I tucked myself in on my little love seat to watch Netflix on my computer. June had graciously shared her log-on with me because I simply couldn’t afford the extra expense anymore.Train to Busanhad been banished permanently, so I flipped around until I landed onFear.Deranged Mark Wahlberg for the win.
This time of day was the danger zone for me. When I was alone, everything was quiet, no one knocking on my door, this was when the melancholy had the chance to set in.
And there was melancholy.
My father was an asshole, but I loved him. I really, really loved him. Cutting him out of my life hadn’t come easily. It hadn’t been a snap decision. I’d taken meticulous care to unwind myself from our familial threads. Each one I’d unbound, I asked myself if I wanted to keep going, and the answer was always the same: I couldn’t live that way any longer.
Adam wasn’t so much an asshole as he was careless, but I loved him too. Still, after two months, I loved him. Seeing him in person had been a setback. A big one. But from how utterly clueless he’d been and the cruel jabs he’d thrown at me, my decision to end our fucked-up friendship was reaffirmed.
Missing Adam wasn’t new. I’d been missing him since he left for Europe. Even when I’d texted him the scant few times, I hadn’t poured my heart out to him. Hadn’t told all the things that had happened while he’d been away. He’d proven I wasn’t safe with him, no matter how much I wished it was untrue.
Even young Mark Wahlberg wasn’t pulling me out of my spiral tonight. Tipsy from my two large glasses of cheap wine, I decided to turn in early instead of falling deeper into my sadness.
My ringing phone woke me up. It was pitch dark in my bedroom, which immediately told me it was still the middle of the night. Alarmed, I answered without checking who was calling.
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Is this Adelaide Goodman?”
I jackknifed upright in my bed, fear punching me in the gut. “Who’s calling?”
“This is Andrew. I’m calling on behalf of Adam Wainwright.”
“Is he hurt? Is he okay?” I rushed out.
“No, he isn’t injured. This is a…delicate matter.” There was a crash in the background, followed by my name being shouted. I recognized Adam’s voice, but the desperation behind it was brand new.
“Is he drunk?” Anger was quickly replacing my fear. It was three in the morning and some dude named Andrew was calling me because Adam was drunk and being destructive?
“He is. Normally, in this case, we call a car for our inebriated guests, but Mr. Wainwright is refusing to leave.”
Oh, this guy.
“So call the cops. I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
Andrew hissed. “We pride ourselves on discretion. It’s what our guests expect. If I could have your address, I’ll send a car for you. Perhaps you’ll be able to convince Mr. Wainwright to leave with you.”
Curiosity stirred in my belly. My curiosity always got me into trouble, but I couldn’t help it.
“Where exactly are you?” I asked.
“I’m calling from Mr. Wainwright’s private club. I assume you’re aware of the nature of the club, which is why discretion is of the utmost importance to our clients.”
The club.The last thing I wanted was to be dragged out of bed at three in the morning—especially to pick up a drunk Adam—but the possibility of getting a peek in the club overrode my apprehension.
“All right. Send a car. I’m coming.”