Page 132 of The Storm

I’ll take his anger for my weakness. It’s a fair trade.

I welcome it.

Come on, Blue. Tell me I’m an asshole. Tell me I’m a coward. Tell me you hate me.

He doesn’t.

Instead, his shoulders drop and his hands fall limp at his sides. Even his face changes. All the fight drains out of him so fast that suddenly he just looks pale and tired. Bone-deep tired. He looks down at the hand still holding the phone and then away with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Okay,” he says.

I frown. “Blue?—”

“No, it’s fine. I get it. And you don’t have to look at me like I’m a puppy caught in a rainstorm. I have other options.” He looks at me, finally, an empty smile on his face. “You should be happy. I hope you will be.”

With those words, he leaves me standing in my hallway with an almost unbearable urge to go after him.

Karma catchesup to me a few hours later when my phone starts to vibrate somewhere between my couch cushions. I spend a minute digging it out and then suppress a groan when I see Bridget’s name on my screen.

I’m surprised it took this long.

“Bridget,” I say when I lift the phone to my ear.

“Oh, good, you’re still up.” She sounds genuinely relieved. That’s not the greeting I was expecting. Kind of expected there to be more cursing and insults, to be honest.

“I am,” I say carefully.

“I need you to pick up Go.”

I turn around and glance out the window into the darkness. I really don’t think I’m Blue’s first choice for a ride right now.

“And why does Go need picking up?”

She sighs. “He didn’t come home, and I was getting worried, so I called him. He’s at some kind of club, and Dia is in New York, and I’m headed to the airport. I’m taking a redeye to Miami, so…”

The pause carries a lot of meaning.

“I’ll text you the address,” she says. “Judging by how he sounded on the phone, he passed drunk a while ago.”

FORTY-FOUR

INDY

It’s beena while since I’ve felt alive like this. All the worries about the shittastic state of my life are floating somewhere beyond the horizon in a sea of alcohol. I’m faintly aware they’re there… but I can’t see them anymore, so it’s fiiiiiine. I know I have to figure out my next step and do it soon, but for tonight, I just want to forget.

I deserve to forget.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the guy I’m dancing with shouts.

You probably shouldn’t.

The fact that the voice of reason is still there is technically a good sign. But then, getting drunk is preferable to wallowing in self-pity over stuff I can’t change.

I take a proper look at him. He’s hot. Tall and lean, with reddish blond hair and freckles all over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

But then he also seems enthusiastically interested in me, which is a bit of a con in my book right now.

“Sure,” I eventually say. “I could use a drink.” I’m still analyzing this situation too much, so I’ll have some shots and get rid of whatever common sense remains.