Then she was off to the other side of the bar where a raucous group of women were keeping her busy.
Wes stared down at his glass again. This was exactly why Rebecca couldn’t say yes to something with him. Because his first instinct when he’d left her house had been to come here, like muscle memory. Get your heart handed to you, drink until numb, repeat.
But he hadn’t taken a sip yet.
He’d imagined the taste of it on his tongue, had felt the smooth burn of
it on the back of his throat. He could almost feel that beginning tingle of his limbs getting numb.
But then he’d pictured his parents. Marco. Dev and Suzie. The kids in his class. He imagined their faces and how they’d react if Wes ended up drinking again. He forced himself to remember what that life had been like, what misery had filled his days when he was drunk. He imagined the bus sitting empty and abandoned and never becoming a restaurant. The kids in his class talking about what they could’ve had.
That had kept the drink in its place.
He could hear the emergency broadcasting system blaring in his head. This is a test.
A test to determine if Marco and Rebecca had been right. Had this thing with Rebecca only been a rebound, a new obsession to distract him? The ache in his chest felt like it was more than that. He’d blown it by rushing things with Rebecca, but maybe it’d been an impossible road to begin with.
He’d told Rebecca he knew his own mind, but then he’d acted like she didn’t know hers. She’d told him from the start that she didn’t want a relationship, that her job and her parents’ divorce had soured her on marriage or anything long-term. She’d told him and he’d ignored that, so whose fault was it, really?
He was the one who’d let himself believe that because his perspective had changed, he could change hers, too. That wasn’t fair.
But at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d missed something. He hadn’t read all her signals that wrong. He wasn’t that dense. Rebecca had been swept up by this whole thing, too. He’d caught her watching him sometimes with a look that had taken the air right out of him. Tonight, she’d told him he was an amazing person and magic with the kids. She’d said it with complete sincerity, with…love, and then they’d fallen into bed like they couldn’t get enough of each other. No part of him believed that she’d said those things just to pay lip service to him or that she’d slept with him just for the hell of it. But something had spooked her, and she’d shut down.
He’d come here thinking that she’d sent him away because she didn’t think he was good enough for her. He was the recovering alcoholic. He was the former delinquent. He was the one with the shot credit and lost restaurant. But the longer he sat here, the more that didn’t ring true.
I’m never going to be able to hear it.
When she’d said those words, he’d been so taken aback by the whole situation that he’d immediately taken it personally, but what if it wasn’t about him? What if she meant that in all situations?
I’m never going to be able to hear it.
I’m never going to be able to hear it.
I’m never going to be able to believe that someone loves me.
The second he ran those altered words through his head, something clicked inside him. That was it. He knew those words like they were written on his heart. He’d felt that when he’d first gotten to Carolina and Ed’s place. Wes hadn’t trusted their kindness, their love, their acceptance of him. He’d expected them to leave or send him away, like everyone else.
Rebecca hadn’t been left without parents, but her mother had abandoned her and her father’s version of love was barbed and merit based. She’d had a life in high school, and her friends and teachers had been ripped away from her in the most tragic way possible. Good things were temporary in her life. Love was always followed by loss.
I’m never going to be able to hear it.
She’d created the loss this time. He couldn’t hurt her if she sent him away. He couldn’t leave her behind if she pushed him out the door first.
Wes let go of the glass and put his head in his hands.
This is a test.
Rebecca had given him one whether she’d realized it or not, and he’d failed with flying colors, making it all about him and his ego. Nice one, Garrett.
Wes lifted his hand and motioned the bartender over.
“What can I get you, hon?” she asked.
Wes handed her the glass and a twenty-dollar tip. “The whiskey’s down for the count.”
She smirked. “I never had any doubt. In my experience, anyone who makes it past the first five minutes is who I’m putting my money on.” She dumped his drink in the sink. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”
Wes slid off the stool and smiled. “No, you won’t.”