Ugh.
Someone stop the pounding. It feels like a miner is picking for gold in my skull.
I open my eyes to the ceiling fan whirring around, and it nearly makes me vomit.
I glance around, noticing the trash can from my bathroom has been placed next to the edge of the bed. A full glass of water sits on my nightstand. I lift the covers, surprised to see I’m still wearing the same cut-off shorts and lace-trimmed tank top that I threw on last night before going to meet Danika at the bar.
The bar.
Fragments of images come swirling into my mind. Like a scratched DVD that’s skipping through scenes of a bad movie.
A very bad movie.
I see empty shot glasses and pulpy lime wedges on the bar. I see Danika leaving, kissing me on the head. I see a guy with stained teeth swaggering over, asking to buy me a drink, and then...
Then what?
My mind flashes ever so briefly on a face. A beautiful, chiseled, perfect face. Deep mocha eyes twinkling in the darkness. Rumpled brown hair, sprouting in different directions, as though it’s recently been slept on.
Oh, please God, no.
Did I actually call him to pick my drunk ass up from Hank’s last night?
I search the surrounding area for my phone, finally locating it tangled in the sheets, with only a sliver of battery life left.
I frantically scroll through the recent calls and fight back a groan when I see it.
Last number called: Grayson Walker.
Why in the name of all that is holy would I ever, in my right mind, call Grayson at a time like that?
But that’s just the thing. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was in a majorly fucked-up mind. The kind of fucked-up that only comes after your sister waltzes back into town and announces that she’s getting married to a man who you’ve spent eight years secretly pining after.
Add too many shots of tequila to that mind and what you get is...
Well, me. Last night. Calling Grayson in a state of humiliating intoxication.
I stare at the phone screen again, willing it to change. To shift. To spell out anything other than the appalling truth.
That nothing has changed.
That eight years later, I’m still just an irresponsible child who constantly needs to be rescued.
Unlike Alex. Who never needs saving. Because she’s incapable of making mistakes.
Alex would never go to a bar, get fall-down drunk, and call someone else’s boyfriend to pick her up at three in the morning. Alex would never ignore a rip tide advisory warning on the beach and jump into the water anyway.
But that’s exactly what I did.
I was fourteen.
Alex and Grayson had just started dating. They were playing volleyball further up the beach. The red flag was staked into the sand like an omen but I didn’t care. I dove under the first wave that came my way.
And I didn’t resurface.
The current yanked me under, tugging at my feet, tossing me every which way. I struggled to swim up but I suddenly didn’t know which way up was. Every direction was up and every direction was down. And none of them were right.
I tried to scream, but only managed to swallow water.
I tried to cough it out, but only swallowed more.
I fought until I knew there was no use fighting anymore. The darkness came to take me away as the tide pulled me further and further out to sea.
Finally, there was nothing but night.
I woke to wet sand on my back and Grayson’s warm lips on my mouth. It was a moment I’d dreamed about for months. A moment that was so far-fetched, I knew I had to be dreaming.
Or dead.
I remember the despair that coursed through me as I realized what was really happening. I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t dead.
I was alive.
Because he was breathing air into my lungs.
The humiliation nearly drowned me a second time.
When I coughed out water and sat up, Grayson grinned down at me, the sunlight blooming around his head like a halo. “Hey there, Lil’ Killer,” he panted. “You gotta stop scaring us like that.”
And that’s when it hit me. I would never be the girl he kissed passionately in the sand. The one he embraced and caressed and hungered for. I would always just be the helpless mess who constantly needed to be saved.
I knew that then.
Just like I know that now.
“Lia!” My dad’s voice interrupts my self-pity party, calling from the bottom of the stairs. “I made breakfast!”
I check the time on my phone. It’s ten a.m. I can’t even think about digesting food right now. Or worse, sitting at the table across from Grayson, trying to read his expression through bites of toast. But I also know that if I skip breakfast, I will have to explain why. And if I explain why, I will get a lecture about drinking more responsibly not only from my father, but also from Alex because, ever since our mother left, she’s enjoyed stepping in and taking over the maternal role of the house. Even though she’s never even here.
