Page 75 of Drowning Erin

“If you’re planning to get back with Rob, I don’t know why you’re flirting with that guy.”

“I wasn’t flirting. He said he recognized me, and we were trying to figure out from where. And since when do you care? You invited me to this thing and then ditched me.”

“I care,” he says angrily.

He pulls me into the poorly lit hall, and I look up at him, watch as his eyes darken, pupil overcoming iris. He pulls me tight against him, and as much as I don’t want to forgive him, I can feel myself softening.

“I want to take you home now,” he says, his voice low, skimming my skin.

It’s a weird, primal thing, the way just the sound of his voice and the look on his face can create this shift inside me, making my skin feel stretched too tight over my bones, lips tingling, everything so sensitive, seeming infinitely fragile. I go from feeling nothing to feeling everything in a second. Not that I’ll let him know that.

“Maybe I don’t want to go home with you. You talked to pretty much every girl in this bar but me. I’m sure one of them will be game.”

His lashes lower, his mouth hovering so close that I swear I can feel it before it touches mine.

“I don’t want to take any of them home, Erin. And you don’t want me to.”

“I’m still pissed,” I say. But the words are slightly breathless, unconvincing.

“I know,” he says, “but I can probably do a thing or two that will make you forgive me.”

* * *

As we drive back down the mountain in utter silence, I try to figure out what happened tonight, why he acted like he didn’t care that I was there and then did a 180. I glance over at him, making out the the silhouette of his jaw in the moonlight—blade sharp, his mouth grim. He’s every bit as unhappy as I am.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

It takes him a second to reply, and he sounds reluctant when he does. “I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have pulled you away from that guy. You probably should be meeting people. Seeing what’s out there.”

My heart begins a long, dizzying spiral downward. I don’t want to meet guys. I don’t want to meet anyone who isn’t Brendan or be with anyone who isn’t Brendan. And I don’t want him to want me to.

“Why?”

“Rob’s going to push hard to get back together. You should know what your options are, before he comes home.”

I could tell him I don’t want options. That I can’t imagine getting back together with Rob now. Except that would puncture the bubble, wouldn’t it? The fact that we should not be doing this, that we both believe this must end, is also what makes it possible.

We get to his apartment, and there are no slow kisses, no leisurely removal of clothes. It is quick and silent—as if it is urgent, or as if he wishes it weren’t happening at all.

* * *

Brendan’s cell rings late that night. Another call he rushes to the other room to take. I remain in bed, but even from where I lie, I can tell the girl on the other end is yelling at him. I wonder if it’s Gabi, or maybe someone else, just as besotted as me, who can’t seem to move on.

Either option is painful, because whoever this girl is, he’s still taking her calls. Which most likely means she still matters to him, and if tonight was any evidence, she probably matters more than me.

51

Erin

Present

Several nights later, a phone rings in the middle of the night again. The calls to him have disturbed me so much that it’s actually a relief to discover it’s for me.

I grab it on the second ring and take it to the other room, but a minute after I’ve settled on the couch and begun trying to soothe my father, Brendan follows me.

I wave him off. “Go back to sleep,” I whisper.

I don’t want him here for this. The two times we’ve driven to Denver, my father was comatose. This—my father sobbing—is worse in some ways.