Blame it on the Vodka (Blame it on the Alcohol)

My love ached inside my chest because I knew I couldn’t give it to her. Every part of me wanted to turn my hand and hold hers in mine. I wanted to kiss the tips of each finger, making it all better. But I couldn’t—not anymore. Not even like I would have as her friend before Vegas.

Before, I would have held her hand and smacked a kiss against every cut until she laughed. If I did that now, we’d both remember all the times I kissed her when we weren’t friends.

So, what did I do?

Did I hold her hand?

Or did I not?

If I wanted to be in her life, I had to make sure she knew I would never push for more than she was willing to give. The problem was that I didn’t know how to go back? Now that we’d crossed the line, how did we go back to being just friends?

“Can I get you anything?” I asked, the question croaking past my tight throat. I needed to distract myself from the inner turmoil pulling me apart.

“Ugh,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “They gave me dinner when I woke up a few hours ago, but it was gross. Even the pudding.”

She scrunched her nose, apparently not struggling with the situation like I was. Maybe she did have amnesia. Maybe that was why she slid into the role of my playful best friend like the past two days didn’t exist.

As confused as her reaction left me, I again decided not to question it. Maybe this was the opening we needed, and I wasn’t going to be stupid or prideful enough to turn it down.

Already knowing what she hated about it, I played along. “What flavor?”

“Vanilla.” She sneered the word as if the flavor was as offensive as a pile of shit.

“How dare they?” I gasped.

“I know,” she exclaimed. “Everyone knows chocolate is the only way to go.”

“We’ll make sure the manager hears about this.”

Her soft laughter blotted out the beeping that had put me on edge earlier, sinking between the cracks of my heart. The need to brush her hair back from where it covered her shoulder, lean forward, and gently feast from the perfect curve of her lips bubbled so close to the surface that I almost acted without thinking. I imagined if I had followed through and the thought of her pulling back with a look of confusion, rejecting what came so natural, rattled me.

Back and forth, back and forth. My faith that we could make this work—that we could be just friends—swayed on unsteady ground, leaving me with doubt and questions pressing in.

I needed to get out, if only for a second, to regroup. I needed space to add these new interactions into the future I was trying to imagine for us. When I talked to King, I only had our friendship, pre-Vegas, to build from. We could do that. I could lock my feelings up like I had before. It would take time, but if she let me, we could make it the same.

Now, I had to factor in our friendship with the weight of post-Vegas dragging behind every action and every word. Now, I had to factor in the way she’d looked at me and knowing it meant more. Now my feelings had blossomed into something too big to fit in the same box as before. They clambered for freedom, and I needed out of that room to try to compose a new box.

I rose from the chair, hating the instant her hand no longer touched mine but knowing it was for the best. “You know, I saw a vending machine down by the waiting area. Want me to get you a Reese’s and Dr. Pepper?”

Her whole face lit up as if I offered to get her a trip around Europe instead of a simple candy bar. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “I’ll be right back.”

“Austin,” she called just before I walked out.

“Yeah?”

She hesitated, taking her time. “Thank you.”

Two simple words filled with more meaning than thanking a friend for getting a snack. Continuing with meaning so much more than was said, I returned one word of my own.

“Anything.”

Even if we fell apart after this, all she had to do was call, and I’d be there for anything.

My pacing steps echoed around the empty hall while I took deep breath after deep breath, refocusing my mind to the friend she needed. I could do this. I wanted to do this. Even if it was hard or it hurt. Pre-Vegas or post-Vegas, Raelynn Vos would always be my friend.

When I made it back to her room, a nurse stood by her bed checking her vitals. She gave me a bored assessment before focusing back on Rae. I hated how small and fragile she looked against the stark white sheets of the hospital bed with the large machines towering around her.