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With King trotting at my side, I walked down to the pizza restaurant by the beach. I could take him in there, and I could get a drink at the bar. This place held so many memories for me. Being here with Marnie and Zack, and then with Dean—and seeing Zack with Holly.
I should go somewhere else.
I couldn’t be bothered.
I parked my ass on a stool and gazed at the beers on tap. What did I want? In the old days, it would be tequila or vodka. Beer would be refreshing, or cider, except I wasn’t looking for something to quench my thirst. I wanted to get drunk and blot out the last twenty-four hours. I wanted that so much, I could almost feel the blissful descent into not caring, one heady sip at a time.
I scanned the bottles lining the shelves. One label jumped out—Absolut. The vodka Dean was drinking the other night. I called the bartender and asked for a shot. It went down with ease. I followed it up with a vodka and tonic with a squeeze of lime.
One more drink. It wouldn’t do anything except make me feel better. I could numb the pain of Dean’s absence. What kind of guy did that? Tell a girl he loved her, and then ghost her? It was an asshole move, but one I was only too familiar with. Pretty much every boyfriend I’d ever had pulled a similar stunt. They all wanted to use me—Steph, the party girl who was up for anything—and then they were off, leaving me clutching the remains of my heart.
I thought Dean was different. Wasn’t that the story of my life?
A guy claimed the stool next to me. I ignored him until he spoke.
“It’s Steph, isn’t it?” I recognised his voice, and turned to look at him. Sam, Dean’s landlord. “Hi,” I said, and then went back to my drink.
“I saw you earlier, at Dean’s place,” he said.
I scowled into my vodka. Surely he wasn’t going to hit on me?
“Nice dog,” said Sam, his voice friendly. “May I pat him?”
“Yes, and thank you. His name is King.”
Sam bent down and fussed my dog, rubbing his silky ears. “He’s a fine hound. Reminds me of one I used to have, years ago. How’s the prep for your exhibition going?”
The sudden change in conversation direction wrong-footed me. “Huh?” Great. That made me sound stupid. “It’s going well, thanks. How did you know about it?”
“Dean told me.” Sam made it sound obvious.
I covered my confusion by taking a drink, only to find it was gone. I lifted my hand to the bartender. “Another shot, please. And whatever Sam wants.” I should be leaving, but it was easier to stay. And talk about my absent lover, who hadn’t called me back.
“I’m good thanks,” Sam said. “I don’t drink.”
“I don’t, either, usually.” I bought a few moments by fumbling for my debit card, to pay for the drink, and then I gave Sam what I hoped was a friendly smile. “Have you heard from Dean?”
“He’s not back from Auckland yet?”
Auckland? I could try to fish some information out of Sam, or I could be honest. “I don’t know where he is.”
Consternation flashed over Sam’s face. “Are you okay, Steph?”
Why was he asking that? Oh, right. A fat tear trickled down my cheek. I wiped it away and made myself smile. “Yes. Of course.”
“Let me take you home. I’m heading out now anyway, and I can drop you off.”
“I just bought another drink.”
He stood and gazed down at me. “Are you sure you want it?”
The idea of a ride home was tempting, but not if it meant being the object of Sam’s pity. “What I want is to know where Dean is. And why he hasn’t called me back.” Shit. I didn’t mean to unload onto his landlord, of all people. I was drunker than I thought.
Sam glanced at me, and then at the vodka I was nursing. “Leave the drink and come with me, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Are you inviting me back to your place?” I squinted at him.
He chuckled. “Nope. I’m going to drive you back to your place. Nowhere else.”
It seemed unlikely he’d assault me or chop my body into little pieces and scatter them along the shoreline, but my judgement was skewed by alcohol. What did I know? If there was a chance of finding out more about Dean, I’d take it.
“Okay,” I said. I downed my vodka, and pushed to my feet. Whoa. The world shook. Maybe it was good I wasn’t walking home. “C’mon, boy,” I said to King, and then I spoke to the barman, who stood nearby. “If I end up dead, this is the last person you saw me with. ’Kay?”
Instead of being offended, Sam laughed.
It was drizzling again, and I was mesmerised by the reflections of the lights on the wet road. Yup. Vodka was not my friend, no matter how appealing it looked an hour ago.
