“I was upset. I snuck it from my mom’s cabinet.”

She looked at Gunnar, and they practically mauled each other again.

“Take it somewhere else.” I pushed Gunnar far enough into the hall, so I could shut the door.

I leaned against the side of the refrigerator and chuckled, looking down at the wine bottle in my hand. Even when they were annoying and dramatic, they were cute.

“Well,” I said to no one, “at least I’ll sleep well tonight.” I was alone. It was safe to enjoy a glass or two.

I screwed off the lid and poured the white moscato into a glass, bringing the bottle with me to bed. It tasted exactly like a twelve-dollar bottle of wine should, too warm and too sweet, but it would do.

I finished off the glass within five minutes and poured another, filling it to the top this time.

Ten minutes later, that was gone, too, and I was pouring another.

So much for only two glasses.

I plugged the phone into the wall and set it on my nightstand, and then I stripped down to nothing before crawling into bed. One of the many good points about living alone was sleeping naked without a second thought.

The sheets brushed against my skin as I spread out beneath them and relaxed onto my down pillow.

The phone buzzed on the surface of the nightstand, and I found myself scrambling to pick it up, giggling.

Can’t sleep. Wishing I were still in the Springs.

I fought the urge to hold the phone to my chest. Watching Gunnar and Kirby’s lovers’ spat, followed by three glasses of wine in less than twenty minutes, made me feel oddly sentimental.

I can’t either. Gunnar just left.

And Kirby?

Yes. They had a fight.

Young love.

I guess.

Don’t be such a hard-ass. It happens.

To whom?

My brother Travis. He fell pretty hard last year. Now he’s married before he’s legal to drink.

How old is he?

Twenty.

So he was married at nineteen? Weird.

Not really. They’re good together.

Oh, so you approve?

If they love each other, sure.

How do you know you love someone at nineteen?

You’ll meet them next week. You’ll see.

It’s a date.

;)

I put away the phone and finished off my glass, feeling everything slowing down. Even my eyes were blinking slower. I stretched out my legs, letting the sheets glide over the tender parts of my skin. I glanced at the phone, grinned, and reached over. I tapped it a few times and held it away from me, waiting until a long tone filled the room.

“You’re still up?” Taylor asked, his voice sounding tired but not sleepy.

“This phone buzzes every time you text me, and I’m lying here, naked, in bed,” I said, hearing my words slur. “I have this urge to put it between my legs and hope you text me again.” I knew how completely inappropriate I sounded, but I didn’t give a single fuck.

For a full ten seconds … there was silence.

“You don’t think it’ll work?” I asked, impatient for a response.

“Are you drunk?”

I pressed my lips together, attempting but failing to stifle a laugh. “Kirby might have brought a bottle of wine.”

“I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I don’t, but I’m alone, so why not?”

“Oh, so you don’t drink in public.”

“Or in private—if anyone is around.”

“I’m conflicted,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s tempting to let this play out. Then again, I know you’ll hate yourself—and quite possibly me—tomorrow.”

“I miss you already,” I said, the smile vanishing from my face. “I tried not to like you.”

“I knew it,” he said, amused. He sighed. “I was a goner on day one. You’re fucking mean, and it makes me absolutely crazy. But in a good way.”

“I’m mean?” I asked, feeling tears burning my eyes.

“Yes, but … shit. You’re a sad drunk, aren’t you? You shouldn’t drink alone.”

“I’m missing it, all of it,” I said softly, touching my fingers to my mouth.

“Missing what?” he asked. “You know, my dad was messed up for a lot of years. He’s made up for it. Sometimes, you have to forgive your parents. They don’t have it figured out all the time either.”

I shook my head, unable to answer.

“Falyn, go to sleep, babe. It’s only going to get worse.”

“How do you know?”

“My dad was a sad drunk, too.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.

“Keep the phone to your ear. Lie down, and close your eyes. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

“Okay,” I said, obeying.

He didn’t speak again, but I could hear him breathing. I struggled to hang on to consciousness, if only to know how long he would stay, but it didn’t take long for the heavy fuzzy feeling to pull me beneath the surface.

Chapter Thirteen

A terrible hangover, Don’s funeral, and the countdown to Eakins made the week one of the worst I’d had in a while. Taylor’s intermittent texts were always a welcome highlight and helped me pass the time until the night before our flight, but the time in between was agony. He hadn’t even mentioned my totally inappropriate late-night conversation, which I appreciated.

The night before our flight to Chicago, I found myself full of nervous energy. Taylor would be picking me up at five thirty a.m. to take me to the airport for our eight o’clock flight.

For the first time in five years, I wished my closet had more of a variety of clothes to choose from. I folded my favorite jeans and set them atop the rest of my things. As a freshman in college, even a weekend trip had called for at least a large rolling suitcase and a carry-on. Now, my things barely filled the rolling carry-on duffel I’d borrowed from Chuck.

Standing over the packed bag, I wrung my hands together, wondering how on earth I was going to fall asleep. It was already eleven o’clock. If I didn’t go to sleep right then, I might as well just stay up.

I frowned. Exhaustion did not fit into my fantasy of how the weekend would go.

Someone knocked on the door, and I jumped.

“It’s me,” a deep voice said from the hall.

I rushed to the door and jerked it open.