“I’m conflicted,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s tempting to let this play out. Then again, I know you’ll hate yourself—and quite possibly me—tomorrow.”

“I miss you already,” I said, the smile vanishing from my face. “I tried not to like you.”

“I knew it,” he said, amused. He sighed. “I was a goner on day one. You’re fucking mean, and it makes me absolutely crazy. But in a good way.”

“I’m mean?” I asked, feeling tears burning my eyes.

“Yes, but … shit. You’re a sad drunk, aren’t you? You shouldn’t drink alone.”

“I’m missing it, all of it,” I said softly, touching my fingers to my mouth.

“Missing what?” he asked. “You know, my dad was messed up for a lot of years. He’s made up for it. Sometimes, you have to forgive your parents. They don’t have it figured out all the time either.”

I shook my head, unable to answer.

“Falyn, go to sleep, babe. It’s only going to get worse.”

“How do you know?”

“My dad was a sad drunk, too.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.

“Keep the phone to your ear. Lie down, and close your eyes. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

“Okay,” I said, obeying.

He didn’t speak again, but I could hear him breathing. I struggled to hang on to consciousness, if only to know how long he would stay, but it didn’t take long for the heavy fuzzy feeling to pull me beneath the surface.

Chapter Thirteen

A terrible hangover, Don’s funeral, and the countdown to Eakins made the week one of the worst I’d had in a while. Taylor’s intermittent texts were always a welcome highlight and helped me pass the time until the night before our flight, but the time in between was agony. He hadn’t even mentioned my totally inappropriate late-night conversation, which I appreciated.

The night before our flight to Chicago, I found myself full of nervous energy. Taylor would be picking me up at five thirty a.m. to take me to the airport for our eight o’clock flight.

For the first time in five years, I wished my closet had more of a variety of clothes to choose from. I folded my favorite jeans and set them atop the rest of my things. As a freshman in college, even a weekend trip had called for at least a large rolling suitcase and a carry-on. Now, my things barely filled the rolling carry-on duffel I’d borrowed from Chuck.

Standing over the packed bag, I wrung my hands together, wondering how on earth I was going to fall asleep. It was already eleven o’clock. If I didn’t go to sleep right then, I might as well just stay up.

I frowned. Exhaustion did not fit into my fantasy of how the weekend would go.