I’d lost myself.
My identity had been music, and then her, and then I’d been happy just being Gabe, the happy little player with a heart of gold.
I was so damn tired of it all.
Cee-Cee’s eyebrows rose. “So?” She held up the bag and tilted her head.
“I’m gonna pass, but you have fun getting screwed by complete strangers. I’m out.”
“I thought you wanted to party,” she said in a condescending voice as I started walking away.
With a snort I turned back and glared. “Honey, one of my best friends died from a heroin overdose, a family friend bought me drugs when I was thirteen, I lost my virginity to an A list actress twice my age. Believe me when I say, there is absolutely nothing you could do that would shock me, or make me feel anything but dead inside.”
Her mouth snapped closed as her teeth ground together. With a jerk she walked off, her hips swaying as she made her way through the crowds.
I wanted to wake up drunk.
No, scratch that. I wanted to wake up and feel something — anything but the way I felt then — going through the motions, smiling and joking around as if I actually had something to live for.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I looked down at the text.
Mom: If he calls don’t answer. He wants money. Love you. Mom.
“Hello, final straw,” I muttered under my breath as I shoved my phone back in my pocket and walked over to the bar.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked as he mechanically shoved drinks in people’s faces and put tips in the jar in front of him.
“Whiskey.” I sat down and drummed my fingertips against the countertop. “And keep ‘em coming.”
Ten. The number of times I got hit on while getting drunk off my ass.
Three. The number of times a woman brushed up against me and tried to cop a feel.
Two. The number of hours I spent torturing myself with memories of her laugh, her scent, the way she’d always seemed to make me feel like I could do anything in the world.
One. The number of minutes it would have taken for me to run back into the cabin and grab her helmet.
Amazing. How one minute can define the rest of your life.
Yeah, clearly I still wasn’t drunk enough.
I lifted my hand but the bartender shook his head. “You’ve almost downed an entire fifth. I’m cutting you off.”
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
He didn’t even respond.
I stumbled to my feet and made my way outside. The crisp spring air didn’t sober me up. If anything it made me feel nauseated.
Shit. I’d ridden with Cee-Cee. Cursing, I pulled out my phone and called Lisa.
Her shame was mine.
Our shame was the same.
Our pasts aligned in a way that both disgusted me and endeared us to one another.