Sweet Nothing(45)

I sat up and looked at the clock. Both hands were on the eleven. I looked at the hutch again and then pulled out my phone, dialing Avery’s number. It rang several times before her voicemail picked up. “Please call me back. I don’t wanna fight, I just want to … I’d like to at least apologize. You can do whatever you want with it.”

I hung up and looked at my watch for the dozenth time since she’d left. She wasn’t at work. There were very few places she could be at that time of night.

I grabbed my wallet and headed down to Corner Hole. She wasn’t going to call me back, and I couldn’t sit around and wait. After she heard what I had to say, I would give her some space, if that’s what she wanted, but I couldn’t walk away from us.

I shoved my hands deep into my jeans pockets to protect them from the crisp air, thankful for the oversize Adidas hoodie Avery loved to claim as hers on cold nights.

I hurried down the block to my car and drove straight to the bar. The door opened and closed, letting in the cold night air. The radiator rattled, struggling to keep up. I scanned the crowd, looking for a head full of long, honey-blonde hair, recalling the first night I’d seen her there. After several minutes and no sign of her, I sat at the edge of the bar and ordered a double Jack Daniels.

“You look sad,” Ginger said. “You sure?”

I hesitated and then waved her over. “It’s cold as f*ck in here. Keep them coming.” The bar wasn’t that busy, but at least I was around other people. The last thing I wanted was to be alone.

I drank my shots, thanking Ginger for her generous hand as she poured. She leaned forward, pressing her ample breasts against the bar as she asked me what was wrong. I averted my gaze, assuring her everything was just the way it was supposed to be. The luck of my shiny penny had worn off. I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling the cold of the metal against my skin, keeping her close to my heart.

I ordered another round for myself and retrieved my phone from my pocket, dialing Avery’s number again.

I drank down one shot while I listened to her chipper voicemail greeting.

You’ve reached Avery Jacobs. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message, and I’ll get back to you.

After the beep, I began to ramble. “Baby, I know you’re mad at me. I deserve it, okay? I deserve for you to yell at me and be pissed, and even for you to throw your necklace at me, but I don’t deserve to get dumped. I’m a f*ckup, but I can fix this. It’s what I do.” I rubbed the heel of my hand against my eye before tipping the next shot glass to my lips.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart,” Ginger said as she shook her head and refilled my glasses.

“Bending over like that won’t get you a bigger tip,” I joked, my words sounding like my tongue was swollen against the roof of my mouth. I nodded a thanks to her and picked up another one and a half ounces of Jack, draining the contents down my throat. My heart sank as the liquor began to weigh heavily in my veins, slowing my entire thought process. “I love you, Avery. I don’t think you understand what it means when I say that to you, but I do.” I clicked to end the call, knowing that as the alcohol slowly took hold I would probably only upset her more.

I drank a third shot and peeled off my sweatshirt, feeling overheated in the small crowd. I tossed it on the bar, and Ginger rolled her eyes as she took it and hung it on a hook behind her.

“What did you do to that poor girl?” she asked as she set a tall glass filled with water in front of me.

“What’s with this shit?” I asked as I pushed it away in disgust, ignoring her question.

“You need to slow it down. There’s no way in hell I’m carrying you out of here.”

“Just throw me away with the trash,” I mumbled, feeling sorry for myself. I could have just as easily defaulted to anger, but I was the only one to blame for my situation.

Ginger shook her head, filling another shot glass. She held out her hand. “Keys.”

“What?” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“Keys,” she said, this time more firm. I dug into my pocket and pulled out thirteen cents, a piece of lint, and my car keys. She took them, and I lifted the tiny glass in thanks before tipping it back.

The night crawled along minute by painful minute with no sign of my girlfriend. I was set to wander out in the freezing cold just after midnight when a smug Doc Rose walked in.

I watched him chat up a few other men who were also stupidly overdressed for a hole-in-the-wall bar. They must have been doctors, too. He waved to them and then sat on a stool at the opposite end of the bar, checking his watch, as if he were waiting for someone.

Part of me hoped it was Avery he was waiting for; the other hoped to God it wasn’t, worried what I’d do if it was.

“You okay?” Ginger asked.

“If Avery walks in and sits next to that puke,” I said, holding myself up by the elbow. “Get me out of here before I kill him.”

“You think he’s here for her?” she asked, staring at Doc Rose.

“I’ve got all night, so I guess we’ll find out. Pour me another one.”

“Josh—”

“I said pour me another one.”

She shook her head, placing an empty glass in front of me.





I spent the evening drowning in guilt and then being mad about it. I shouldn’t feel bad. I was right. He shouldn’t have confronted Dr. Rosenberg. I’m an adult. I could have handled it! What the hell was he thinking?