Here's to Forever (11 page)

“Hello? Rae?”

I pull myself out of the daze I’m in, lifting the phone to my ear. I can hear him breathing on the other end.

“Rae? Are you there?”

I don’t answer. I’m not ready to.

“Shit.” He sighs. “I know you’re there. I…fuck.” I can picture him sitting behind his office desk, lowering his head, his biceps bulging as he nervously squeezes the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Rae,” he whispers hoarsely. “
So
fucking sorry. I love you. I miss you. God I fucking miss you.”

I smile at his use of the same words I was just thinking. I like that our connection is so strong even when we’re so far apart.

“Rae, you have to know that I only went to see him at first because I knew you wouldn’t but wanted to.”

At first?
What the hell does that mean?

“I did it for you. I didn’t mean to lie about it for so long. It just grew into something that I knew you wouldn’t understand at the time. So I didn’t tell you. But…I regret that now. And I’m…I’m sorry. Fuck!”

He shouts the curse word, the voice inside my head shouting it along with him. After talking with Elle today, I’m starting to understand his side of things more. I get why he hid it for so long. If he’d have come home after his first visit, so soon after everything happened, I’d have flipped out. We’d have fought like crazy and I’m not sure we’d have recovered at the time. I was in such a sensitive state emotionally that I don’t think I would have reacted rationally. Not that what happened when he confessed was rational, but the amount of time that’s passed with his lies justified that reaction. At least to me.

But now I need to know just exactly what’s happened with my dad this past year. I need to know everything he’s told him, to know how many of my secrets have been shared. And I need to know what drove him to keep hiding things from me.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly. “And I don’t just mean hang out in the silence like this but
really
talk? Please?”

I’m not ready for that.

“You’re not ready for that, I get it.” The way he knows me amazes me. “So we can text. Please. It’s better than nothing at this point.” I hear a faint knock on the other end, one of his employees probably. “Shit. I’ve got to go.” A pause. “Just…text me. Okay? I want to hear from you.” Another pause. “I love you. I miss you.”

The line goes dead.

I slowly pull the phone away from my ear, staring down at the black screen. What do I do with that? With the turmoil I hear in his voice? He sounds as miserable as I do. He sounds…broken.

Before I can stop myself, I shoot off a text to him.

Me:
What’s your favorite animal?

The smile that crosses my face is instant. She’s playing our game, Five. You can bet your sweet ass I’ll play right back.

Me:
An otter. What’s your best kept secret?

I know I’m playing with fire sending that question, but it’s the first thing I thought of. 

Rae:
I drink from the jug of orange juice all the time. And I yell at anyone else that does it because it’s MY orange juice. What’s yours?

Me:
I ate the yellow snow one time.

Rae:
OMG. How old were you?

Me:
I was four. Or six. Same difference. (Counting this as a question.)

Rae:
I never want to kiss you again.

That’s a damn lie.

Me:
What’s a lie you just told?

Rae:
I never want to kiss you again.

Me:
What’s your favorite quote? Mine is “Fuck bitches, get money.”

Rae:
Liar. “Crap has always happened, crap is happening, and crap will continue to happen.” What’s really yours?

Me:
Don’t have one. Who said that?

Rae:
I’m counting this as one of the five. Chuck Palahniuk.

Smartass.

Me:
Was that you who called?

Two minutes—I count—go by before she answers.

Rae:
Yes. Wouldn’t it suck if it wasn’t?

Me:
I’m glad I didn’t mention the time I ate the yellow snow when I was sixteen, then…

Rae:
OMG. Are you joking?

Me:
Sorry, out of questions.

Rae:
HUDSON!

Me:
RAE!

Me:
I love you.

Rae:
I know.

I stare at my phone for minutes, waiting for another reply,
needing
another reply.

I don’t get one.

“Who the fuck just killed a kitten? You look depressed, man.”

I didn’t even notice Gaige walk into my office. Partially because the door was open from when Liam popped his head in a few minutes ago, and also because I was so consumed by my little text exchange with Rae. Or her lack of real response. Whatever.

“Hey, man.”

He raises a brow at me, folding his arms over his chest. “What’s going on?”

“I was just texting Rae.”

“Like, as in she participated too?”

“Yep. Full blown conversation. We…we did Five.” I can’t stop the twitch to my lips just thinking of us going back to our roots, playing that silly five-question game in the beginning of our relationship.

Gaige’s eyes go wide, catching the significance. “Five? But that’s awesome! Why do you look sad?”

“I told her I loved her.”

“Okay…”

“She said, ‘I know.’” 

His lips slam into a flat line in a nanosecond, his hands finding his hips. He stands there, looking deep in thought. Or constipated. I’m not sure which.

“Well, good.”

I throw my arms up. “What the fuck do you mean ‘good’? How is that
good?
” 

He shrugs. “I don’t see how it’s bad.”

“It’s not even a real damn response!”

Again with the fucking shrug. “But it’s
some
sort of response. Better than radio silence.”

Throwing myself back in the chair dramatically, I sigh. “How the fuck do women even like you? You’re like this giant bag of…dicks.”

“Did you just call me a bag of dicks?”

“Don’t be one.”

“Because I said it’s good she’s even responding to you? Are you hearing yourself? Wait. Are you going crazy? You’re not making any sense.”

“You’re not sense!”

