Chapter 20 Ruger #2
We head for the door and push out into the cold night air, Wrenley still grumbling the entire way across the parking lot.
Despite her complaints, she doesn’t wander off or argue when I open the passenger door and close it behind her.
She stays quiet as I get into the driver’s seat and Remi climbs into the back.
All she does is buckle her seat belt and stare out the window like she’s been deeply wronged by everyone around her.
We drive in silence to Remi’s house, though Remi seemingly gets a second wind, deciding we need to keep the party going and get more alcohol. I firmly decline on behalf of everyone in the vehicle. These women need water and a bed.
When we arrive at Remi’s house, she squeezes Wrenley’s shoulder in goodbye and thanks me for the ride. I wait until she’s inside before reversing out of her driveway.
I feel sick, Wrenley mutters, rolling her window down.
We’ll be home soon.
Can we just drive for a bit? The fresh air helps.
I nod and turn in the opposite direction of the house. She hums quietly, head resting on the seat. I think about turning on the radio but decide against it. I’ll take the silence. At least I’m with her and she’s safe.
Ruger?
Hm?
I think I’m going to throw up.
Shit.
I scan ahead and spot the turnoff for an old rock quarry. I gun it, pull in, and stop in the trees. She’s out of the truck before I’m fully parked.
I follow, but she waves me off. Go away.
I can’t leave you like this.
Go! she yells so loud a bird shoots out of a nearby tree.
I rub my hand over my face and blow out a breath, then retreat to the truck. Leaning forward, I rest my arms across the steering wheel and my forehead on top of them.
A few minutes later, the passenger door opens. I lift my head as Wrenley climbs into the truck and closes the door.
Feel better?
A little.
I nod. Good.
This is where I should start the truck and head home, but I don’t.
Wrenley continues to stare through the windshield, absently picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of her jacket.
The fight in her seems to have drained somewhere between challenging me at the bar and vomiting behind a tree.
Now she just looks tired, maybe even a little sad.
A part of me wants to ask what she’s thinking about.
Another part knows better. She’s been drinking, and I know that anything she says tonight is going to come with an asterisk beside it.
What I need, what we both need, is clear conversation, not a drunken confession she’ll barely remember tomorrow.
We should—
Why did you kiss me? she interrupts.
Well, fuck.
I get the glacier, she says, her words slurring slightly, which was fucking romantic, by the way. You know. If it was real. Great first kiss location. But why in the elevator?
I stare at her for a second, wishing alcohol wasn’t the thing giving her the courage to talk. I want to have this conversation with her when she’s sober enough to remember my answer tomorrow, not in my truck in the middle of the night after losing the contents of her stomach.
I know that whatever comes of this conversation is going to require another one tomorrow. Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s waiting for an answer.
That’s a hell of a question, I say because I don’t know what else to say.
You didn’t answer it.
I let out a slow breath. Maybe this isn’t the time to—
No. She shifts in her seat so she’s facing me. We’re doing this right now. We kissed, and we have to figure that out, or we can’t live in the same house.
I think that’s a little extreme.
You’re deflecting, she says, looking more annoyed.
I’m observing.
She points at me. Just answer.
I rub a hand across my jaw. Wrenley.
It’s a simple question, she says. Why did you kiss me?
I let that sit between us for a second because in some ways, it feels unfair. I could ask her the exact same thing. It took two sets of lips to make that kiss happen, and she sure as hell wasn’t standing there patiently waiting for it to end.
But she’s not asking why we kissed. She’s asking why I kissed her.
When I don’t answer quickly enough, she leans closer. Would it make things more clear if I kiss you again right now?
Please don’t, I say. One, you’re drunk. Two, you just puked.
She rolls her eyes. Semantics.
I press my hands to my face, running my fingers over my forehead like I can somehow massage the stress of this conversation out of me. Wrenley—
Look, I get it, she says, her hands now flailing so wildly, I’m genuinely afraid she’s going to accidentally smack me in the face. We weren’t supposed to do anything other than pretend. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Why can’t two people just enjoy kissing each other?
They can.
She gestures between us. We can be those people.
Her eyes are wild, and she has an expression on her face like she just solved something unsolvable.
I’m just confused. A second ago, I thought she was asking the question because she wanted to see if we’re on the same page, but now it’s more ambiguous.
Maybe? My voice comes out a little higher than I intend.
She scoffs. Maybe?
I rub my temples. I’m really trying not to make any comments about our kissing arrangement right now.
So, now it’s an arrangement?
Well—
’Cause I’d be into that.
Jesus Christ.
I need to give her enough of the truth that, if she remembers this conversation tomorrow, she doesn’t think I was just brushing her off, but not so much that we’re still sitting here talking about this when what she needs is to go home and sleep off the alcohol.
I don’t regret the kiss, I say.
Neither do I, she pipes in quickly.
I hold out a hand, telling her to give me a chance to speak. I don’t regret the kiss. I also don’t think we can ignore that it might mean something between us is changing.
That’s deep, she says, her eyes wide.
Is it?
She nods. Definitely. But I feel like you’re leaving out a lot of details and expecting me to connect the dots.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Wrenley, you’re drunk.
Correct.
Very drunk.
Moderately drunk.
I chuckle despite myself, pressing the back of my head into the headrest as I stare out the windshield.
Too drunk to talk about what’s happening between us and whether that kiss has deeper meaning.
I roll my head so I’m looking at her. But I don’t think either of us would care this much if the kiss didn’t matter.
She doesn’t say anything right away. She just holds my gaze, her eyes glassy from the alcohol as she processes what I’ve said.
I… She starts, and then she presses a hand to her mouth. One second. She shoves open the passenger door and leans out. A second later, she’s throwing up into the darkness. Again.
I press my lips together and look away, giving her whatever dignity is possible when she’s puking out of the side of my truck. The passenger door closes a minute later, and Wrenley sinks back into her seat and lets out a miserable groan.
Now I do start the truck. We should get you home.
She makes a noise that might be agreement. Or it might be nausea. Either way, I take it as permission to drive. I put the truck into gear and head away from the gravel pit.
I drive with one eye on the road and one on her, head leaning against the window, arms crossed over her chest. By the time we pull into the driveway, she’s barely awake.
I put the truck in park, circle around, and lift her out in a bridal carry.
Her head tucks against my chest, and I can’t help thinking she fits there too well.
Upstairs, I lay her on her bed, pull the blanket over her.
Her nose twitches in her sleep, and I smile.
As I step into the hall, I close her door and rest my forehead against it.
If tonight has proven anything, it’s that there’s no avoiding it now.
Alcohol may have fuelled the conversation, but now the conversation has been had, which means tomorrow, we’re going to have to figure out what we’re doing… and how fake this marriage really is.