“I can picture him saying that.” I place my hands in my lap, really enjoying this ridiculous story, even though it started out during one of the worst moments of my life.
“Racer started chanting ‘Let him dart,’ which makes no sense at all, but before I knew it, Tucker was joining in as well, tapping his glass on the bar.” Aaron looks at the sky, his head tilted back completely. “It was stupid and ridiculous. We ended up racing chairs around the bar until we were kicked out. We exchanged numbers and have been by each other’s sides ever since.”
“All because of wanting to play darts completely wasted.”
“Told you it was pure drunken idiocy. But it was meant to be because none of us would be where we are today without each other. We all had a hand in pulling each other out of deep funks that we were otherwise consuming.”
And he was the one who brought it upon himself.
Sitting quietly, letting the sounds of the night fall upon us, I look to the sky as well, marveling at the stars as they shine brightly, so much prettier than in the city. “Did you drink a lot after . . .?” My words trail off, unable to speak of our breakup out loud. It still stings. It’s still something I think about quite often. Something I question. If I didn’t still feel vulnerable, I’d confront Aaron one last time. I would open up that wound, but I can’t. I’m not ready to be hurt again. I’m not ready to know how I failed him. How he hadn’t wanted me.
It shouldn’t be possible that one man can wreak such havoc on someone’s heart. But this is Aaron. Even though we were only together a few years, he’d been my everything. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to reopen that wound. Even though I’m happy with Trey.
“I did,” he answers. “I hit rock bottom. I’m not kidding when I say I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Racer and Tucker.”
Then why? The question is on the tip of my tongue. If our breakup was so devastating, so debilitating, why break up?
“You’re not a good drinker,” I point out, my memory flashing to that one night, the one that left me exhausted, hurt, and confused.
Aaron must be thinking of the same night because he nods. “I know. I never wanted to be a good drinker.”
“You weren’t a good talker either.” The words slip past me, and I regret them when Aaron dives deeper.
“What do you mean?” He sits up and levels with me. “I was always honest with you, Amelia.”
“I’m not talking about honesty. I’m talking about letting me into your world.”
Aaron runs his hand through his hair and says with a little bit of anger in his voice, “You were my world, Amelia. You were everything to me.”
I play with my hands on my lap as I whisper, “Then why didn’t you ever tell me about your mom? About your brothers?”
Do you know that moment when you realize you’ve said something you probably shouldn’t have? When you think to yourself, if only I had kept that stored away for a lifetime instead of finally laying it out on the table. I’m there right now. From the strong set in Aaron’s jaw, to the way his shoulders have tightened, I know I hit a nerve. I don’t think I’m going to like the outcome of it.
“How the fuck do you know that?” He’s seething, vibrating with such a powerful fury that I could very well see him lashing out. Not at me, he would never do that, but on a wall . . . like he did that one night. I can see that.
Shaking, I start to stutter, “I, uh, I f-found out the night you got drunk.”
“How?” He hops off the truck and grips the side with brute force. Wanting to be on the same ground as him, I get down as well.
“When you were passed out, your mom called. I, uh, I answered your phone.”
He’s silent for a second. His gaze focuses on the bed of the truck and then his strong arm slams the tailgate shut as he yells, “Fuck.”
Oh God, I definitely should not have brought this up.
“Aaron, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it, Amelia.” He walks away, hand in his hair. “Let me know if you need anything.”
And just like that, he’s gone. All I can see is his retreating back, which doesn’t settle well with me. It’s oddly and horribly way too familiar. My heart aches, which is stupid really. He doesn’t need to tell me anything now. We’re barely friends. So, why am I close to tears, wishing I could follow him and hold him close?
I am not over Aaron Walters.
That much is very clear.
Chapter Thirteen
AMELIA
Four years ago . . .
This doesn’t feel right. The lights are off in his apartment, but his car is parked out front. I haven’t heard from him since I text him about dinner earlier today, and I’m worried. He got off work a few hours ago.
Hesitantly, I round my car and go to his front door. I’m about to knock when something crashes against the door, scaring me backward and into one of the front pillars of the apartment complex.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
What’s happening?
Heart racing, hands shaking, my nerves on edge, I take a deep breath and step forward. When I place my hand on the knob of the door, I hear another crash but this one came from the other side of the front room. Despite being frightened, I need to know if Aaron is okay or if I need to call the cops, so I open the door. This is not what I expected. Aaron with a torn shirt hanging off his arms and shoulders, his hair a wreck, and beer bottles scattered across his destroyed living space.
Rage vibrates off him, his shoulders shaking, his head searching for the next piece of furniture I’m assuming he’s going to throw. Wanting him to be aware of my presence without scaring him, I quietly clear my throat and call out to him. “Aaron, are you okay?”
From the sound of my voice, he whips around, his chest heaving, his eyes frantic, and his arms poised and ready to continue their destructive path. When he speaks, his voice is unlike anything I’ve heard from him. It’s pained, yet seething. “Leave, Amelia.”
His demand washes over me. This is a side of him I’ve never seen and frankly, it’s frightening, but I can’t leave him like this. I can’t leave him here to continue to destroy his quaint apartment or harm himself.
So on wobbly legs, I move closer.
“I told you to leave,” he snarls before dipping to the ground and picking up a bottle of liquor only to down a large gulp.
He’s drinking.
He never drinks.
What happened to him? What has upset him so much?
“Aaron, can you put the bottle down? Maybe we can get you into a cold shower or something.”
“I don’t want a cold shower,” he shouts and throws the bottle against the wall. Amber liquid and glass shatters to the ground.
My heart starts pounding rapidly, my body wanting to flee from how out of control he seems. He won’t hurt me. So I take a step closer.
“Leave, Amelia,” he repeats and tosses a chair across the room before he stalks to the back of his apartment and slams the door.