Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
I was bordering on psycho stalker status the number of times I’d called her. Her phone went straight to voicemail every time, thankfully saving me the uncomfortable task of explaining why I was calling her every two minutes, without fail, for hours.
I was actually beginning to weird myself out.
I know that I need to put my phone away, to put the bottle of tequila away, to stumble my way home and go to bed, sleeping off this worry-induced intoxication.
But no matter how many times I try to reason with myself, I still can’t force my legs to stand, my feet to move, or my arms to lock up the bar.
Dani left shortly after my third shot, promising to check in on me later, with more false assurances that everything was fine.
When she called an hour ago, I’d sent her call to voicemail, then laughed at the irony.
Looking at the screen of my phone, I see that it’s nearly two o’clock in the morning. With one last attempt, I dial Grace’s number again.
Voicemail.
A-fucking-gain.
With a heavy sigh, I stand and stumble to the door of my office, slamming my hip on the corner of my desk on the way.
“Shit!” I groan, the pain searing through my side. “Fuck it,” I slur, turning the light switch off and snagging the cushion from one of the chairs. Dropping to the floor, I tuck the pillow under my head and close my eyes, the world sloshing from side to side.
Chuckling, I mumble, “Just like home sweet home.”
Just before I pass out, a memory of my mother flashes in my mind, the pain of that day as fresh as if it were yesterday.
“You’re abandoning me?” she moaned, her eyes glassy and unfocused.
I scoffed, not even bothering to answer as I continued shoving my shit in a bag. There wasn’t much, seeing as how I had spent my teen years blowing every dollar I ever earned on booze or drugs. I wasn’t about to waste money on things like clothes or possessions.
The trailer we lived in was in the worst part of town and had been burglarized so many times I’d learned from an early age not to keep anything of value.
“Where ya gonna go, boy? No one in this town likes you.” Her words are slurred, no doubt from the bottle of vodka she’d had for breakfast.
“Anywhere that you’re not,” I snapped back, finally meeting her gaze.
She’d been pretty once, my mother. But that was a long time ago. Now she just looked used up—because she was. She’d spent her life doing whatever she had to do to get her next bottle of liquor. Well, whatever she had to do except actually working for a living. Not that she could have held a job anyway.
“Please, Son, don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.” Her lip began to quiver and shock jolted me.
I’d never seen my mother cry, not even when my father died. For a brief moment I hesitated.
Her eyes lit when she saw my hand still. “You’ll stay?” Her voice was optimistic, her speech still nearly unintelligible.
“No,” I told her firmly, but gently. I may hate her for the years of neglect and all the nights I spent pining for someone to come to my school plays, football games, or, hell, even cook me a meal, but I’m not cruel.
I’m not her.
“Fuck you then. If you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back,” she screeched, the hope in her eyes morphing to spite in less than a second.
I cleared my throat, and without raising my voice told her, “I am not abandoning you. You would have had to been here for that to be the case. You fucking abandoned me the moment you conceived me. Sure, you lived in this place, most of the time at least, but you were never really here.”
Her eyes widened, her toothless gums flapped wordlessly.
“Best of luck to you,” I finished, slinging the ratty duffel bag over my shoulder and striding through the door without another backward glance.
The sudden pain in my ribs jolts me to consciousness. My mouth is dry, my tongue thick, and along with my ribs, my head pounds.
Groaning, I roll to my side, careful to avoid my sore side and push up on an elbow. I look around, trying to gauge my surroundings when my sister’s voice invades my ears.
“Bronnson? What the fuck are you doing on the floor?” she snaps, dropping to her knees beside me.
It’s a question I don’t immediately have an answer to. The events of last night are a hazy blur. I try to focus on her face, but my vision is swimming and a wave of nausea rolls in my stomach.
I swallow hard and shake my head, only to have it remind me that any movement is a bad idea.
“I don’t know,” I groan.
Dani grabs my arm and helps me to my feet, but I’m still woozy and collapse into the closest chair.
“I think I was roofied,” I say lamely, attempting a joke that falls painfully flat.
I already know what she’s going to say, and I’m not in the mood for one of her lectures, no matter how badly I probably need it.
“Bronn…” she trails off, her face full of concern. She doesn’t want to play the role of my mother any more than I want her to.
Besides, I already know that I need to lay off the booze. My pounding head is proof positive of that one.
She squats in front of me, getting directly in my line of vision and hands me a bottle of water, waiting while I drain it. When I hand the empty plastic back to her, she grabs another bottle out of her purse and twists the cap before dumping a handful of pain relievers in my outstretched fingers.
I smile weakly, my only attempt at thanking her, and pop the pills, downing bottle number two of water.
“Have you heard from Grace?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.
I shake my head only a fraction of an inch before thinking better of it. “Nope. Although I’ve been asleep for a while, so it’s possible she called while I was passed out.”
