What If

by A. J. Pine

Then I reach for what I need, the prescription bottle. Because caffeine won’t be enough, and I can’t let tonight end like our night in Chicago. But the flashing red-and-blue lights to my right tell me I won’t make it farther than the distance I’ve already gone.

  As the officer approaches, I back away from the wall I was lovingly stroking seconds ago.

  “Miss, did you paint this wall?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head, futile gestures since the can is still in my possession.

  “May I look inside your bag, please?”

  Laughter comes without the accompanying smile. What would Griffin say if he saw me like this, ready to lose my lunch and a cop about to restrain me if I don’t dial down the hysteria? If he couldn’t handle me ruining our night with a debilitating headache, how would he handle this? He told me he was all in, but I never let him know what he was really in for. All I had to do was make it from point A to point B, to be there for him when he needed me, and instead… The hysteria morphs to tears. No one should have to handle this.

  His hand rests on the cuffs at his belt.

  “Those aren’t necessary,” I say. “I’ll go with you.”

  He sighs, a look of resignation on his tired, aged face. “Follow me, then. The building owner has been on our case to find the person responsible for defacing his property. I gotta take you into the station.”

  The tears flow freely, but I still try to swallow back the knot in my throat, the rising bile resulting from the growing headache and my realization of what a mess I still am. I wanted to be ready for the full deck, to be what he saw in me. How can I let him see this?

  “Of course you do,” I choke out, knowing that with these words I’m also giving him my last semblance of hope.

  We made the decision to walk away when things got too complicated. Well, it doesn’t get more complicated than this.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Griffin

  “Come on. Let me buy you one drink. It’s your party after all.”

  I check my phone. Ten-fifteen and no text or missed call. So I bite the bullet and shoot Maggie a text to make sure she’s still coming.

  Looking forward to your arrival so I can take you home.

  I set the phone on the bar to watch for her reply and decide to take Heather up on her offer.

  “Aren’t the drinks already paid for?” I ask.

  She offers a coy smile and shrugs.

  “I guess one couldn’t hurt,” I say.

  She drops two shot glasses on the bar and fills them to the rim with Jameson’s.

  I raise a brow as she clinks my shooter and offers a “Cheers” before throwing hers back like it’s water.

  “Impressive,” I say, following suit, my insides heating as the whiskey blazes a trail down my throat, chest, and stomach. She holds up the bottle, gesturing a second pour, and I shake my head. She’s not deterred.

  “So, who’s taking you home tonight?”

  Her tongue trails across her bottom lip as she fills our glasses again. This time she shoots without hesitation, no form of Cheers. And because my answer to her question is the one she doesn’t want, I respond by taking my shot instead.

  “I don’t live far,” she says. “If you need a place to stay.”

  She walks around the bar to join me on the paying side, bottle of Jameson’s still in her hand.

  “Another shot?”

  My eyes shift to the phone sitting next to me, the one the whiskey made me forget. No missed calls. No waiting texts.

  Damn it, Maggie. All day I ignored the doubt, pushed it away because tonight was not only going to be the start of something for me. It was going to be the start of something for us. But ever since we came back from Chicago, she’s kept me at a safe distance all the while promising she’d be here.

  “Gimme a second,” I say. I try her cell again. This time it goes right to voicemail. At the risk of looking desperate, because—fucking hell—at this point I am, I call the first number she ever gave me, Royal Grounds. The voice that answers is female but sounds much older than Maggie’s lilting tone.

  “Royal Grounds. Can I help you?”

  I need to know she’s okay before I let the truth sink in.

  “Uh. Hi. Is Maggie working tonight?” I ask.

  The woman inhales, a sharp sound I hear through the phone. “Oh. Yes, I mean. She was. She’s with Miles now. I’m sorry. That was sort of a roundabout way to answer your question. I guess it would have been easier to say, ‘No. Maggie’s not here. Can I take a message?’ I’m a little new at this. Sorry. Can I?”

