She twisted open a tiny bottle of wine from the minibar and zoned out in front of the television. At nine, her growling stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten in hours. She ordered a salad from room service and picked at it. At a quarter to two, still wide awake, she heard a loud banging at the door. She leapt off the bed and dashed to open it.
Ethan swayed in the doorway, eyes half closed, mumbling something about forgetting his key. The sight of him was almost pitiful: clothes disheveled and reeking, his skin gray. And yet she instantly forgot her anger, her worry. She felt nothing other than relief so overwhelming her knees went weak.
Tenderly, she helped him undress and eased him into the shower, stripping off her own clothes and stepping in with him. The hot water seemed to revive him somewhat, his eyes now able to focus on her. As she wrapped them both in bathrobes, he tried to say something to her, but it was quiet and garbled. She ignored it and led him to bed.
They lay facing away from each other without touching. Finally, Grey heard him grumble something else.
“Mmmsorry.”
Grey shut her eyes tightly. It was easier to pretend she hadn’t heard him.
ETHAN HAD HAD SOME BAD hangovers in his life, but this one was an all-timer. He’d blacked out, which he rarely did anymore. At dawn, he’d dragged himself to the toilet to retch, slumping against the side and resting his cheek on the cool porcelain. Maybe he’d drifted back to sleep, or maybe Grey had been there with him in reality, running her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair and placing a cold washcloth on the back of his neck. He was humiliated that she had to see him like this; even more humiliated that she was being so kind to him when he didn’t deserve it.
He woke up again in the early afternoon, tangled in the sheets this time, head pounding, mouth dry. Slowly, he turned his head to the left. The bed was empty next to him. He turned it to the right. The nightstand held a glass of water and a notepad. He propped himself up on one elbow and took a few tentative sips of water as he glanced at the pad.
Out to lunch. Be back soon. xo.
The familiar slope of her handwriting sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. The previous day began to trickle back to him in fragments. An hour before they were supposed to leave to see Sam’s parents, he’d panicked. What had started as one drink around the corner to calm his nerves had turned into another, then another. He’d left his phone in the room intentionally, an insurance policy so he’d have to come back before she knew he was gone. That had obviously backfired.
He heard the door of the suite open. Grey’s footsteps on the carpet.
“How are you feeling?” Her tone was neutral, her eyes wary. She held a plastic bag at her hip, knotted at the top and fat with plastic take-out containers. “I brought you some food, if you want it.”
“Thanks.” His voice escaped in a rasp. The smell of grease wafted toward him, making his stomach turn and his mouth fill with saliva. He swallowed, trying not to gag.
Neither of them moved.
She didn’t have to say anything. It was obvious. She was done with him.
Finally, she set the bag on the edge of the bed and turned to leave the bedroom.
“Grey. Wait.”
She stopped, pivoting on her heel to face him again, chin tilted up expectantly.
“I’m sorry. About yesterday.”
Her eyes flicked to the floor.
“I’m sure Sam’s parents are wondering what happened.”
He flinched. Sam’s parents. God. He would have to talk to them today, explain everything. Try to ignore the hurt and disappointment in their voices.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated dully. “I shouldn’t have just disappeared. I should’ve told you where I was.”
“Yeah, you should’ve.” Her tone was flippant, but there was an edge to it. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shifted her weight, her eyes drifting to the window, like she would rather be anywhere else but there. He knew the feeling.
He pulled back a corner of the duvet, then looked up at her. She met his gaze without moving. His heart felt like it stopped. After several interminable seconds, she slipped off her sandals and pulled her sundress over her head before crawling in next to him.
He pulled her body against him, her cheek on his chest, skin still warmed from the sun. Touching her seemed to ease his hangover slightly. Maybe it was the relief of knowing that she couldn’t hate him that much if she still wanted to be physically close to him.
“Are you ready for tonight?” she murmured, running her fingers over his chest.
Tonight. The screening. He placed his hand over hers and clutched it tightly.
“No,” he said truthfully. She nuzzled her face deeper against his torso.
“You’re gonna do great.”
“Mmmm.” He shut his eyes, focusing on the way her deep breathing synced with his, his chest rising with hers in perfect unison.
He had almost fallen asleep again when he felt her stir and sit up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“Where are you going?” he mumbled.
“I can’t just lie here all day.” He couldn’t see her face, but her annoyance was audible.
He sat up, too, his head throbbing more powerfully than ever. She had her back to him, the flawless expanse of her skin bisected by a thin scrap of blue lace.
“You are mad.”
She raised one shoulder, more of a twitch than a shrug.
“I was last night. Right now…I don’t know.” She inclined her head to look at him. “I don’t think this is the right time to talk about any of this. We just need to get through tonight.”
His chest tightened. She was going to leave him. All she cared about was keeping him calm enough to not embarrass her tonight.
She stood up and plucked her dress off the floor. It hadn’t even been down there long enough to wrinkle.
“I’m going to go up to the Natural History Museum. I’ll be back by four so we can get ready. Do you need anything? Gatorade? Advil?”
She didn’t ask him if he wanted to come. Obviously he was a mess, unfit for anything other than spending the day in bed. He rewound the last twenty-four hours in his mind, torturing himself by retracing every misstep now that it was too late to do anything about it. It would’ve been emotionally draining to see Sam’s parents, sure, but not insurmountable. He would’ve gotten through it like a twenty-mile run, carried through on endorphins and adrenaline, exhausted but exhilarated at the end. But it had been years since he’d run more than a mile, since he’d been in the market for anything besides a hit of instant gratification.
In that timeline, he and Grey would spend this afternoon wandering the museum—his favorite—together. He’d tell her about how the first time he’d seen the T. rex skeleton on a field trip with his first-grade class, he’d had nightmares for a week. How he’d begged his mother to bring him back the following weekend so he could stare down the object of his terror, somehow both more and less thrilling than he’d built it up to be in his mind.
But instead, she was going alone, and he’d lie in bed waiting for her to come back and dump him. Part of him had known this day was coming since the first time he’d seen her in Audrey’s office. He’d been deluded to believe that things would be different with her, that he would be different. That being with her could somehow heal the ugliest, most fucked-up parts of him.
For a while, it almost seemed like it had.
“No. I’m okay. Thanks.”
She hesitated for a moment before moving to his side and kissing his forehead. Not his lips. She picked up her purse and swept out the door without another word.
After she left, he stumbled to the bathroom, tripping over his jeans on the floor. When he picked them up to throw them on the bed, something fell out of the pocket. He bent down to pick it up: a small plastic bag of white powder. His stomach lurched. He hadn’t taken anything stronger than an extra-strength Tylenol since Sam’s funeral, but apparently last night he’d relapsed without even remembering it.
He considered the baggie. He could throw it out, act like it never happened. Or he could accept it as a sign. The unraveling of everything they’d built over the last few months was already in motion. Fighting the current would only exhaust him. He was going to drown either way.
* * *