Alcohol. I need some fucking alcohol.
There’s no alcohol in the fridge.
I barrel up the stairs two at a time and burst into Logan’s bedroom without knocking. Fortunately, he’s not in the middle of boning some nameless puck bunny. I wouldn’t have cared if he was. I’m a man on a mission, and Logan’s closet is the mission.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demands as I throw open the closet door and reach for the top shelf.
“Taking your whiskey.”
“Why?”
Why? Why?
Maybe because my chest feels like someone scraped it with a dull razorblade for the past ten years? And then they took that razorblade and shoved it down my throat so it would tear up my windpipe and shred my insides. And then to add insult to injury, they ripped my heart out and threw it on the ice so an entire hockey team could slash it up with their skates.
Yup. So that’s where I’m at right now.
“Jesus Christ, G, what’s going on?”
I find Logan’s Jack Daniels bottle underneath an old hockey helmet and curl my fingers around it. “Hannah dumped me,” I mumble.
I hear Logan’s shocked breath. A bitter, spiteful part of me wonders if he’s happy by the news. If he thinks this might be his golden opportunity to move in on my girlfriend.
Sorry. My ex-girlfriend.
But when I turn around, I find nothing but sympathy flashing in his eyes. “Shit, man. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Me too.”
“What happened?”
I twist off the bottle cap. “Ask me again when I’m shit-faced. Maybe I’ll be drunk enough to tell you.”
I swallow a deep swig of whiskey. Normally the alcohol would burn its way down to my gut. Tonight I’m too numb to feel it.
Logan stops asking me questions. He wanders over and snatches the whiskey from my hand. “Well.” He sighs before raising the bottle to his lips and tipping his head back. “Then I guess we’re getting shit-faced.”
41
Hannah
I knew I would be a basket case for the rest of the semester, but I didn’t expect it to be because of the hollow cavern in my chest that used to hold my heart.
I haven’t seen or spoken to Garrett in a week. A week is not a long time. I’ve noticed that as I get older, time seems to fly by in hyper-speed. You blink, and a week has passed. Blink again, and a year has gone by.
But ever since I broke up with Garrett, time has reverted back to the way it was when I was little. When a school year felt like forever, and a summer never seemed to end. Time has slowed down, and it’s excruciating. These past seven days may as well be seven years. Seven decades.
I miss my boyfriend.
And I hate my boyfriend’s father for putting me in this impossible situation. I hate him for making me break Garrett’s heart.
You want to explore, just on the off chance that you meet someone who is better than me.
Garrett’s bleak recap of my lying-through-my-teeth breakup speech continues to buzz in my brain like a swarm of locusts.
Someone better than him?
God, it killed me to say that. To hurt him like that. The bitter taste of those words still burns my tongue, because damn it, someone better than him?
There’s no one better than him. Garrett is the best man I’ve ever known. And not just because he’s smart and sexy and funny and so much sweeter than I ever gave him credit for. He makes me feel alive. Yeah, we bicker, and sure, his cockiness drives me crazy sometimes, but when I’m with him, I feel whole. I feel like I can drop my guard completely and not have to worry about getting hurt or taken advantage of or being afraid, because Garrett Graham will always be there to love and protect me.
The only silver lining to this awful mess is that the team is winning again. They lost the game that Garrett missed thanks to his suspension, but they’ve played two more since then, including one against Eastwood, their conference rival, and they won both. If they keep going the way they’re going, Garrett will get what he wants—he’ll lead Briar to the championships in his first year as captain.
“Oh God. Please don’t tell me that’s what you’re wearing tonight.” Allie marches into my bedroom and frowns at my outfit. “No. I forbid it.”
I glance down at my ratty plaid pants and sweatshirt with the collar cut off. “What? No.” I point to the garment bag dangling from the hook behind my door. “I’m wearing that.”
“Ooooh. Let me see.”
Allie unzips the bag and proceeds to oooh and aaah over the strapless silver dress inside it. Her animated reaction is a testament to how out of it I’ve been this week. I was pretty much in a trance when I drove to Hastings to buy this dress for the showcase, and although it’s been hanging on my door for four days, I never bothered showing it off to Allie.
I don’t want to show it off. Hell, I don’t even want to wear it. The winter showcase starts in two hours and I could not care less. The entire semester has been building up to this one stupid performance.
And I could not. Care. Less.
When Allie notices my disinterested face, her expression softens. “Aw, Han-Han, why don’t you just call him?”
“Because we broke up,” I mumble.
She nods slowly. “And why is that again?”
I’m too depressed to give her the same bullshit excuse I dished out a week ago. I haven’t confessed to Allie or my friends the real reason I ended things with Garrett. I don’t want them knowing about his asshole father. I don’t want to think about his asshole father.
So I told them, and I quote, “it didn’t work out.” Four measly words, and they haven’t managed to pry a single detail out of me since.
My stony silence drags on long enough for Allie to shift in discomfort. Then she sighs and says, “Do you still want me to do your hair?”
“Sure. If you want.” There is zero enthusiasm in my voice.
We spend the next thirty minutes getting ready, though I don’t know why Allie bothers dressing up. She’s not the one who has to get up on stage and sing in front of hundreds of strangers.
Though, out of curiosity, how exactly does one sing a heartfelt ballad when their heart has been crushed to dust?
I guess I’m about to find out.