I WAS HARD at work on some project when Harry called. He started up with his nonsense again about borrowing a car. I was going to tell him to take a hike, but then I had a thought. If I drove Harry to Chicago, I could use it as an excuse to see Jennifer, and Amanda would never know. So I told Harry if he’d keep his mouth shut the whole way up there, I’d drive him. Of course he was excited. So was I, but I played it cool and told Harry I’d pick him up in the morning. I thought about going back to work, but I had all this adrenaline flowing through me like when we went to State. I thought it best if I took the rest of the day off. I drove home singing along to the radio, excited because this whole situation was turning out perfectly.

When I got home, I headed straight to the basement. The giant Indiana University logo stuck on my basement wall reflected on my big screen TV, the I on top of the U making it look like a pitchfork. I’d never been in Harry’s basement, but I knew it didn’t look like mine—like a sports bar. Harry didn’t have a working wet bar in the corner or a pool table. He probably didn’t even have a recliner with cup holders. He and I were pretty much opposites.

Upstairs, Amanda walked around. I heard her scream, then smack something. She always screamed like that when she saw a spider, so I knew she’d just crushed the life out of something innocent.

I knew everything was over with me and Amanda—or at the beginning phase of being over, at least. I sat there thinking about all the years we’d spent together, all the times she’d told me she loved me. But it wasn’t true. She didn’t love me for who I was; she loved me because I was the furthest thing from Harry she could get.

I didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I had a lot to offer. Sure, I wasn’t a college football star, but I’d expanded my dad’s business, turned his dealership into three, branched out into luxury automobiles. I made a ton of money every year, had a big house, and even though I never made it as a walk-on, who do you think the school called when they needed money?

I deserved better than this. I deserved to be with someone who loved me for who I was, not for who I wasn’t.

So I texted Jennifer. It was a short message, just asking if she was around. A few seconds later she texted me back.

I’m always around. You know you can text me anytime.

This made me feel good. She liked to talk to me, liked hearing from me.

That’s good to know.

What’s going on?

I have some stuff going on here I don’t want to deal with.

Still having problems at home? In my mind, she sounded hopeful.

Yeah. I just need to get away for a while. Clear my head.

There was a long pause. I thought she’d seen right through me. I walked around the man cave waiting for my phone to buzz. There was no way she’d text me back, not after how obvious I’d been. I went to the bar. There was a bottle of whiskey on the back counter. I hadn’t had a drink all week. I’d lost a few pounds, was sleeping well, had solid shits in the morning, but I poured a glass—a big one—and set it on the counter.

The brown liquor sat there smelling like burning molasses and broken sobriety. It called to me. And I needed it. I needed that fiery feeling in my throat, the instant relaxation. I needed to get so drunk I passed out on the couch and woke up at 4:30 in the morning.

I reached for the glass, my hand shaking. But I stopped. Jennifer had wanted me to text her. She knew where this was going as much as I did. I grabbed the glass and dumped the whole thing down the drain.

My phone buzzed.

Jennifer.

If you want to get away, you could come up here.

All right. How’s about Friday? I can come up for the weekend.

Where will you stay?

She was still playing innocent, but I respected that. If she had suggested a hotel right away, I’d have thought she’d done this before. I had the feeling she was just as nervous as I was about the whole thing.

I can get a hotel for the weekend, someplace nice. It shouldn’t be a problem.

Then I said I’d text her when I got into town, and we’d meet up for lunch.

Upstairs was silent. Amanda must have been in the bedroom. I enjoyed the silence of the house—just me, my Indiana University wall sticker, and a dead spider in the kitchen trash.