  I try to shake away the fog, but the whiskey fills every empty space inside me. It marinates with my words. “Can you what?”

  “Take a message for when she gets back. Shouldn’t be long.”

  My head droops, and I let out a long breath.

  “No message,” I say before ending the call.

  I nod at Heather and shift my eyes to my empty glass.

  “One more,” I say and watch her pour. I don’t notice until I’ve drained the glass that she has slid off her bar stool and currently stands against mine.

  “Now,” she says, inching closer. “Who’s taking you home tonight?”

  And her lips are on mine.

  My eyes widen but then close on instinct. I’m not kissing her back yet, but I’m also not pushing her away. Because I fucking did it again. I let myself think a girl could see me as more than I was, that I could be more than I was. Maggie saw through the bullshit and stayed, until now.

  How easy it would be to let this girl’s soft, willing lips drag me back. To fall into a growing haze of the liquor, into the taste of whiskey and strawberry lip gloss.

  “Shit.” The word comes out as a whisper, a realization, and my hands are on Heather’s shoulders, pushing her from me. Have I not changed at all?

  “I need to go,” I say. Nat’s eyes meet mine from across the bar, and she strides toward us.

  I bring my gaze back to Heather. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you think… I’m sorry.”

  “Griffin, what’s going on?” Natalie approaches us, the seething look in her eyes illustrating her judgment of me. “I thought Maggie…”

  “She’s not coming. She never was,” I tell her.

  I grab the bottle from the bar, pour one last shot, and throw it back.

  “I’m sorry for being a dick,” I say, handing the bottle to its rightful owner. “But I have to get out of here.”

  I push past her and my sister, making my way for the door, but Nat follows me outside.

  “What the fuck, Griffin? What happened in there?”

  Nat blows into her palms as soon as we hit the outdoors, but I don’t feel a thing. Logic tells me I should be cold, but the growing heat of the alcohol warms me from the inside out.

  “It was all bullshit, Nat. All of it. Fucking hell, you had the right idea all along. It’s you, and Vi, and no one to fuck around with your sanity.”

  She wraps her arms around her midsection, her shoulder-length sandy waves lifting in the wind. “You mean with your heart. No one to fuck around with your heart. You can’t even say it, can you?”

  No I can’t say it. But I don’t say this. Because admitting it makes it real. It means I gave her my goddamn heart, and she lied to me. Maggie made me believe she saw something in me no one else could, but I guess she’s a better bullshit artist than I am.

  “She knew how important tonight was, Nat. I know you planned this big party, but it only mattered to me that one person was here—her. She couldn’t even text. Just a big fuck you by not showing up.”

  Nat backs through the door and into the bar again, dragging me with her, and for some reason I let her.

  “Can I drive you home, then? You’ll freeze out there.”

  Her eyes, soft with pity, say it all. I see me the way my family does, the way Maggie must have seen me the day we met, the way she still sees me now.

  “Look at me,” I say, holding my hands up as if
to say ta-da! “Look at what I almost did in there! I’m still that guy. I’d have stood my ass up, too. But…why now? Why like this? I need to know why she let me hope if it was always going to end like this.”

  I kiss my sister on the cheek and back out the door again. “I’m sorry for ruining the party,” I say. I reach into my pocket and toss her the keys to the truck. “Make sure Davis gets home okay. Will you?”

  She looks at the keys, then behind her at Davis, who hasn’t left the couch. “Fine. I’ll get him home. Just tell me where you’re going.”

  “I need to walk.”

  “You’re not wearing a coat,” she says, worry tingeing her words.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m not going too far.” Not too far if I was driving, but on foot the statement is a stretch. I’m almost out the door when Nat grabs my forearm.

  “It wasn’t a choice,” she says, and my brows pull together. “To have Vi on my own. It wasn’t a choice.” Tears pool in her eyes, but she keeps talking. “He left me before I knew I was pregnant. I loved him, and he left, and he never knew he had a daughter, so I never told him. I didn’t choose this life, Griffin. It chose me. And I wouldn’t trade being Vi’s mom for anything. Not ever. But you have a choice I would have done anything for back then, if I wasn’t too proud to act on it. Don’t choose to be alone, Griffin.”

