. I guess I wasn’t convinced he was over it.”
“But there’s an entire cabinet of liquor in the kitchen,” I say, wondering when things changed.
His chin dips a little. “At the beginning of this last semester, I brought another bottle home after getting drunk at a party, but I forgot about it for a few days. Dallas never touched it. I asked him about it when I remembered it, but he said he was fine. I was a bit hesitant, but I decided to trust him.” Logan checks his watch. "Until today, he'd been sober for a year and uh," he pauses to do the math, "fifty-four days."
"You've kept track?"
He shrugs. "I was concerned about him. And that's a big deal even if he chooses to ignore it."
"Wait, so I was around on his one year sober mark." Logan nods. "Did you guys do anything to celebrate?"
Logan barely shakes his head. "He said he didn't even want to acknowledge it. He's not proud of that time in his life. So, I just let him be." He pauses and runs his hands down his face. “We’re going to have to empty that cabinet when we get home.”
I watch Dallas take a sip of his drink. He spins the glass on the counter, his eyes staring straight into the liquid. I’m still unsure of what to say here. I hadn’t ever pegged Dallas for a binge drinker. He certainly seemed sure of himself and his sobriety, well, until tonight, I guess.
“How has he managed to stay a bartender after that?”
“Honestly, that’s still a mystery to me. My best guess is he’s too good of a guy to drink on the job. He’d only drink after work and then show up hungover. Aubrey never mentioned anything to me about him actually being drunk at work. Just that he’d get drunk back at her apartment after. I think that’s when their whole friends-with-benefits thing started.”
I blink fast as my head whips back to Logan. “Wait, what?” My heart suddenly pounds in my ears louder than the terrible singer on the stage.
Logan groans and covers his face with both hands. He mumbles behind them, “He never told you that, did he?”
I let out a single, irritated breathy laugh. “Nope.” My jaw tightens as I look back at him. Great. Now I’m sad and mad. Dallas just keeps sipping his drink, completely unaware of the conversation back here.
Logan grumbles again. “Sorry.” His face is twisted together when he lowers his hands.
“Don’t be. I just wish Dallas would have been honest with me about that sooner. Much sooner.” That might explain why Aubrey seems to have such a problem with me even though we've never has a single conversation before. I turn my attention to Dallas for a moment longer. “Should we stop him from drinking?”
When I look back at Logan, he looks more stressed than I’ve ever seen him. Logan doesn’t get stressed, just annoyed. He’s good at letting things run off his back. But this? He’s stressed about this.
He runs a hand through his short black hair. “Yes, but I don’t want him to lash out in public.” He looks at me. “Or at you. And after not drinking for so long, I don’t know how quickly the alcohol is going to hit him, or how hard.”
“So, what now?”
“I’ll go talk to him. See if I can’t get that drink away from him. And I’ll let the bartender know to stop serving him. Just stay here. Like I said, I don’t want him to lash out at you. He would never forgive himself if he did.”
“What about you?”
Logan lets out a humorless chuckle. “I’ll be fine. He’s said some pretty harsh things to me when he’s drunk. Can’t get any worse.” And then he stands up and makes his way to the bar.
He doesn’t go to Dallas first. Instead, he finds a bartender likely to tell them to stop serving Dallas. The bartender nods and I watch as he passes the word to the other bartender, both of them nodding toward Dallas.
Dallas is oblivious. His head remains down, staring at the bar top or his drink, I’m not sure. He doesn’t budge or move seats when Logan sits next to him, but when Logan tries putting a hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off. I wish I could hear their conversation. Or maybe I don’t based on what Logan said Dallas can be like when he’s that drunk. Logan talks for a bit. I’m hoping Dallas is listening to him rather than tuning him out.
Motion from Dallas gets my attention when he pulls something out of his pocket and sets it in Logan's hands. His car keys. Logan talks some more before slowly reaching for Dallas’s half-empty glass and sliding it away from him. Thankfully, Dallas doesn’t try to stop him. Logan must be getting through to him.
I watch a little longer, my appetite for my own drink now completely gone. I push my glass forward to join the rest of the partially drank glasses on our table. Rose’s looks to have barely a sip gone from hers. When I look back at them, Logan gets up from his seat and approaches me.
He nods toward the door with an urgency I’ve never seen from him. “Time to go. He agreed to leave. I paid for the table already. Just grab your jacket.”
I stand, probably too abruptly, but if Dallas isn’t putting up a fight, then I’m not waiting around for him to start. Logan grabs his jacket and returns to Dallas’s side. He says something and points to the door. I’ve still yet to see Dallas say anything to Logan. But sure enough, Dallas gets up and makes his way to the front. He keeps his eyes down the entire way to the car and hops in the passenger seat without a fuss. I hop in the back while Logan gets in the driver’s seat.
