In a blink, Will’s in the car next to me, and we’re driving to the club. When we get there, Will stops in front of the building, kills the engine, and squeezes the steering wheel in his hands tightly. His jaw clenches and his face grows red as his hands slam against the wheel three times, the pounding sound making me flinch.
“I’m so sorry, Maddy. I never wanted this for you, and I’m just…I’m sorry,” he says, getting out of the car, but stopping before the door shuts completely. “Take all the time you need. I’ll leave the doors all unlocked. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but make sure you really want to know it.”
When the door closes gently behind him, I begin to bawl. I don’t stop for hours, and I never go inside the club.
Chapter Eleven
Maddy
There’s something to be said about hitting bottom. There’s comfort in it, knowing that no matter what comes along, nothing—absolutely nothing—can pull you any lower than you already are.
I thought losing Evan was bottom, and living with the guilt that there was a part of me that didn’t want to marry him—that evaded the conversation that last day, before he left, making sure he didn’t ask.
That wasn’t even close to the depths I’ve fallen in the last twenty-four hours. I’m so far below bottom, I’ve burrowed into the earth.
I walked home under the stars. It was after midnight by the time I made it to my parents’ house, and they were still busy entertaining sponsors to notice me. I crawled into my mattress bed next to my snoring best friend, and it’s like she knew, opening her arm and letting me snuggle up next to her. I never slept, and I’m awake now, the morning light not stopping for me or my misery. I’m wrapped in the blanket my mom saves for guests while I watch my friend tug a travel hairbrush through her tangled red strands.
“You look like Annie,” I say, smiling on the side of my mouth that’s mushed into my pillow.
Holly doesn’t turn around, but she gives me the finger with her free hand. She hates Annie jokes. She’s gotten them most of her life. She’s exactly how I picture Annie growing up, though—if she became a nurse, drank like a sailor, and brought home strange men from the bar.
“You ready to be coherent about whatever the hell happened last night? I know you weren’t drunk. And I know you were upset. I didn’t have that much wine,” she says.
I roll so my face is buried into the pillow, and I pull the blanket around my head, blocking all of the light. I don’t know why telling Evan’s secret makes me feel ashamed, but it does—like I’m admitting I wasn’t good enough for him to remain faithful.
“Evan…had a baby,” I say, my voice muffled by the mattress and linens.
“What the shit?” Clearly, not so muffled it couldn’t be heard.
I roll to my back and kick the blanket down my legs, watching as my friend’s eyes move down my body, to the dress I’m still wearing from the night before.
“Girl, it’s like, even worse than the walk of shame. You didn’t even get to orgasm,” she says, sitting on the end of the mattress and tugging the end of my dress down my knees. “At least let me make you look modest.”
I laugh, barely, and pull myself up to sit, pressing my palms into my swollen eyes.
“You wanna talk about it?” she shrugs.
The easy answer here is no. I don’t ever want to talk about it. Evan’s dead, and my last four, five…hell eight years may have been a total lie. I want to pretend none of it happened, but then pretending that would erase parts of Will, too. The last several days.
The last eight years I’ve been noticing him and trying to pretend I wasn’t.
“There’s not much to talk about, really. I saw a text from the girl to Will, and I sorta jumped to one conclusion, and when he corrected me, I’m not sure what conclusion was worse—the one I had wrong, or the truth,” I say.
“I’m only half following you here,” she says, pulling her purse into her lap and taking out a packet of mints. She hands them to me, and I take four. Her eyebrow lifts.
“I threw up. My mouth tastes horrible,” I say.
My friend hands me two more, then puts her mints away.
I manage to stumble my way into the bathroom and splash water on my face, leaving my dress in a pile on the floor, and putting on a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt, twisting my hair into a bun. This is as put-together as I think today is going to get. When I step back into my room, my friend has her keys in her hand, and I frown immediately.
“I’m sorry, babe. I’d stay, but I have so much to get done before tomorrow. The hospital has been so busy, and I have two tests this week,” she says.
I sigh heavily then move toward her open arms, letting her hug me.
“Look, I’m not sure I understand everything, but I do understand one thing that I don’t think you should lose sight of,” she says.
“What’s that?” I ask, my face muffled against her shoulder.