  If she says anything after that, I don’t hear it. I hear nothing but the whoosh of the door as it closes and the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Maggie

  A dull throb beats at my skull as I lean against the cool glass of the passenger-side window.

  Miles unscrews the cap from a bottle of water and lifts it out of the cup holder to hand to me.

  “Take something before it gets worse,” he says, his voice gentle and reassuring. When I glance at him, his eyes are dark with worry, so I obey, if only to ease his mind.

  “Thank you. I already hurled at the police station.” I sift through my bag and find the oral meds for the continuing migraine, trying to make a late-night injection unnecessary. The cop let me take one earlier, but I probably lost it along with my lunch in the station’s garbage can.

  I swallow back the tablet, washing it down with large gulps of water, half of me knowing that hydration is another deterrent, the other half knowing if I’m drinking I don’t have to be talking.

  “I need to go back to relieve Jeanie and George and make sure everything is set for closing.”

  I nod, capping the bottle and setting it back in the cup holder.

  “I called the bus company. They have your phone. I can swing by and get it on the way home. Paige is meeting us at the shop so you don’t have to wait for me.”

  Again, a nod. Anything else is too much effort. Anything else will open the dam, letting everything spill out. And I can’t. I’m too tired, of all of it.

  “He’ll understand, honey. All you have to do is tell him, and he’ll understand.”

  This time I respond with a violent head shake, one that sets loose the salt-water blurring my vision.

  “It’s too much,” I finally say, my voice a cross between a sob and whisper. “Getting lost would be one thing, Miles. But look at me. I’m a mess. No trigger other than stress and disorientation. I’m not ready. I can’t do it.” I wipe away the wetness from my eyes. “You weren’t there, in Chicago. I heard him telling his friends he couldn’t handle me, that he doesn’t do well with responsibility. How can I ask him to be responsible for this?” I motion to myself.

  Miles extends his free hand to wrap around mine, giving me a gentle squeeze.

  “Mags,” he says. “Do you know why I came to pick you up tonight?”

  I sniffle and ask a reluctant, “Why?”

  He kisses my hand. “It’s not because I feel obligated or responsible or whatever label you want to call it. It’s because I love you.”

  My head falls against the cool glass of the window. “It’s not the same,” I tell him. “You loved me before any of this happened. You’re grandfathered in. I can’t ask him to take this on at the start, not when he’s finally choosing to stand on his own two feet.”

  Miles nods slowly. I told him all about Griffin and AmeriCorps and having to live free of his parents’ financial support as soon as he graduates.

  “I’m so proud of him,” I continue. “But I won’t get in the way of him finding a place for himself.”

  Miles lets go of my hand and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “We’ll talk in the morning, after you sleep. Deal?”

  I force a smile. “Sure. I’ll pay you back,” I add. “For the fine. And for coming to get me.”

  Miles waves me off, but I know a thousand dollars isn’t an amount he can part with.

  As we pull into the parking lot at the Royal Grounds café, I see George and Jeanie straightening up the tables and Paige behind the counter, wiping it down with a rag.

  Miles nods at our little helpers and smiles, and the corner of my mouth lifts as well.

  “I’ll meet you and Paige back at your place as soon as I’m done. We’re having a slumber party.”

  My throat tightens at the thought of going home, where I was supposed to go with Griffin. “Okay,” I croak. “Thank you. For everything.”

  We exit the car without another word and head inside. Paige beams, her smile obviously a reaction to seeing Miles, but when she turns to me her expression doesn’t falter.

  “I just need to pee,” she says, bouncing with adrenaline or urgency or both. She runs around the counter to hug me before rushing to the staff bathroom in the back.

  Miles thanks George and Jeanie for covering for him, and they both hug me on the way out, saying nothing more than “You’re welcome.”