I stagger into the bathroom, splash some cold water on my face, and twist my disheveled hair back, securing it with a clip. Then I change into a pair of pajamas so no one can question why I slept in my clothes.
Come to think of it, why did I sleep in my clothes?
I’ve been so busy lamenting about my bad decisions that I didn’t even stop to contemplate how I got from the car to my bed.
Did I walk? Did Grayson carry me?
I think about how I woke up. Fully dressed but under the covers.
Suddenly the warm tingles I was getting from imagining myself being carried in Grayson’s muscular, tanned arms are snuffed out by the thought of him tucking me into bed like a fucking toddler.
If he thought I was immature and irresponsible at age fourteen, I can only imagine what he must think of me now.
Clinging onto the banister as though it were a life-preserver, I wobble down to the kitchen and plop myself into a chair at the table. I feel Grayson’s presence across from me but I don’t look up. I don’t dare. I can’t meet his eyes. And I wonder if I’ll ever be able to again.
I can feel him looking at me, though. His gaze is like a laser beam burning into the center of my forehead. He wants me to look up. He wants to share some kind of knowing half-smile, but I just won’t do it.
Whatever happened last night, I can’t face it.
I can’t face him.
“What’s the matter with you?” my sister asks as I pick at a piece of bacon on my plate. Just the smell of the meat is making my stomach curdle.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I mumble.
“Me neither.” Alex’s tone is soaked in acid and out of the corner of my eye, I see her give Grayson a biting look.
What was that?
How much does she know?
Oh God, this is worse than I thought. I should have just played dead upstairs and let them bury me in the backyard. Anything to avoid this unbearable awkwardness.
“Everything okay?” my dad asks me.
I nod. “Sure.”
“You seemed upset. At dinner.”
“I guess I’m just sad that Mom isn’t here to celebrate the good news with us.” As hard as I try, I just can’t seem to force any enthusiasm into my voice.
But as lies go, it’s a fairly good one. During the time that Alex and Grayson were together, I’d gotten really good at coming up with cover stories to hide my true feelings. But in the past four years, I feared I might have fallen out of practice.
Turns out lying to hide your secret love for a man who will never love you back is a skill that simply stays with you.
Lucky me.
My dad smiles weakly. “Yeah. Me, too.”
Alex sneers. “My engagement is none of Mom’s business.”
Everyone falls silent. Dad is the first one to speak. “Are you saying you won’t even invite her to the wedding?”
“Why would I ever invite her to my wedding?” Alex replies, as though it were an insult for my father to even suggest otherwise.
“Alex.” Grayson’s tone is almost chiding. “I think your mom would be crushed if we didn’t invite her.”
“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing you don’t have a say in it.” She tosses him an angry glare.
“I don’t have a say in who gets invited to our wedding?”
“Not when it comes to my mother, no.”
“Alex,” my dad tries. “I know you’re upset with your mom for what happened but—”
“But nothing!” Alex yells, forcefully, pushing her chair back. “She’s not coming and that’s the end of discussion!”
She storms up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
Grayson starts to slide his chair back. “I’ll talk to her.”
But my father shakes his head. “I wouldn’t. Don’t worry, she’ll come around eventually.”
Grayson nods and stands up, picking up both his and Alex’s plates.
“My God,” my father exclaims, staring at Grayson’s right hand. “What happened?”
I follow my dad’s gaze and blink in surprise when I see what he’s referring to. Grayson’s hand has swollen up like a balloon, and the skin is bright red and irritated.
He hurriedly delivers the plates to the kitchen sink and tries to shrug my father’s concern away. “Oh, it’s nothing. I slammed it in the door when I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Klutzy me.”
I can tell from a single courageous glance at Grayson’s face that he’s not telling the truth.
His expression is too stoic. Too controlled. Too rehearsed.
What the fuck happened last night?
But before I can even contemplate why he would feel the need to make up some ridiculous story, his eyes find me from across the room.
It only lasts a second. A fleeting glimpse.
But it’s enough.
Enough to shake the ground beneath my feet. To cause everything around me to tremble.
Enough for me to realize...he’s not just lying.
He’s lying for me.