Ryker
Fuck. My eyelids flick open but the light sends shafts of pain stabbing through my head. Jesus. Am I dead? Wouldn’t that hurt less?
My face throbs like I caught a haymaker, my head feels like it might explode, my chest aches, and I basically feel like I ran into oncoming traffic. I roll over on my bed—
Wham.
Fuck. Me. My head threatens to split wide open when I slam into the floor face-first. Who is that sorry son of a bitch groaning like he’s dying?
Oh yeah, that’s me.
“You gonna live, asshole?”
The voice comes from behind me somewhere, and I recognize it as Ian’s. I shift my eyes to the right, but even the movement of my eyeballs hurts.
Jesus, what the hell did I do?
A hand, which I assume belongs to my friend, shakes my shoulder.
“Dude, I gotta get to class and you need to get the fuck off the floor and deal with your car. You don’t have a concussion, but you’ve got a hell of a bruise on your forehead.”
My car? A bruise?
My stomach sloshes as I roll to my side and look up at him. “Fuck, what the hell happened last night?” And how much did I drink?
“I don’t know the details, man, but you fucked up. Bad. Whole right side of your car is trashed. You’re lucky she found you and brought you home, otherwise you’d be in the drunk tank right now trying to explain to your dad why you just fucked your future.”
I struggle to keep up with his words, and the disgust on his face takes me by surprise. “What did I do?” The question comes out quiet, and directed more at myself than Ian.
“You’re going to have to piece that one together yourself, man. Upside, you didn’t puke all over yourself, but you still reek like whiskey. It’s coming from your pores now.”
So that smell of sour booze is coming from me? “What the hell happened?”
“Told you—don’t know. Might want to call your girl.” His voice is further away this time, which explains why I hear the door slam.
Call your girl. Those words unleash a flood of shattered memories from last night.
I roll onto my back and see a sticky note hanging off the edge of the table. Snatching it, I read the words written in short strokes of black Sharpie.
If you want to talk, you know where to find me.
P.S. You’re a fucking idiot for getting behind the wheel.
It’s not signed, but it doesn’t need to be. I’d recognize Justine’s handwriting anywhere.
Piecing together the memories in my head takes longer. I really didn’t think I drank that much.
Someone else pounds on my door, and I haul myself up to stand. My head swims, and I think I might puke.
“Ryker, open this damn door right now.” My dad’s angry voice is unmistakable.
With shuffling steps, I make my way to the door, unlock it, and tug it open. His face can only be described as enraged.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask him.
“Shouldn’t you be in jail?”
My dad’s words catch me like a sucker punch to the gut, and dread creeps over me. “What the hell did I do?”
He shakes his head, and I can read disappointment and frustration on his face as well. “Do you even remember attempting to drive home from the bar last night? And smashing into a guardrail? Or how about the fact that Justine’s quick thinking is the only reason you’re not in jail? You leave me that message and don’t even wait to hear the whole story.”
That’s when I remember everything . . . at least up until the bar.
“Did she call you?”
“No. I saw your friend Ian as I was coming up the elevator. He filled me in on the details.”
“What happened?”
My father’s scowl could peel paint from a wall. “You’re going to have to ask Justine for that story, because she’s the only one who was there. Whatever you did, you’re going to make it right. She doesn’t deserve your scorn for her choices. That girl changed everything once she fell for you.”
My mind, already spinning, jerks to a halt. “Fell for me?”
My father shakes his head. “She’s in love with you, and you’re an idiot who doesn’t realize what she gave up because of it.”
My hands shake, and I’m not sure if it’s an aftereffect of the booze or whether I’m losing my grip. Probably both.
“What did she give up?”
“I offered to pay her tuition if you kept your grades up. She called off the free ride in favor of making it a loan because she had to come clean with me and tell me she was in love with you.”
She’s in love with me?
“I have to fix this.” I reach for my keys on the table and my father shakes his head.
“That car isn’t going anywhere, and you need to clean up your mess. Call the body shop and have them send a wrecker. Take a frigging shower and attempt to look human again. You’re smarter than this, Ryker. Act like it.”
He’s right. I need to clean up my mess like a man, and then I’m going to get the girl.