I pass Aaron and Beth as I weave through the bar; she is sitting in his lap, but she throws a worried glance in my direction as I pass. I give them a small wave or, at least, try to. When I reach the bar, I drain the last of my beer and pick up the shot, slamming it back in one and setting the glass down.
“You driving?” I ask Ryder.
“Yeah.”
“Give me a ride?”
“You not want to stick around?”
“No.” I grip the edge of the bar to keep me upright. The shots have further numbed the feeling in my legs, but now, I need them to work their way to my brain. It’s time I got out of here; all these couples are making me feel worse. It is Meghan and Causey’s night; they don’t need me bringing the mood down.
I find Meghan on my way out and grab her in a big hug, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek.
“Congratulations, sis.” I sway backward as I try to focus on her. Causey appears at her side, and I slap his arm but miss somehow and stumble forward. He catches me and holds me upright by the shoulders.
“Will you be okay, Max? I can-” Meghan asks, worry creasing her brow.
“You need to stay. I’m fine. Ryder’s giving me a ride home.” The concern on her face lessens, and she pulls me in for another hug.
“Soooo happy for you,” I slur before I extricate myself and turn to leave, reaching out to steady myself on a nearby table before walking out, waving to them as I go.
Ryder catches up a few minutes later while I’m leaning against his Chevelle, which is the only thing holding me up at the minute. He opens the door and guides me in. I pull on the seat belt and feel something pressing into my back. Reaching behind me, I pull out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Ryder opens the driver’s door and I slip it into my jacket before he notices. My head tips back against the headrest and I close my eyes while he starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.
“You want to come to mine?” he asks as he drives.
“Thanks but take me to the quarter mile.” I open my eyes, the motion of the car making me queasy.
“Are you sure?” he asks; his casual tone doesn’t mask his concern.
“Yeah.” I crank open the window a fraction of an inch for fresh air. We drive in silence, a couple of times, Ryder takes a breath, about to say something, but decides against it and exhales without saying a word. The car slows as we approach the quarter mile.
“Let me out here,” I say when he’s halfway along it.
“You sure? I don’t like leaving you here.” The car slows to a halt, and I swing the door open and struggle with the seatbelt before clambering out.
“Max.” Ryder’s voice stops me, and I duck my head back inside, narrowly missing smacking my forehead on the door frame. “You gonna be all right?”
“I will be.” I scrub a hand over my face and stare at him.
“She’s gone.”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. I would have been better off to go to bed. I feel exhausted, but I want to be here. It makes sense to come here.
“I know. Just give me time. I’ll be fine.” Maybe if I repeat it enough times, I’ll start to believe it.
“Call me if you need me.” Ryder gives me a tight nod and I slam the door, standing back as he pulls a U-turn and heads back the way he came.
Pulling the half-empty bottle of whiskey out of my jacket pocket, I sit down on one of the tree stumps that line the quarter mile. Twisting off the cap, I take a long drink from the bottle, wincing at the burn that works its way down the back of my throat and into my chest. She’s not even been gone twenty-four hours, and I miss her like crazy, which is silly really because she was never mine to start with. But she could have been if I hadn’t been such a dick. After last night, everything changed. I felt it, the possibility that we could have been together.
Last night seems a lifetime ago as I sit staring at the same grease spot on the tarmac, replaying our night together over in my head. Is it worse to know what could have been than not to have had a taste of her at all? The bottle remains tipped to my lips as I methodically drink most of what’s left.
The rumble of an engine sounds and headlights flood the tarmac in front of me. With a groan, I drop my head. I’m not in the mood to be around other people. But the car stops, the door opens, and then feet appear in front of me. I still don’t look up.
“Got any of that to spare?” a man’s voice asks, and when I do look up, I see Hank Storm standing in front of me. I don’t really know him. I’ve just seen him around and always thought he was a stern man, one you didn’t want to piss off. Seeing him here tonight, he seems tired and worn out. I hold out the bottle and offer it to him. He takes it and lifts it to his lips.