Dani pushes to her feet and shuffles over to my desk, shoving papers out of the way until she locates my phone. After bringing it back to me, she flops into the chair across from me and waits patiently for me to check my missed calls.
None from Grace.
Seven from Dani.
I glance up and shake my head. “Sorry,” I tell her, apologizing for making her worry.
With a slight shrug she smiles sadly. “Don’t worry about it. You’re fine. That’s all the matters.”
A pang of guilt hits me in the gut, followed quickly by anger at myself for making her worry in the first place.
I’ve got to stop being such a selfish asshole. And, a pathetic prick that immediately assumes the worst just because my girlfriend got tied up.
I check my texts while Dani and I sit in silence, and I’m surprised to see one from Grace. It’s just as short as the one yesterday.
Grace: I’ll be staying here until Thursday. Need to get some stuff sorted out.
Without a word, I turn the screen toward Dani so she can read the message.
She tilts her head to the side, chewing on her lip, her signature look when she’s trying to figure something out. Finally, she looks up.
“What’s going through your head?” she asks.
“A fucking freight train.” I grimace and she laughs.
“Sorry, but you did that to yourself.”
I don’t disagree, but give her a hard time. “Where’s the sympathy?”
“You don’t deserve my sympathy.” She’s still smiling, not truly meaning it. “She’s probably just got a lot to do.”
This time I shake my head despite the way my brain protests. “This isn’t like her. She’s never gone more than a couple hours without texting me.”
“But she did text you,” she argues.
Waving my phone toward her, I counter, “Those impersonal fucking texts aren’t what I mean.” Pulling the message back up, I type out a response.
Me: Call me.
I don’t expect to get an answer, so I’m shocked when I see the message bubble pop up indicating she’s typing. After a few tense seconds, her message comes through.
Grace: I can’t talk right now.
My lips thin and my chest tightens.
Me: Why the hell not?
Yesterday, I was upset and I’d thrown myself a pity party.
But I wasn’t sad today.
No, I was fucking pissed.
I would never go MIA on her the way she had gone on me.
Grace: I just need to be alone. It’s not you, I promise.
Me: Well, if it’s not me, then what is it? Because the way you’re avoiding my calls, it sure as fuck feels like it’s me. And I thought you weren’t alone. What about Riley? Is he helping you figure things out?
Grace: I can’t do this with you right now, Bronn. Please.
Me: Oh, so that’s how you’re going to play this? Won’t fucking talk to me on the phone, won’t even tell me why?
Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m being a dick. She’s at her grandmother’s house, clearing it out. She’s probably just going through a lot, the emotional toll more than she was expecting. But, that’s what I’m here for. Or at least, that’s what I thought before she went ghost on me.
Grace: I’ll be home Thursday night. I’ll tell you everything then.
Me: So then, there is something to tell?
Grace: Yes. A lot.
The tightness in my chest grows the more vague responses she sends.
Me: Then tell me now, I’ll help you.
Grace: I just need some time to myself.
Me: So you’ve said. Are you sure that you don’t need space from me?
Grace: Jesus, Bronn. You’re being ridiculous. This has nothing to do with you. NOTHING. Please, just leave me alone for a little while.
Fuck, why did that hit me so hard?
Oh, right, because I don’t want to leave her alone.
I want to be with her.
I want to help her with whatever the fuck is going on right now. I don’t even know what it is, but I know that whatever this thing is, I could handle it with her. But she won’t even let me try.
She’s the only person I’ve ever told about my mother. Dani knew, but not everything. She never asked the questions and I never volunteered the information. She didn’t need to ask anyway, she saw for herself how rough my childhood was.
But I’d told Grace. She knows all about how my mother tossed me to the wayside and then my father.
She knew exactly how that had affected me.
And here she is doing the same goddamn thing.
So if Grace wants to freeze me out, to leave me here while she does God knows what in Columbia, then so be it.
I won’t beg her to let me in.
Despite the burning desire, I have to do just that.
Me: No problem.
I close out the message thread and set my phone on the edge of my desk. Squeezing my eyes shut, I suck in a breath and then blow it out before forcing my body out of the chair.
Dani’s watching me, her eyes scrutinizing my every movement. “What did she say?”
I squeeze the back of my neck, trying to massage the kink from sleeping on the hard floor. “A whole lot of nothing,” I reply, shuffling over to my desk to pull my keys out of the top drawer.
“Well, what happened then?” Dani’s concern grates on my nerves, but I make an effort to brush it off. At least she cares enough to give a shit.
“No idea,” I reply honestly.
Because no matter how many times I replay the last few days in my head, I don’t know what the fuck has happened between Grace and me.
And worse, I don’t know what the fuck this is going to mean for us in the future.