Chapter Six Drunk Words, Sober Truths
Not the kind of tired sleep could fix—this was deeper. A quiet kind of ache that settled in her bones and refused to leave. The kind of tired that came from pretending. Smiling. Performing. All night.
Jake had been nice. A coworker. Smart, thoughtful, attractive in the safe, put-together way that should've made sense.
But it didn't.
Because all night, she hadn't really been there.
She'd been in her head, listening to a voice that didn't belong to Jake.
Eli would've hated that tie.
Eli would've ordered bourbon, not that overpriced Pinot.
Eli would've asked about your book. Not your quarterly reports.
Every time Jake leaned closer, Claire had felt herself drifting further. She laughed when she was supposed to. She smiled when it felt polite. She didn't even realize the night had ended until she was hugging him goodbye and telling him she'd walk home.
But she didn't go home.
She circled back to the bar. Ordered something strong. Then something stronger. Her stomach turned, but her feet kept moving—until they carried her somewhere didn't really feel belonged anymore.
Eli's door.
Eli and Mandy's door.
She didn't knock.
She banged—fist against wood, head leaning hard against the frame like it could center her, stop the spinning, hold her together.
"Eli," she shouted. "Open up!"
The door swung open so fast it startled her—like he'd been right behind it, waiting.
Maybe he had.
He reached out and caught her as she stumbled forward, his hands warm and sure on her arms.
"Whoa—Claire? What the hell?" His brows knit in concern. "Are you drunk?"
She smirked. He was cute when he pretended not to know.
"What happened?" he asked, glancing behind her like someone might be following.
But it was just her. It had always been just her.
She brushed past him, steadying herself with a grip on his arm. Her line wasn't straight, but it got her there.
"Are you alone?" she asked, voice sharp. "Where's your beloved fiancée?"
Eli blinked. "She's at her parents' place for the weekend. Why?"
Claire laughed—low, bitter.
"Her parents' place," she repeated. "Her fucking wealthy parents."
He heard the edge in her voice but didn't bite. She was already pacing like it was her apartment—like it used to be. Back when it was Chinese takeout and cheap beer and them, just them.
"Claire," he said gently, "what's going on?"
She turned.
"What's going on?" Her voice cracked. "I hate men. I hate you. I hate every single date I've ever been on."
Eli stepped back, stunned.
"Claire—"
"No," she snapped, her laugh half-mad. "You want the truth?"
Her voice dipped, ragged. "Fuck you, Eli."
He flinched. Didn't move. Just looked at her the way he always did when she was breaking.
"Whatever this is," he said carefully, "you don't have to go through it alone. I'm here, Claire. You know I'm here."
Her chest rose and fell like she couldn't breathe.
Then, softly:
"Why her?"
Eli's breath caught. "Claire—"
"How is she better than me?" Her voice trembled. "What does she have that I don't?"
"Nothing," he said instantly. "It's not about better. It never was."
He stepped toward her, voice low. Honest.
"You're everything. You always have been."
The words landed like a confession. Like something sacred and a little too late.
Claire let out a small, sad laugh.
"You always say that," she whispered. "But I go on these dates, and you're in my head. Every time. I picture you. I hear you. And I come home and try to forget, but I can't."
She swallowed hard.
"You say I'm enough?" Her voice rose. "Then why didn't you ever ask me out? Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you—"
Her voice broke.
"Why didn't you fuck me when you had the chance?!"
The silence slapped.
Eli looked away, jaw tightening.
"You don't know what you're saying," he muttered. "You're drunk."
"I know exactly what I'm saying."
He crossed his arms, bracing himself like he was holding something inside.
"I didn't sleep with you," he said, "because you asked me not to be that guy. You told me not to ruin it. To be your friend. And I've been trying to honor that every damn day since."
He looked at her, finally. His eyes focused on hers.
"I didn't ask you out because I didn't think you felt the same. Not really."
Claire flinched.
Not really.
It landed like a gut punch.
"You're a fucking idiot, Dawson."
She turned, eyes skimming over the photos on the wall. Him and Mandy. Smiling. Picture-perfect. A life she was never going to be part of.
"In two months, you're getting married," she said, barely above a whisper.
Her voice cracked.
"And me?" Her eyes filled. "I'll always be the girl who's deeply in love with her best friend."
Eli froze.
Breath. Silence. Pain.
And she started to walk past him to the door.
"You don't get to drop that on me and walk away," he said.
Claire stopped with her back to him. Her next words came out tired and quiet, but loud enough for him to hear them: "We'll always be what if, Dawson. As you promised".
And then she left.
The door clicked behind her.
And the sound was louder than any slam.
Eli stood frozen.
He whispered her name like it was a prayer.
"Claire..."
But she was gone.
And for the first time in a very long time, Eli Dawson had no words.
Only the hollow, quiet ache of a man watching the love of his life walk away.
Again.