Among the Echoes(33)

What the f*ck just happened?





"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I stand with my head in my hands, thinking to myself that Adam Andrews might be the best reason we have ever had to pick up and move.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dave asks from the couch.

"He tried to kiss me," I answer, still in a daze.

"And?"

"And he tried to kiss me!" I shriek, suddenly snapping out of it.

"You didn’t want to kiss him? Because I have to be honest, you’ve been throwing off all the signals. Hell, I even caught them, Riley. And let me just tell you, that was awkward," he says sarcastically.

"No. I mean, yes. Shit, I don’t know," I answer, and he gives me the who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are-kidding look. "Fine, I do. I just didn’t expect him to want to kiss me. Shit, I panicked. I wasn’t prepared for that. Oh, God, he is going to think I’m even weirder now. Do you think I should apologize to him?" I rush out at a mile a minute.

"Where’s the wine Adam brought over last night?" he asks out of the blue.

"In the kitchen. Why?"

"Come on. We’re drinking." He grabs my hand and pulls me over to the bar stool at the counter.

"No, we are not!"

"Oh, yes, we are! When was the last time you had a drink?" he asks, grabbing the wine from beside the fridge. We don’t even have a corkscrew to open it with, so I’m intrigued as to how he is going to pull this off.

"A while," I answer while he scrambles around the kitchen, snatching open drawers and plundering through them.

"Do we have one of those little corkscrew thingies?"

"No. Which is precisely why we aren’t drinking."

He shrugs. "Desperate times." He heads to his toolbox in the corner of the pantry and comes back carrying a screwdriver. "No spare cork. I guess we’ll have to drink it all." He winks.

"What?" I ask, confused, just seconds before he uses the screwdriver to push the entire cork into the bottle.

He pours wine into one of our regular plastic cups and places it in front me. "Drink."

"Nope. Not happening." I push the cup away.

"Why not?" he asks then takes a sip. I can’t even begin to explain how much I wish for a camera when he makes the most wretched face as he swallows. "Sweet hell. That shit is terrible." He gags as I burst into laughter.

"I’m not drinking," I manage to get out between laughs.

"Yes, you are."

"Jesus, I’m going to bed." I turn to walk away, but he gently stops me before I can make my retreat.

"I want you to drink because I think you need to do something ridiculous and irrational. Something stupid that will probably make you hate yourself tomorrow but will bring you the highest of highs in the meantime. Because that is what normal people do. They make stupid choices without thinking them through for months at a time. Riley, I want you to f*cking live. I’m sick of watching you make the right decisions and smart choices that only keep you down and feed your fears. Screw up, babe. Make a God damn mistake and feel it." He takes a breath and shakes his head at me. "Drink the f*cking wine and go kiss that man. Hell, have sex with him. He likes you. And, Riley, you are not always the most likeable person." He tries to close with a joke, but it makes my eyes water. Okay, fine—it makes me cry big, fat, ugly tears.

"What if something happens while I’m making these mistakes? Something I can’t control. What if they find us and I’m drunk and making out with Adam?" I mumble, trying to compose myself.

"Then it happens!" His voice rises slightly before lowering again. "You can’t spend your whole life preparing for the worst. You are just next door—with a man who has proved he would protect you at all costs. If there was ever a f*cking moment to make a rash drunken decision, this is it. I’m begging you. Drink and act like a fool. Please stop hiding and actually live your life." He pauses long enough to squeeze my shoulder. "It’s killing me to watch you fade into the background. Last night, while we were all hanging out, you were amazing. It’s no wonder he tried to kiss you." His eyes are desperate and kind…and loving. Oh yeah… Ugly. Tears.

"Dave, I love you. And I know you hate it when I tell you that, but I do. So you’re going to have to hear it again. I love you." He nods but doesn’t say a single word back. I push my cup even farther toward him, and he readies for an argument. "Fill it up," I order, and the fight freezes on his tongue. His shoulders relax as his head falls forward in relief.