The drive home is silent. I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe some bickering, but not complete silence. It’s unsettling.
Dallas leans his head against his hand, his elbow braced on the door, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. Is he mad at himself? Or is all that anger still directed at his dad? And if he’s so upset, should I be concerned about how he will act when we get home? With Dallas, this is all new territory. After dealing with a drunk Sam for so long, it's impossible to keep my mind from remembering all those times he’d come home upset and take it out on me. I would like to believe Dallas wouldn’t do that, but my body is telling me to run. My instincts are so skewed that I don't know what's right or wrong anymore. I take a deep breath and try to remind myself that it’s not Dallas my body wants to run from. It’s the memories I’ve brought with me from Sam.
I can’t do that. I can’t run from him. I won’t. No matter how upset I am that he’s been keeping secrets from me.
No one says a word the entire drive home, and by the time Logan parks the car, my cuticles are bleeding from subconsciously picking at them.
Dallas gets out of the car and makes his way inside before either of us moves.
“Is he drunk?” I ask, watching his figure disappear into the building.
“I don’t think he’s drunk, but he’s got a good buzz going. So, just be careful.” Logan finally gets out of the car and holds the front door open for me.
Dallas leans against the doorframe of our unit, waiting for one of us to unlock it. I reach for his hand, but he pulls back before I make contact. My chest tightens, a fierce ache straining my heart and forming a pit in my stomach.
When Logan unlocks the door, Dallas disappears into his room and closes the door without a word to either of us.
I take a deep breath, kick my shoes off, and hang my purse and coat up, debating whether I should try to talk to him or not. But the only thing flashing through my head is Sam’s drunken anger and items flying through the air.
I think I was a little relieved when I first learned that Dallas didn’t drink. It made things easy. I wouldn’t have to find out what kind of drunk he was. From what Logan told me, he seemed to be a usual college party, drunken shenanigans kind of drinker. But he wasn’t drinking for fun tonight. There weren’t going to be any fun shenanigans.
“You may want to sleep in your own room tonight,” Logan says, his face already buried in the liquor cabinet. Bottles of liquor accumulate on the counter as he pulls them out, as well as a few small shots hidden in the back. When it’s empty, he goes to find a bag from the hall closet to stash everything in.
“Where are you putting it all?”
“I’ll hide it in my room for the night and see if Rose can take it tomorrow.”
I nod as he disappears with the full bag into his room. He returns shortly after and has changed into comfortable clothing. I still haven’t left my spot in the entryway, my feet feeling like they’re glued in place.
He grabs a glass of water and a bag of chips and heads to Dallas’s room. He knocks lightly. “Dal? I’ve got water. You need to drink it.”
A moment later, the door cracks open just far enough that Dallas takes the glass and chips from Logan and closes it again.
“You’ve got this down to a T,” I say.
“This’ll be an easy night. Buzzed Dallas, even if he’s angry, is far easier to take care of than black-out-drunk Dallas. Trust me.”
My heart breaks at the thought of Logan having to take care of Dallas all those nights. I’ve never pictured Logan as the caretaker in a relationship, even a friendship. He’s always been the fun friend, there if you need him, but not the one most people would go to. I’ve asked for his help a few times, but this feels different.
“You don’t seem as bothered as I do.”
He sighs. “It’s a different bothered. I just hide it well, I guess.”
That’s an incredibly sad thought, but at the same time, I’ve been there. Hiding in plain sight. Logan hides better than I do, though. Far better.
“It’s late. You should get some sleep. I’ll stay up for a while to make sure nothing else happens.”
“What else would happen?”
Logan shrugs. “Probably nothing. But he’s been known to take walks late at night after drinking. Not the worst thing. But I don’t want him to do anything stupid if he does.”
“Like what? Look for his father?”
“That or punch a brick building and break a hand.”
“You say that like he’s done it before.” All Logan does is look at me, brows slightly raised like he’s waiting for me to catch on. He has done it before. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Logan settles on the couch and turns the TV on, flipping through the sports channels before landing on a baseball game replay.
I still stand in the entryway, a bit awkward before deciding I should take Logan’s advice and sleep in my own room, not that I’m in much of a mood to occupy Dallas tonight anyway. Not after finding out about him and Aubrey. “Okay, well, goodnight then.” I start for my door but pause again. “Can you wake me up if anything happens?”
Logan tips his head backward on the couch to look at me. “Sure.”
