He stands there, studying me a moment, and if I’m not mistaken, I can almost see the battle of emotions warring against one another inside his head. But it doesn’t last long before he nods once more with a tight-lipped smile before leaving, the glass door slamming heavily in his wake and echoing throughout the overwrought silence around me, reminding me just how empty I am.

***

With a stifled yawn I unfold myself from the car, slinging my purse over my shoulder as I follow the path to the house. But when I make it up onto the front porch, something catches my eye in the darkness, and I shriek, stumbling backward when the rickety old porch swing moves causing the rusted chains to clang together.

“Murph, it’s just me!”

I narrow my eyes to see through the darkness of the night, and relief floods through me, calming my racing heart when Nash steps into the muted glow of the streetlight.

“Jesus!” I gasp, clutching at my heaving chest. “You scared me half to death.” With a trembling hand, I unlock the front door and reach inside to flick the light switches, the porch illuminating immediately. But then I see the state Nash is in, his mussed hair, droopy eyes, and untucked Oxford, and even if he didn’t have an open can of Miller Lite in one hand and the remaining five hanging from the plastic in the other, I’d know he was three sheets to the wind.

“You okay?” I ask, walking inside the house. “I thought you had the rehearsal dinner?”

“We did,” is all he says, his voice hoarse.

I’m fully aware of him following so close behind me, his unsteady feet scuffing against the hardwood as I continue through to the kitchen. I don’t know why, but something feels off. Why the hell is he even here? At my house. Drunk. Stopping at the island I take a deep breath before turning, but all the air is stolen from me when I come face-to-face with him right there, our chests almost touching.

“N-Nash, I—” Stumbling to find the right words, I instinctively place a hand against his chest, holding him at bay. But unfortunately, he seems to take that as an advance, and he only takes another step closer. “W-what the hell are you d-doing?” I hiss, pushing him away with as much strength as I can find.

He staggers ever so slightly, his sixer of beer falling to the floor with a heavy thud and a hissing fizz as one of the cans pops.

“Dammit!” I hurry to the sink for the dishcloth before dropping to the floor and mopping up what I can.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you even doing here?” I yell, gaping up at him as I clean up the mess.

With an almighty sigh, Nash collapses onto one of the stools, scrubbing a hand over his weary face. I can feel his dejection from across the room, and I pull myself up, tossing the exploded can and the dishcloth into the sink. Turning back to the island, I keep my distance as best as I can, watching him. And it’s right now that I realize just how broken he looks, and I know something is seriously wrong. I’m going to need a stiff drink if I’m going to deal with this tonight. In seconds, I’m prepared with a glass in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other, and I pour myself a generous shot, unable to chance another look at him until I’m well and truly sated with liquor.