Lifting his hands like he’s Chris fucking Pratt warding off those ferocious little velociraptors, he says, “Right. Let’s pretend you didn’t just fly off the handle and move on, huh?”

I glare at him.

“Right,” he repeats. “You want to go to Clyde’s tonight? I know Joe’s still at Elle’s, so I’d figured I’d invite ya out. Just eat some grub, grab a few beers, maybe watch a game or some shit.”

“No.”

“Want to just get rip-roaring drunk?”

“Yes.”

It feels like my head is Santa’s workshop and a dozen or so little elves are making about a hundred toys per minute.

Getting drunk sucks.

Lie.

Getting drunk is fun. It’s the hangover that sucks.

Gaige and I decided getting drunk was something that “needed” to happen. So we did. Or I did. He stayed sober. All I remember is going to Clyde’s, eating a basket of fries, doing five shots of Patrón, guzzling down three beers, and then washing that all down with two shots of Jameson. And we were only there an hour. Yeah, I was begging for this fucking hangover.

Gaige drove me home—but not before I puked down the side of my car out the window—tucked me into bed, and left me to my own devices after he made sure I wasn’t going to swallow my own barf in my sleep.

Such a good friend. (Note the sarcasm there.)

“Knock, knock!” Liam hollers, walking right in my office. “You look like shit, boss.”

I groan, holding my head in my hands. His voice sounds like someone took a pillowcase full of silverware and shook it up real fast. And I
hate
the sound of silverware clinking together.

“Heard you got pretty wasted last night.”

Peeking up at him, I glare but don’t answer.

“Heard you even puked down the side of your car.”

My stomach twists into knots at the thought and I press my hand to it, trying to hold back the vomit climbing its way up my throat.

“Shit. Sorry. Anyway, your girl is here. Want me to send her back?”

I spring out of my chair in an instant, the nausea hitting me so hard I reach for the trash can and actually
do
vomit this time.

“Yeah, I’m out. I’ll give ya five and send her back,” he says, hightailing it out of the room.

I empty my stomach, which turns out to be mostly liquid, starting to feel a little more like myself with every heave. Straightening back up, I wipe my mouth and look around for the extra bottle of mouthwash I stashed in here years ago. I take a swig, cringing at the stale taste. Swish, spit, repeat. I do a breath check and decide I’m good to go.

Then I realize I’m not so good because I’ve been pacing for the past two minutes.

Rae’s coming to see me. On her own. She’s taking the initiative in this. She
wants
to see me. Does this mean she’s ready to move forward? To forgive? Because I’m
so
fucking ready for that.

Wait…what if she’s not? What if she’s here to break this off officially? FuckfuckFUCK.

“H-Hudson?” My head snaps toward the door at the sound of her voice. I swear it, my fucking knees go weak and I have to grab hold of the corner of my desk to keep me stable.
Or maybe that was just the sudden movement and little bit of wooziness from the booze still hanging around. Yeah, that seems more logical.

“Rae.” I smile at her, motioning to the chairs on the visitor’s side of the desk. “Come sit. I’m glad to see you.”

She wrings her hands together, obviously nervous about something, and takes a seat next to me. Panic rolls over my spine.
Maybe she is here to make this break official.
I gulp loudly. I can’t take it if that’s what she’s here to do.

Remember when you were younger and you played the Quiet Game with your friends? The one who stays quiet the longest gets the loser’s chocolate milk at lunch? That game you always tried your hardest to win? It feels like we’re both playing that now. To the extreme. That’s how silent the room is right now—Quiet Game winner worthy, and it looks like neither one of us is ready to give up our chocolate milk.

I take a deep breath, deciding that’s a risk I’m willing to take. She jumps a little at the sound, tilting her head to glance up at me.

“What—” I clear my throat, the nervousness creeping in, and try again. “What are you doing here, Rae?”

Confusion coats her face, and her eyes grow cautious and unsure.

“Oh, no. It’s not that I’m not happy to see you—because I am—I’m just wondering why you’re here,” I reassure her, realizing my question sounded like I didn’t want her here.

This doesn’t do anything to clear her eyes of uncertainty.

I sit up in my chair, not sure why she’s still looking at me like I’ve gone insane. “Um, did I say something wrong?”

“You invited me, Hudson. Last night.”

I invited her? When…?

“Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“You said, ‘oh shit.’ Why?”

I groan, grabbing my head and giving it a good squeeze, trying to get the stupid to fall out.
Must be stuck, dumbass.

“Did I…call you last night?”

She shakes her head. “No, you texted.”

I did?
I pull my phone from my pocket, opening up my texts to see what all I sent in my drunken haze.

Me:
Tpmrrw? Seee yu? Come bye?

Rae
: Yes.

I want to laugh at my atrocious spelling skills, but I don’t. All I can focus on is that Rae responded within seconds and ignored all the signs pointing to drunk. Because she wanted to see me too.

Pocketing my phone, I stare at her, her lips pursed, waiting for an answer of some sort. “I, uh, kinda got wasted last night. That was a desperate drunken text.”

I feel the heat radiating off her. She’s angry. I just don’t know why. I’d be flattered as hell if I was the only thing someone could think about when they were drunk.

“You were out last night, partying it up, huh? During all of this shit we’re going through, you decide it’s a good idea to go out and get hammered? With who? Fuckin’ chick magnet Gaige himself? Great, Hudson. That’s just great.”