What If (If Only.... #2)(56)

“I don’t know what to do. She locked the door.” A pause. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Translation: He can’t deal with this. He can’t deal with me.

I flush the toilet when the dry heaving subsides and I’m able to make it to the sink, my eyes open in the pitch darkness. After splashing my face with water yet having no clue what he’ll see when I emerge, I open the door enough let my head and arm through.

They’re all here, sitting in wait on the window bench, but Griffin is at the door seconds after it clicks open.

“I need my bag. I have medication to fix this. You all should go back and enjoy your night.”

Griffin hands me my bag. He must have carried it home because I have no recollection of even putting on my coat, let alone grabbing my things.

“Thank you,” I say, closing the door without another word.

More than once my grandmother had to perform this duty. Even Miles has done it once. Yet despite the state I’m in, I can’t ask for Griffin’s help. As much as everything in his eyes said he wanted to give it, he’s right. He can’t handle this. I can’t handle this. I’m not ready. I can’t get out from under the bullshit like he can. If he stays with me, I’ll only bury him further.

Sliding down the wall opposite the sink, I silently rescind my offer to change the ground rules or to offer him the full deck. The cartridge in my hand lays the foundation for new rules. Or rather, a return to the old.

A clean break. No bad feelings. We walk away. That was the deal for when things got complicated. And I just complicated the f*ck out of everything.

I roll up my sleeve and press the injection cartridge to my upper arm. My thumb presses down on the blue button, and the needle enters my skin.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I pull the cartridge away and unclench my teeth, depositing the medical waste back into its case to dispose of at home.

Then I curl up on the rug and wait, eyes squeezed shut against the throb, and hope they’ll all leave, return to their night and their lives that I got to be a part of for at least a few hours. Tomorrow it’ll be nothing but a memory. Or this time, if I’m lucky, not even that.





Chapter Twenty


Griffin


The four of them watch me pace in front of the bathroom door. I’m helpless. She’s in there, in pain, alone. And I can’t do a f*cking thing about it. Scratch that. I could have done something. I could have remembered why she doesn’t drink in first place instead of enjoying her drunk and flirty and f*ck. She was ready to trust me, to give me something more, and I blew it because I thought she was sexy when she let herself go.

“Hey, mate,” Duncan says. “You want me to go downstairs and grab you a pint? Help ya calm down and deal with…” He points to the bathroom door.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I say. “I don’t know how to handle this.”

“Griffin.” A hand grabs my shoulder, and I stop moving, her voice soft in my ear. Jordan.

My eyes lock on hers, desperate for some sort of reassurance.

“Griffin, you can handle this. Whatever it is, you can do this.”

I shake my head. “This isn’t the first time something strange has happened with her. Last week, at my parents’ house…” Jordan’s brows pull together, and I realize there’s too much to explain, especially since I don’t know what’s going on myself. But the text Nat sent after brunch, the one I ignored for my own selfish needs, replays in my head. I don’t deserve this girl, not when I seem to keep putting myself first. “I already f*cked up. She told me about the migraines, and I didn’t think. I was having too much fun. I didn’t think about the consequences of what she was doing, that she was putting herself at risk to make everything go well for me. That’s not handling shit. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not big on responsibility. She needs someone better.”

“We’re going to go play Uno in the lobby,” Noah says, leading Duncan and Elaina to the door.

“No good-byes yet, aye?” Duncan asks, and I nod.

“Maggie doesn’t need us all here when she comes out.” Noah sneaks a kiss from Jordan. “You stay. We can have a drink in the bar here when you get back down,” he tells her. “You, too, man,” he says to me. “She’s going to want to sleep. We’re happy to hang at the hotel for the rest of the night so we don’t have to cut the visit short.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Are you sure it’s okay if Jordan…” I don’t know how to finish the question, and luckily I don’t have to.

“No worries. You guys need to talk.”

Jordan squeezes him in an embrace. “Yawp,” she whispers to him.

“Yawp,” he whispers in return, his head buried in her hair. Though I have no idea what the word means, I know what it means to them.

When the door closes, I call quietly to Maggie again, but she doesn’t answer. Jordan heads back to the window bench, tapping the spot next to her. Because pacing does nothing to calm me, I sit.

“Do you remember,” she starts, looking out at the star-speckled sky, “when you told me I could have reformed you?”

I sigh, leaning my head against the glass. “Thanksgiving two years ago.”