My life after that summer hasn’t been that bad. I’ve made incredible strides in my game. I’ve excelled in school. I have some really awesome friends and am blessed with a close, supportive family. So far, the only loss I’ve experienced is when we had to put my beloved dog to sleep. She’d slept under my crib when I was a baby and in my room with me for every one of my first thirteen years. Her loss devastated me. For months, even after Dani’s dad surprised us with a new puppy—our dog, Winger—I’d still want to call out to Angel or reach down from my chair to pat her head or give her some Cheetos.
With Dani, it was different. I lost her from my life, yet I didn’t. It was more like if Angel had told me she wanted to go live with another family, but I still had to see her, still felt the same way about her even though I was so hurt by her decision and even though all I wanted was for her to come back to me.
And here I am, stupidly agreeing to another one of Dani’s plans. The plans she never seems to follow through on.
My mom says that the trouble with trouble is that it always starts out as fun. She talks about how she and Dani’s dad used to get into trouble as kids, and I finally get why. He and his daughter share that same magnetism, that same smile. And while Damon also seems to have gotten a similar gene, I can reason with him. He’ll listen when I caution him. Devaney is a wild card—always has been. She rarely takes my advice, and sometimes, I wonder why she ever even asks for it.
And over in my room, I stupidly assumed she was making it up as she went, but when we arrive in the movie room, she grins at me, waving her hand toward a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses on the bar. The theater-style popcorn machine is full of freshly popped corn.
And I can’t decide if I should be mad at myself for allowing her to rope me into this or flattered that she went to the effort.
“I thought we might need this,” she says, pointing at the tequila. “To get through it. Together.” Her sentences are short and choppy. Coming out as she thinks them.
“I’m not drinking,” I say incredulously. “Tomorrow is the state championship.” I glance at my watch.
She takes my wrist in her hand, looking at the watch. “Your birthday gift. I’m sorry I slept with you on your birthday.”
“Yeah, whatever, and pretty soon, you’ll be back at school. What’s it got to do with anything anyway?” I react defensively, as if a lineman were getting ready to tackle me.
Dani pushes a tub into the popcorn machine, fills it up, adds melted butter, tops it with M&M’s, and hands it to me.
Why does she have to be the only girl who knows this? When I took Lacey to the movies, why could I never bring myself to order my favorite combination? Because it wasn’t our combination.
Don’t ever fall in love with your best friend, people. When it goes bad, the repercussions are far and wide.
Dani doesn’t reply to my comment. She takes the popcorn over and sets it down on a table in between our two favorite seats—third row back, middle of the row—then she comes back and pours us each a shot.
I try not to notice the sway of her hips as she walks toward me. The fact that her head is held high, her back straight. That she seems confident tonight.
I’ve relived the scene from the field so many times that I even dream about it. And every time, I get to that one pivotal moment where I reach my hand out and tell her to come with me.
She doesn’t.
And I wake up.
I had a tough time my freshman year, trying to win the respect of the upperclassmen, and not only did I lose her that day, but I also lost everything I’d worked for in that department. It didn’t help that, despite his suspension, Hunter Lansford made constant comments about her in the locker room. It took every ounce of my self-control not to punch him in the face daily.
But then again, it wasn’t his fault Dani had chosen him over me. And when we won the state championship again that year, he tried to play all nice, like he hadn’t tormented me all season even though he and Dani never ended up going to Homecoming together.
All that destruction in my life because some idiot had been trying to make his ex-girlfriend jealous.
Every night, when I stare over at Dani’s window, I think about how if he had not asked her that day, things might have been different for us. But I know they probably wouldn’t have been. Devaney seems to have bad taste in guys. And I wonder what that says about me. Because for a brief, wondrous time, she chose me.
The second I think it, all the emotions and feelings come rushing back. The ones I constantly suppress. Even our friends-with-benefits time couldn’t cure it.
“This is a bad idea,” I say, shaking my head.
But I still take the glass.
She pauses, and I think she’s going to change her mind, but instead, she grabs the bottle, turns down the lights, and moves us to our seats.
“There’s a drinking game that goes with this.”
My eyes get huge. “You played a drinking game with your friends while watching this?” I’m so offended that I’m ready to throw this tequila in her face. Instead, I take a drink.
“No, Chase, I didn’t. But I have watched it a few times by myself. And for the record, you just drank without me. Without a toast first.”
I take in a breath, trying to control my erratic heartbeat.
She takes her seat, motions for me to do the same, and then holds up her glass.
“To us,” she says, causing me to roll my eyes. Because there is no us. No matter how hard I’ve tried. “So, the game goes like this—every time you want to cringe over something someone says, you drink. It doesn’t have to be the whole shot, and it probably shouldn’t be. I tried that with vodka—didn’t go well. Probably will never drink it again in my life. Thus, we’ve moved on to tequila. So, just a sip or a gulp sometimes seems to work best.” She pauses and looks into my eyes. “And the most important part, when either one of us wants a drink, before we actually take the drink, we have to pause the video and tell the other person what we were thinking at the time and what we wish we had said or done differently. Deal?”
She grins at me again. I clink the glass against hers. She takes a sip. I down the shot.
She pours me another and presses play.
I hit the remote, stopping it. “Do you really think we can just push rewind?”
“Yes,” she says.
“I don’t know, Dani. Sometimes, I think we can, but I just feel like regardless of what’s happened between us this year—becoming sort of friends again, sleeping together—we’ve had some really amazing moments, but no matter how great they are, they have felt kind of—”
“Hollow,” she says.
“Exactly. I feel like you weren’t ready.”
“I think, Chase, that maybe we weren’t ready.”
“What do you mean? I was in love with you. I was ready,” I say, considering downing shot number two.
“I mean, we, as a couple.”
“There’s a difference?” I scoff.
“I think so. And I know you think this is crazy, but I think if you’re brave enough to watch this with me—and I mean, the whole thing—it will make a big difference.” She hands me the remote. “Up to you.”
“Fine, on one condition. That you talk me through all of it. Tell me what’s happening the whole time.” I start to feel like I might cry. “And hold my hand. Through all of it.”