Sam helped me into his car, and made sure my seatbelt was fastened and that King was safe in the back. Sliding behind the wheel, he glanced across at me. “I’m assuming you still live above the Beach Café? Dean told me, if you’re thinking I’m some kind of freaky stalker.”
“Yes, I do. Live there, that is. What can you tell me about him? Is he okay?”
“All I know is that he had to go back to Auckland for something. He flew up yesterday afternoon. I bumped into him as he was leaving, otherwise I wouldn’t have known.”
I sat up straighter. “What did he say? Did he tell you when he’d be back?”
“I’m sorry. He didn’t say anything else. It looked as though he was in a hurry. I’m sure he’ll get back for your exhibition, though. It opens on Saturday, right?”
“Yes.” Why would he go back there? To see his family? Or to be with his maybe-ex? I sank my head into my hands. What if he felt guilty about being with me and wanted to make it work with Belle again? The woman who lived with him. It sounded horribly possible.
“Why do you care, Sam? You don’t know me. You don’t really know Dean,” I said.
“I have a conscience. And maybe I’m just a nice guy.”
I felt comfortable with him and with this odd conversation we were having in his car. “I think you are. Thank you for not letting me walk home. In the rain. Although it would sober me up.”
“I let someone walk home by herself a long time ago, and it didn’t end well.” He flicked on the indicators and pulled in to the kerb. “Here we are.”
I mulled over his words. “What happened?”
“Nothing I want to talk about.”
It was wet outside, and for the moment, I was happy to stay in his car. “Are you married, Sam?”
“It’s complicated.” He climbed out of his car and came around to open my door and help me out. “Come on.”
My thoughts darted back to Dean, as they did at every available opportunity. He was a perfect gentleman about this too. When he wasn’t being an asshole. “Thanks again.”
*
I felt like death warmed over on Friday morning. Somehow, I had to drag my sorry ass out of bed and into the shower. Why did I go into the bar last night? A headache drilled through my skull on both sides, and my arms and legs felt as though I had weights strapped to them. How much of this was down to a hangover, and how much from missing my meds? I gulped down today’s dose, but ten minutes later threw them back up.
Great. I was a mess, and I had nobody to blame but myself.
This had to stop. I shouldn’t let anybody—not even Dean—drive me to be so self-destructive again.
I had to get through today in the café and be ready to shine tonight at the gallery, when we ran through the last-minute prep. Going back to bed wasn’t an option, and I went down the stairs slowly, my head banging with every step. Lou was still off sick, which meant I had to concentrate hard, to do everything right. I was exhausted by mid-morning, and Jacques made me take a break and sit outside for half an hour.
My body was wrecked today, but my mind spun in ever more rapid spirals. Did Dean know I knew he was in Auckland? Would he guess? Should I text him again and ask when he was coming home? Only this wasn’t home; it was a temporary purgatory. He was properly at home right now.
If he called, would I answer it?
No matter what he said or did, this was my life. Right here. I had a job to hold down and an exhibition to open tomorrow. It didn’t matter if I was bleeding the death of a thousand slow cuts inside, I wouldn’t let it show.
It was two days since I last saw Dean and since he messaged me to say talk soon. I figured his definition of soon was different to mine. Would it have taken much out of his day to reply to me? Unless he was busy reassuring his maybe-ex that I meant nothing to him. I wanted to be angry, but I was hurting too much.
*
The gallery looked amazing. Elizabeth hadn’t finished hanging all the pieces, and she wanted to confer about some. Was the lighting better here or over there? Would it be better higher up the wall? Her enthusiasm buoyed me along, and I pretended to be excited. I should be thrilled. I made an excuse to use the bathroom, and hid in there for a few minutes while I gave myself a stern pep-talk. I wouldn’t let thoughts of Dean ruin this for me. He was fun while it lasted, and in my heart, I always knew he’d leave. I didn’t expect it to be so soon, was all.
I went for drinks afterward with Elizabeth and her two assistants, but I avoided alcohol. I had to take my meds in the morning, before the anxiety overwhelmed me. Already I felt it nudging at my mind, the sarcastic inner voice sneering. It was hard to ignore.