  Suddenly it’s two years ago, and I’m home after four weeks of hospitalization. Though memories of those first few months are sketchy, I haven’t forgotten the kid-glove treatment, the whispers when people thought I wasn’t listening or couldn’t hear.

  She’ll never be the same.

  What if she doesn’t recover?

  I read if it happens to you once, you’re at increased risk of it happening again.

  To those who know me, I’ll always be the toy they’re afraid to take out of the box in case it breaks. Those who don’t know me, they’ll run for the hills as soon as they find out. Hell, I would. I am the definition of high maintenance.

  My eyes focus on Miles’s hand waving in front of my face.

  “Hey…where’d you go? I asked if you wanted some caffeine to take with you.”

  I blink him back into focus and shake my head.

  “I just want to go to sleep.”

  He folds me into his arms, and I sink against his chest.

  “Paige and I will be with you, and I’ll take you to your appointment in the morning.”

  “I can take the bus.” I try to protest. He’s done enough for me already. But he rubs my back, my hair, and squeezes me tighter.

  “At some point, Maggie, you have to let others love you and help you without this guilt you carry around. You aren’t responsible for what happened to you or how you’ve had to alter your life to fit your recovery.”

  He sighs, and I stay in his arms, safe from seeing his expression—safe from him seeing mine.

  “No one sees you as anything less than wonderful, as long as you let us in.”

  “Maggie.”

  The sound of my name is hoarse and pained, and though I’m in Miles’s arms, it’s another voice I hear, coupled with a roaring of wind.

  I look to the door, and there stands Griffin, brown eyes glossy with what can only be the effect of a drink too many. But his cheeks burn red from the cold, and his whole body shakes.

  “Oh my God, Griffin. Where’s your coat? How long were you out there?”

  I break free of Miles’s warmth and move toward him, forgetting for the moment how this night was supposed to go and how very differently it went instead.

  “You�
�re freezing,” I say, as I raise my palm to his wind-burned cheek. No sooner does my skin meet his than he flinches away.

  “I’m fine. I don’t feel anything.”

  I see the anger and hurt and inebriation burning in his glassy eyes. The first two tear at my heart. I did this to him. But seeing him in this state fuels my anger as well. He has a choice, to self-destruct or not.

  “You’re drunk, too,” I say, taking a step back. “Damn it, Griffin. I thought you were done with this crap.”

  “I thought you were going to show up tonight. I guess we both get a gold star for disappointment.” Despite his intoxication, his words are clear, his voice calm. But the underlying ache breaks me. I can’t do this. We can’t do this, be the constant source of each other’s disappointment. Griffin hasn’t been drunk the entire time I’ve known him. I won’t be the reason he falls back into these habits, not when he is finally turning things around.

  Miles strides up next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. “I’m okay,” I tell him, doing everything in my power to mirror the evenness of Griffin’s voice, to mask my pain better than his. “We have to do this.”

  A clean break. No bad feelings. We just walk away. We’re too far gone for that, aren’t we? I’ll have to make him believe I’m not. I can’t be the one to send him back down this road.

  “I texted you,” he says. “I even called over here when your phone went to voicemail. I thought something had happened to you.” He breathes in a ragged breath, and I want to tell him I’m sorry. That it’s my fault he’s hurting. I should tell him I’m not ready for this, that I need help, that I’m not okay on my own yet. But his pity will kill me even more than his hurt. So I say nothing to make this easier on him in the short-term. He’s better off hurting now before things get too far. Before I admit how much I’ve already fallen for him.

  “I was with Miles.” Miles stands only a foot or so behind me, leaning on the counter, and I can feel the tension seeping off his skin. He’ll get over his anger at what I’m doing. Griffin will, too. We all will. That’s what I keep telling myself. Eventually, I’ll believe it.

  “I know,” Griffin says, his voice low. His body still trembles, and it takes everything in me not to go to him, to throw my arms around him.