I glanced at the Charger, trying to hold back the tears. “I’m pretty sure they already know. You’re not the only one with a poker face, Pidge.”
I left her on the steps alone, refusing to look back. From now on, the love of my life was only an acquaintance. I wasn’t sure what expression I had on my face, but I didn’t want her to see it.
The Charger whined as I drove far beyond the speed limit back to my father’s. I stumbled into the living room, and Thomas handed me a bottle of whiskey. They all had some in a glass.
“You told them?” I asked Trenton, my voice broken.
Trenton nodded.
I collapsed to my knees, and my brothers surrounded me, placing their hands on my head and shoulders for support.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Forget
“TRENT’S CALLING AGAIN! ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE!” Shepley yelled from the living room.
I kept my cell on top of the television. The farthest point from my bedroom in the apartment.
The first torturous days without Abby, I locked it in the glove box of the Charger. Shepley brought it back in, arguing that it should be in the apartment in case my dad called. Unable to deny that logic, I agreed, but only if it stayed on the TV.
The urge to pick it up and call Abby was maddening otherwise.
“Travis! Your phone!”
I stared up at the white ceiling, thankful that my other brothers had gotten the hint, and felt annoyed that Trenton hadn’t. He’d kept me busy or drunk at night, but was under the impression he had to also call me during every break while he was at work. I felt I was on some sort of Maddox suicide watch.
Two and a half weeks into winter break, the urge to call Abby had turned into need. Any access at all to my phone seemed like a bad idea.
Shepley pushed open the door and threw the small, black rectangle into the air. It landed on my chest.
“Jesus, Shep. I told you . . .”
“I know what you said. You have eighteen missed calls.”
“All Trent?”
“One is from Panty Wearers Anonymous.”
I picked up the phone from my stomach, straightened my arm, and then opened my hand, letting the hard plastic fall to the floor. “I need a drink.”
“You need a shower. You smell like shit. You also need to brush your damn teeth, shave, and put deodorant on.”
I sat up. “You talk a lot of shit, Shep, but I seem to remember doing your laundry and making you soup for three entire months after Anya.”
He sneered. “At least I brushed my teeth.”
“I need you to schedule another fight,” I said, falling back onto the mattress.
“You just had one two nights ago, and another a week before that. Numbers were down because of break. Adam won’t schedule another until classes resume.”
“Then bring in the locals.”
“Too risky.”
“Call Adam, Shepley.”
Shepley walked over to my bed, picked up my cell phone, clicked a few buttons, and then threw the phone back onto my stomach. “Call him yourself.”
I held up the phone to my ear.
“Asshat! What’ve you been doing? Why haven’t you answered your phone? I wanna go out tonight!” Trenton said.
I narrowed my eyes at the back of my cousin’s head, but he left my room without looking back.
“I don’t feel like it, Trent. Call Cami.”
“She’s a bartender. It’s New Year’s Eve. We can go see her though! Unless you have other plans . . .”
“No. I don’t have other plans.”
“You just wanna lay there and die?”
“Pretty much.” I sighed.
“Travis, I love you little brother, but you are being a huge *. She was the love of your life. I get it. It sucks. I know. But like it or not, life’s gotta go on.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”
“You aren’t old enough to know who that even is.”
“Thomas made us watch reruns, remember?”
“No. Listen. I get off at nine. I’m gonna pick you up at ten. If you aren’t dressed and ready, and I mean showered and shaved ready, I’m going to call a bunch of people and tell them you’re having a party at your house with six free kegs and hookers.”
“Damn it, Trenton, don’t.”
“You know I will. Last warning. Ten o’clock, or by eleven you’ll have guests. Ugly ones.”
I groaned. “I fucking hate you.”
“No you don’t. See you in ninety minutes.”
The phone grated in my ear before it hung up. Knowing Trenton, he was probably calling from his boss’s office, kicked back with his feet on the desk.
I sat up, looking around the room. The walls were empty, devoid of the pictures of Abby that had once crowded the white paint. The sombrero hung above my bed again, proudly displayed after the shame of being replaced by the framed black-and-white photo of Abby and me.
Trenton was really going to make me do this. I imagined myself sitting at the bar, the world celebrating around me, ignoring the fact that I was miserable and—according to Shepley and Trenton—being a *.