I give a small smile, but it feels fake for the situation at hand. “Thanks.”
I slip into my bedroom and change. I haven’t slept here in weeks. The bed has turned into a storage surface. Books and piles of clothes scatter the comforter. I put the clothes into the empty hamper to deal with later and stack the books back on the bookshelf. The other bit of clutter I toss to the floor.
The covers are cool on my skin when I slide in and stare at the still ceiling fan. The bed feels too big. The blankets feel too heavy yet not heavy enough. I put a hand out next to me where Dallas usually resides when I’m in his bed, but I’m greeted with nothing but cool air and an empty pillow. It’s weird, and I don’t like it.
But again, would I rather be in bed with him tonight? After learning what I have?
Yes. One hundred percent.
Even through my anger and sadness, it doesn't change how I feel. I choose him.
I do still need an explanation, but now isn't the time to dwell on it if I can help it.
All I hear outside the room is the muffled sounds of the sports announcer on TV saying something about a failed home run. That means Dallas is staying in his room. That’s good. It eases my nerves the slightest bit. So, I close my eyes and focus on my breathing and anything other than what Dallas might be thinking or doing right now.
My mind races so fast I can't keep up with myself. What is Dallas like drunk? Should I be more cautious than I'm being? Should I have stepped in sooner tonight? Is any of this my fault?
I’ve seen Sam drunk too many times to count and the only way out of it was to stay silent. I’m thankful Logan took the lead on this because I worry that I might have shut down if things got any worse than they did at the bar. And I’m thankful Dallas still had enough sense to listen to Logan.
Sleep takes me easier than expected, and I’m surprised when I wake in the morning. It’s still early based on how little sun pushes through the crack in the curtains. Through the door, Logan and Dallas are talking. I’m curious how he’s doing after last night.
“Let’s just say, it’s a good thing I’ve only got two more days at Landry’s.” Dallas’s voice is sullen, far quieter than he usually talks. I don’t know if that’s because they think I’m still asleep or if he’s truly that defeated.
“Can you get through the next two days okay?” Logan asks.
“I’ll be fine. I made a mistake last night. A big one. But I’m good.”
“Yeah. You did.” There’s a short pause. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You did this to yourself. You know that. And you know I’m not going to beat around the bush about this. So, figure your shit out before you keep hurting yourself.” There’s another pause. “And others.”
Others. Like Rose, Logan, and me.
“I was so lost last night, Logan. I don’t know what came over me. But I didn’t want to feel like that anymore.”
“You know this more than anyone I know; drinking isn’t the solution to that. I get that you were lost, but you’ve worked hard to get to where you are. Don’t ruin that again. And this relationship with Abby? Drinking will ruin that, too. If you can’t do it for yourself right now, do it for her.”
Someone lets out an audible groan. Likely Dallas. He says, “I’m not going to drink again. But I’m worried I’ve already ruined things with Abby.”
“You haven’t. Trust me. That girl would give her life for you.” There’s a pause again before Logan continues. “She was lost last night, too. With you like that. But you haven’t ruined the relationship.”
“She didn’t check on me last night. She’s got to be mad.”
“She didn’t check on you because I told her not to. She might be upset, but she did want to see if you were okay. I could see the debate in her head. But I told her to sleep in her own room. I didn’t want you to say something you’d regret. I wanted you lucid before the two of you talked.”
There’s a long pause and I almost wonder if their conversation is over. But just as I start to slip out of bed, Dallas says, “Thank you.”
There’s some shuffling outside the door before I hear what I’m assuming is a back-clapping hug. Logan’s next words are muffled. “I’m not leaving you, man, and neither is Abby. Promise. Oh, and one more thing,” Logan says, his last word trailing off. “I may have spilled the beans on your relationship with Aubrey.” There’s a loud groan before Logan says, “I’m sorry. I assumed you’d had that conversation already.”
There’s a drawn-out pause before Dallas says, “It’s okay. I’ll talk to her about it.” And then silence takes over again.
I’ll take that as my cue that it’s safe to go out there. I crack the door and peek my head out to see them both leaning their butts against the counter in the kitchen. I push the door farther open and take a few steps out. They both turn to me and smile.
“Morning,” they say at the same time.
“Hey.” I look at Logan first to see if I can read any sort of warning sign or instruction on his face, but he doesn’t provide me with anything.
“I’ll let you two talk.” He pushes off the counter and heads to his room, giving me a reassuring smile as he passes.
I look back at Dallas, whose eyes are glued to the floor. Based on the conversation I just heard, he thinks I’m mad at him, which I am a little, maybe more than a little, but not as much as he probably thinks I am. So, I approach him slowly.
