“And then I’m going to tie you up, spread you open, and taste you until you come all over my fucking face.” He crooks a finger. “Get over here.”
Shaking my head, I mouth, ‘Chandler.’
Phoenix looks like he wants to straight-up murder me before he grits out, “Chandler.”
“Do you want to send this text to Chandler?” a robotic voice asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Message sent.”
He tosses his phone on the bed. “Just for that, I’m gonna dare you to let me do everything I just said.”
As tempting as that is, I’m on a mission. Sadly, I have to endure one more round before I can accomplish it.
“It’s your turn.”
Phoenix starts to speak, but then my phone rings.
I blanch when I see Chandler’s name flash across the screen.
I clear my throat before I pick up. “Hello?”
“Phoenix is drunk again,” Chandler gripes, sounding extra crabby. “Keep an eye on him tonight and make sure he stays out of trouble.”
It takes everything in me not to crack up. “Sure thing.”
“And take his goddamn phone away,” he bites out. “The last thing I need is him texting Vic Doherty that he wants to tie him up and taste him.”
Bringing his fist to his mouth, Phoenix bites his knuckle, stifling a snicker.
“Got it.”
The moment Chandler hangs up, I can’t contain my laughter, and neither can he.
The husky sound fills the room and, just like his voice, it’s hypnotic and magnetic. I could listen to it on repeat every day and never get sick of it.
“Guess being a drunk has its perks after all.”
I wipe the water leaking from my eyes as I picture Chandler’s face reading that text. “Evidently.”
After a beat, Phoenix’s demeanor turns serious. “Truth or dare?”
I steel myself because I know what’s coming. “Truth.”
“What were you doing at Obsidian?”
Here goes nothing.
“Three weeks before the end of my second year at Dartmouth, I received a call from Mrs. Palma. My dad was acting strange, and they took him to the hospital. Long story short, they ran a bunch of tests and diagnosed him with early-onset dementia.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I ended up leaving college early to take care of him. However, being a freelancer meant he—we—had to pay for his medical expenses out of pocket.”
“I used what was in his savings account and retirement fund to take care of most of the medical debt and pay off the house…and cover my last semester’s tuition because my dad forgot to send them a check. Anyway, I got a job at a restaurant, but I wasn’t making enough money to cover our living expenses. So, I started working at Obsidian…as a bartender.”
His expression morphs to one of sadness. “I…shit.”
I don’t want or need his pity. “It’s fine.”
He inhales through his nose before exhaling sharply. “I wish you had reached out.”
I can’t hold back my laughter, although unlike before, it’s devoid of any humor.
“And say what? Hey, Phoenix. Remember me? The girl you screwed over. Mind cutting me a check for that song you stole?” Anger races over my skin, followed by a sharp kick of sorrow to my rib cage. “We both know you never had any intention of seeing or talking to me ever again, let alone helping me. The only reason I’m standing here now is because of Storm and Chandler.”
Falling silent, he plucks the cigarette tucked behind his ear and lights it.
“This is a non-smoking room,” I remind him, but as usual, he doesn’t give a fuck.
Because he’s Phoenix Walker.
He does whatever he wants without consequence.
Must be nice.
Gritting my teeth, I open the window, hoping to get some of the smoke out. “Truth or dare?”
“I went to Dartmouth,” he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper.
His admission nearly knocks me off my feet. “When?”
Bringing his cigarette to his lips, he takes a long drag. “A little over a year and a half after I left Hillcrest.” A trail of smoke leaves him in a harsh exhale. “Sharp Objects blew up, and I knew there was no way you hadn’t heard the song. Part of me kept hoping you’d hunt me down and scream at me…but you didn’t.”
I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Especially since there was nothing I could do about his betrayal.
It would have been the equivalent of punching a brick wall.
The only one who gets hurt is you.
The smoke from the lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth wafts through the air and his gaze turns inward, as if getting lost in his thoughts.
“It was snowing like crazy by the time I reached the campus, and I froze my nuts off searching for you. I was beginning to think I wasted my time and debated leaving when I saw you come out the door leading to the courtyard.” A faint smile spreads across his lips. “You were wearing this big puffy coat, a purple hat with a fuzzy ball on it, and earmuffs. Your nose and cheeks were red from the cold. You looked so fucking cute I had to stop and catch my breath.”
He stubs his cigarette out in his cup. “You kept walking, though, and I didn’t want to lose sight of you, so I did too. I called your name as I got closer…and you stopped. It took me a couple seconds to register that it wasn’t because you heard me. It was because of the guy handing you a cup of hot chocolate.”
Harry.
I remember that day. There was an impending snowstorm—which was normal for winters in New Hampshire—and I was meeting my boyfriend during the twenty-minute break I had between classes.
The earmuffs I had on were a Christmas present from my dad. They had an option to connect to your phone so you could listen to music.
It’s why I didn’t hear him call my name.
Even though I felt him.
Phoenix’s gaze locks with mine. “He bent down to kiss you, and after, you smiled at him.” Emotions flicker across his face. “It was the same smile you used to give me…and that’s the moment I knew.”
“Knew what?”
His low, rough voice wraps around me like a thread, pulling tight. “The reason you never came to see me wasn’t because you were too nervous or upset to confront me. It was because you were happy…and I had lost you for good.”
A knot forms in my chest and my eyes sting with tears I won’t ever let him see.
But I will give him this.
“I did come to see you once.”
He looks just as surprised by my admission as I was his. “When?”
“During your first tour. You were playing a few towns over from my school and I decided to buy a ticket to the show last minute.” A lump fills my throat and I swallow it down before I continue. “I wanted to experience what it would be like to have a venue full of two-thousand people listen to my song.”
Even though it wasn’t me who was singing it.
His chest rises and falls with quick, uneven inhales, and his expression shatters.
He looks like he’s drowning…
But I’m the one he tossed overboard without a life preserver.
“Why?”
It’s the question I’ve asked myself every day for the past four years.