I nod; “Listen, I do have to run.” He nods, and I walk over and clasp his shoulder; “I'm proud of you, Danny.” He nods quietly, looking at the floor, and I give him one more pat on the shoulder before I head for the door.
“Hey, Bryce?” He looks up at me mournfully as I turn; “Thanks, man; really, thank you.”
“Anytime. It's what I'm here for.”
Three weeks later, Danny O.D.’s on bad smack in a bus station bathroom in New Jersey.
It's a fucked up world.
P R E S E N T
My eyes shoot open at the sound of the door closing, and I'm quickly fully awake as I blink and look around the empty hotel room.
“Peyton?”
I frown at the quiet emptiness of the room. I slide out of bed, pull on some pants and move toward the door to the room. I'm yanking it open and sticking my head out-
Just in time to see the elevator doors open right in front of her down the hallway.
“Peyton?”
She turns, and there's that look; and that's all I need to know.
Darkness spreads over my face; I know that damn look. That look says everything she wouldn't say when she left like this the first time; when she left before. No words, no note, no explanation; just a look later that says more than any of those things ever could. That look is final.
She blinks once, and then she's stepping through the elevator doors before they close.
God-fucking-damn it.
I slam the door behind me as I stomp back into the room. Fuck this. I'm not chasing her; not like this and not this time. I'm done chasing this girl. I'm done dealing with her insanity and her fucking moods and feelings, and final looks.
Forget it.
I jerk the balcony door open and storm out to let out a roar as I look out over the city.
I shouldn't have let that happen last night, and I know it. Even if it couldn't have been avoided. And I do know deep down that it's nothing that ever could. Us crashing back together is a Goddamn eventuality. It's like the tides, or the phases of the moon, or...I don't even know anymore.
Because now she's gone again.
Fuck.
I glance into the room at the time on the wall clock. Great, half the morning gone. Half the morning gone when I need to figure out how the fuck we're going to get to Logan without using Anderson. Because that is not happening; not in this lifetime or any other and not while I'm still breathing.
But she's meeting him tonight, and I somehow doubt that whatever happened last night is going to change her bullshit bull-headed idea that putting herself in that position and in harm's way is the only path to getting Logan out of there.
I just need to figure out what the hell we're going to do.
19
Peyton
I'm not one to dodge or avoid my problems, and yet that's exactly what I spend the rest of the morning doing. After that last look with Bryce at the elevator, I push it as far out of my mind as I can as I walk around the walls of the old city.
It's hardly the first time that man has me doing things or acting ways I normally wouldn't be.
What's worse is that there's no one I can even talk to about any of this. The one person I could usually call whenever I need is being held hostage; not that I could talk to Logan about this anyways, I guess.
I'm suddenly even more envious of the Archer sisters than usual; jealous that they have each other. I've got a fairly low opinion of the worth of families in general, but when I see ones like theirs, I can't help but feel that pang inside at never really having one. I'm a loner, and I like my solitude, but there's something to be said about having a safety net like that.
Or someone to talk to; like right now for instance.
I've only got Logan, and even when he's not busy being kidnapped, he's- well, he's Logan; not exactly the best go-to for girl-talk. He's a hard guy to get a handle on; a hard guy to have open up to you or talk feelings with. Well, except if you're Quinn. Because somehow that girl got through to my thorny, stone-hearted brother. And in a way, I guess that makes us closer than, well, closer than anyone else I've got.
I stop short on my shuffling walk; I have to make a phone call.
“Peyton?” Her voice sounds raspy and deadened, like she hasn't been sleeping. Which, given the circumstances, she probably hasn't been
“Oh my God, are you OK?” There's hurt and worry in her voice, and it suddenly occurs to me that I've never checked in with anyone after getting here. I wince into the phone as it kind of hits me for the first time that my unexplained disappearance has probably caused even more worry for a group of people already worried sick about someone missing.
I need to get better at this whole “family” thing.
“Quinn, I'm-” I'm what, sorry for being an asshole and just leaving like that? I'm sorry for making you guys worry even more, as if you aren't already dealing with enough?