He takes a sip from his glass of water before setting it on the counter behind him and finally looks at me. We stare at each other a moment before either of us says anything. Layers of defeat create lines in his forehead and bags under his eyes. His expression has fallen into a sad frown but there’s also a hint of concern, like he wants to know what I’m thinking.
“Are you okay?” I ask, placing my palms on his chest. He doesn't pull away from me like he did last night and relief floods my system.
He braces himself on the counter with his hands at his sides and takes a deep breath. “I should be asking you that.”
“I’m serious,” I counter, almost before he finishes his sentence.
He takes a second to think before tipping his head side to side. “Yes and no.”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Okay … can you elaborate?”
“I think…” he starts but doesn’t continue the thought. “Can I ask a question first before I answer that?”
I cock my head. “Sure.”
“Did I mess this up? I need to know if I need to fix this.” He points between us before stuffing his hands in his pockets.
I shake my head. “No. You didn’t mess this up. You have some explaining to do. And I’m worried about you. But I’m not going anywhere.”
His shoulders sag with relief. “Okay, and I will explain.” He pulls his hands from his pockets and hesitates a moment before placing them on my cheeks. “I want you to understand something, Abby. I need you to hear this. I can stand to lose everything in this world except you.”
Those words melt my heart right where I stand. I lift on my toes and give him a sincere kiss, fisting the front of his shirt in my hands. “Me, too.”
He smiles down at me, his eyes softening slightly, and drops his hands. “I guess what I mean by the ‘yes and no’ is that I’m pissed at myself for drinking. After seeing my dad with someone else, it was eating me alive just sitting in that bar. And then he had the gall to try to talk to me about it. That conversation went about as badly as I expected it to, but it still hurt, hearing those words come from him even though I could guess how he was going to answer them. It hurt knowing I was right when I so badly wanted to be wrong.” He takes a sip of his water before setting it back down. “The drinking was a mistake, one I’m happy to pay the price for today.” He presses his fingers to his temples. “I’m sorry I let you see that. I won’t start the habit again. It was a one-time screw-up. I’m holding myself to that. For me, for Logan, for Rose. And for you.”
I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “I trust you.”
“Thank you." He smiles, then raises his brows. "You can ask me anything. I'm done hiding from you."
"Why didn't you tell me? About the drinking after Cole died, I mean."
He looks up at something behind me, a distant stare. “I didn’t want you to think of me differently. And I’m still so ashamed of that part of my life that I pushed it down as far as I could. I guess I pushed it down too far.”
I nod, hoping he knows I understand his reasoning. I’m not entirely sure what to say. I don’t want him to think he made the wrong choice by not telling me, but I want him to know that I get why he didn’t. So, I hug him again instead, because in my experience, actions speak louder than words.
“Have you talked to Rose?”
“Yeah, I already called her this morning. She’s understandably frustrated, but we talked through it.”
“Good.” I pull back, only slightly, my hands still resting on his waist, and look up at him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“I guess it’s more of a statement, but I know about Aubrey.”
He nods, eyes falling to the floor again. “Yeah. Logan told me he mentioned it last night. I, uh, it’s over. In case that wasn’t obvious. I ended it not long after I met you actually.”
“I figured it was done, but I’m more upset that you kept it from me. I mean, you work with her, and she’s your boss, for crying out loud.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I know. Not my finest choice.”
“So, why the secret?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
I cock my head and shoot him a defensive eye. “I suppose, but don’t you think your girlfriend deserves to know you’ve slept with someone you work so closely with?”
He meets my gaze. He looks crushed, disappointed maybe. Not with me, but with himself. “I’m sorry. I know I should have told you, but I knew it wouldn’t go over well. It’s not exactly a phase of life I’m proud of because of our professional relationship. And I hate … that.” He points at my face with a single finger.
“What?” My brows knit together tightly as I take a step back.
“That look you’re giving me, like I’m … faulty.”
I school my face into a more neutral state but hold his eyes. “That look doesn’t mean you’re faulty, Dal. It means I care about you so much that I want to know the truth, and I’m hurt that you kept it from me. That’s all. You’re not faulty, or broken, or any other word rifling through your brain right now. If this is going to work, I need honesty. Okay?”
He bites the inside of his cheek before replying. “Okay.”
"I'm going to ask you something that I though about while laying in bed last night. You don't have to answer. It might press on a memory you're not ready to relive. But I think it's important." He takes a deep breath and stands up straighter. His answer won't change the way I feel about him, but the overarching question is similar to something Meredith asked me not long after I met Dallas. And the memory got me thinking.
"When did you start sleeping with her?"