The Art of Losing(82)

I sat down on the couch, and he sat next to me. I shifted to put a few more inches between us and his forehead creased, but he didn’t say anything.

“So how are you?” I asked.

“I’m glad to be home,” he said. A careful response to a loaded question. “The people I was in there with . . . Well, you saw them. Let’s just say they weren’t the type of people I wanted to be friends with. It wasn’t summer camp.”

He was smiling, but I wasn’t. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Have a sense of humor, Harley Quinn.”

“This isn’t funny, Mike. I know that you’re drinking again. You just got out of rehab and you’re already drinking.”

“I just need to escape sometimes,” he said. “I need to forget. Just for a while. Drinking is the only thing that makes the guilt fade.”

I wanted to slap him. “You don’t get to forget!” I said, nearly shouting. “Audrey never will. I never will. Your mom, my parents, Cassidy, Ryan. None of us will ever forget. Because of you.”

He wouldn’t look at me.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” I said. “And I know you have no intention of being sober. But you need to stop hiding your insecurities by getting drunk. You are better than this, Mike. If anyone knows that, it’s me. I didn’t stay with you for so long for no reason.”

The muscle twitched in his jaw again, but at least he wasn’t telling me to shut up.

“But that person you are when you’re drunk? He’s dangerous. He’s mean. And there were times when I was afraid of you.”

“I never laid a hand on you,” Mike said in a low, angry voice.

He had never physically hurt me or forced himself on me when he was drunk, but I refused to touch him once his eyes became glassy and his personality morphed. It was like kissing a stranger. He hadn’t appreciated that.

I shook my head. “You hurt me constantly,” I said. My throat tightened. “You chose alcohol over me all the time. And I know I didn’t stand up for myself or yell at you, and I’m sorry for that because that wasn’t fair to either of us. I should have told you I wouldn’t put up with it. But I’m not afraid of losing you anymore. The worst has already happened.”

I swallowed and steadied my resolve. “So now I’m saying it. You are unbelievably lucky that you, Audrey, and the man who hit you are still alive. You are even luckier that you aren’t in jail right now. I don’t think you appreciate that you were sent to rehab instead. Most addicts can’t afford it, and you need to recognize that privilege instead of mocking the people there.”

He looked away guiltily.

“At the very least, I need you to swear to me that you will never drive drunk again.” I stood and looked down at him until he looked back. “Swear it.”

To my surprise, he nodded. “I swear,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” I said. “And I need you to know that we are done. I can’t be around you, especially if you’re going to be drinking. It’s really over, Mike.”

“I know,” he said.

I stood, ready to get away from him, but I realized I had one more question. “Why didn’t you tell me about what really happened at the party? That Audrey kissed you?”

He glanced down and his hair fell into his eyes. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said. “And it’s not like you gave me a chance.” Bitter wasn’t a good look for him. But he was right.

“I guess not,” I said. “But did you even remember? Do you remember anything about that night?”

His gaze hardened. “I remember. Every. Second.”

I was so surprised, I actually flinched. “Oh,” I said. I turned to go, but he grabbed my hand.

“That accident was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life,” he said. “I’ll never forget what it felt like when I saw that car coming at us or the sound it made when he hit us.” He blinked rapidly. “I get that it’s over, I do, and I get that you’re angry. But I just really need you to forgive me.” His glacial blue eyes were glassy with tears.

I bit my lip. I wasn’t sure if I forgave him or not, but I knew it wouldn’t be good for either of us if I just kept holding on to this anger. I needed to move past it. Past him. And maybe he needed my forgiveness to stop drinking, or at least to stop drinking to forget his guilt. And maybe I needed to believe that, if only just for a second.

“I do. I forgive you,” I said.

His shoulders slumped with relief and a tear slipped out.

“Bye, Mike.”

“Bye, Harley Quinn,” he answered with just a hint of a smile.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I headed for the front door. But as I reached for the knob, I heard Ms. Baker in the kitchen. Adrenaline was still racing through my veins and it turned my feet around and pushed me toward the kitchen. Ms. Baker turned to look at me, and I stepped toward her.

“I know it’s probably not my place to say this,” I said, “but you need to do better. You need to be a better parent to him.”

Ms. Baker’s face grew pinched with anger, but I could see that I’d struck a nerve.

“You know that, don’t you?” I continued. “I know Jordan told you the same thing he told me: you can’t enable him.”