Desperately Seeking Epic(61)

“Come on, Clara,” I murmured as I took her arm. She stumbled out beside me and just before we exited, I looked over to Mandy at the bar. She was already talking to some other guy. Her eyes met mine and she shrugged, raising her beer bottle in silent farewell.

I looked back down at Clara who had just rested her head on my shoulder as we walked.

Cock-blocker.



“We have five minutes until we meet with Clara,” Ashley points out. “We should probably stop here.”

After they remove my mic and I stand to go, Ashley asks, “Do you really think she made herself puke on that guy?”

I laugh. “Knowing Clara, yes. She’s good at making *s look and feel like *s.”

Ashley nods a few times and gives me a small wave. “See you next week.”





“So we heard about the chili dog puke scene at the bar,” Ashley informs me once we’re all set up.

I scrunch my face in embarrassment. “He told you about that?”

She laughs. “Yes. Did you do it on purpose?”

“Knowing me, yes, but I was pretty smashed so I really don’t remember.”

“So Paul took you home that night. What happened?”



He had to stop twice on the way to my house so I could relieve myself of more vomit on the side of the road. It was awful. Made worse by the fact that each time we stopped Paul got out and stood with me, getting a front row seat to my humiliation. I was mortified. By the time he got me home, I had nothing left in my stomach. He followed me inside and into the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of water. I turned and leaned against the counter as I chugged it, noticing he was staring at me, arms crossed, eyes angry.

“Thanks for bringing me home,” I murmured. “I’m sure you have other things to do tonight, so you can go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he informed me. “I want some answers.”

Placing my glass on the counter, I asked, “Answers to what?”

“Why did you go in there and get smashed? Because of Marcus? Because if that’s the case, I thought you had tougher skin than to let him bring you down.”

I didn’t answer him right away. Instead, I busied myself getting two Ibuprofens and putting two slices of white bread in the toaster. I desperately needed something in my stomach.

“Was it Marcus?” he finally asked when I didn’t respond.

“No. He didn’t help though,” I mumbled.

“The separation papers?” he questioned.

Meeting his gaze, I decided to give him the truth. Well, most of it. “Twenty-five years ago today my parents were killed in a drunk driving accident.”

All the color drained from his face.

“I don’t remember them. But . . . it’s still a sad day for me.” I studied his expressionless face. Did he know? Did he know it was his uncle that took my parents’ lives? I really couldn’t tell. His lack of any response could mean many things. Maybe he did know, or maybe he didn’t and he just felt sorry for me.

“My soon-to-be ex, Kurt, had the separation papers delivered today, of all days, of course,” I continued. “Then Marcus decided to act out against me. So I got drunk. Something I usually don’t do.”

“Shit, Clara,” he sighed. “Did the guy that hit them die too?” Out of all I said, he was centering in on my parents.

My throat tightened. He didn’t know. He had no idea what his uncle had done. Anger rose up inside of me. Marcus and Paul thought Dennis was such a great guy. He’d left them this adventurous legacy with this notion that he was a good man. He’d moved here and hid from his past. They didn’t know him at all.

“He was forced to go to rehab. Some probation.”

I wasn’t sure what I expected Paul to do or say. What could he really do or say? Stories like mine sucked dick. They’re sad and it’s hard to spin it with a bright side, which was what everyone wanted to do when they heard a heartbreaking story like mine. I had no expectation of him. He could have said nothing. I wouldn’t have taken it personally. After all, we weren’t really friends. He owed me nothing. So when he approached me and encircled me in his arms, I was shocked. So shocked in fact, I let my arms hang limply at my sides as he squeezed me.

“The way a hug works,” he began, his chin resting on the top of my head, “is both parties wrap their arms around the other. See how I’m doing it?”

I rolled my eyes where he couldn’t see. And slowly, I wrapped my arms around him, too. A second later, I melted into the hug, burying my face into his chest. I couldn’t recall when the last time I’d been hugged was. Like, really hugged. Paul and I may have shared some awkward, lightning-quick one-armed hugs, but nothing like this. Probably when Ally and Vanessa left to head back to Texas months ago was the last time I’d been really hugged. Wow. I was pathetic. I realized that. And alone. So, so alone.

Pushing away from Paul, I wiped under my eyes. I wasn’t crying. I was tougher back then. But my eyes were a little moist. “Thanks for the ride, Paul. Sorry I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t,” he assured me. Liar. But I let him slide on it. “You want me to make some dinner?” He looked around my kitchen for signs of food that could be cooked, which there was none, so he didn’t look long.