Page 63 of Dedicated
“Yeah, I know. But not right now. I can’t even fucking see straight. I need you to do me a favor.”
There was a pause, then a leery “All right.”
“Find me a fucking rehab within two hundred miles of Vegas.”
He muttered something that might have been “Thank fucking God,” then said he’d call me back.
Twenty minutes into our ride to the airport, he did. “The Reserve. Had to pull a lot of shit to get you in there so… you’re going to show up, right?”
“Yep, on the way now.” I paused to tell the driver where we were going, then came back on the line. “Have you talked to Evan?”
“Yes.” Byron’s voice was still wary, like he’d been afraid I was going to ask.
“I’m guessing from that short answer, he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
The line went silent, and I shrunk in on myself further. I expected as much, but it still sucked.
“I think you should both cool off for a while, Les,” Byron said after a few moments. “Let everything die down.”
I exhaled a long breath, chin tilting in a nod he couldn’t see. “Tell him I’m sorry.”
“He knows.” I didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t ask, either. I got off the phone, and Blink handed me a bottle of water. I managed a sip and then crashed hard in the back seat.
Do you get homesick being on the road for so long?
Evan:Yeah, definitely. I’m a homebody at heart.
Les:Not often. Anywhere I lay my head is home. What? Why are you laughing at that? We moved a lot when I was a kid, you know that! I’m a wanderer.
Evan:No no. I’m just thinking about the last place you “laid your head.”
Les:Where?
Evan:I don’t think they can print it.
Les:Ohhhhh, yeah. Shit, okay. Let me just say no, then, and leave it at that.
Chapter 36
Thirty-three missed calls from Les. Correction: ignored calls.
Twenty-two of them were apologies of various intelligibility. Eight told me how much he missed me. Two were obvious butt dials, nothing but the pandemonium of slot machines and overly loud voices in the background.
1.Answer the fucking phone, Porter.Pause.Goddammit. This is fucking stupid. Fuck you.
2.I shouldn’t have said fuck you. I’m sorry, but come on, Porter.Pause.Evan, just answer the phone and let’s talk about this. I fucked up, yes, but I wasn’t in on anything. I wasn’t in on some conspiracy to… whatever it is you’re thinking, you paranoid bastard. …I take back the bastard part. You’re not really a bastard. Uptight. Not that that’s entirely bad. It’s not an insult. Jesus, what the fuck am I saying? You’re uptight, but I’m cool with it. It’s hot. Most of the time. Not so much right now.Long silence.Ugh!
11.Do you know why I never let you see my notebooks? Because if you knew how much shit I write in there is about you, you’d think it was pathetic. Or creepy. I guess it’s a little of both. Shit, Ev… you turn me inside out. I miss you, man. Like you wouldn’t believe. Romantic bullshit, like how you smell and taste, and dumb stuff, too, that I’m not even going to tell you about. Well, I would if you would call me back. Call me back and let me tell you. Shit, just let me hear something other than your voicemail.Pause.What? No. I’ll be there in a minute! Evan, come on.
17.Blink just kissed me and I fucking punched him in the face. I feel bad, but what the fuck? That was out of the blue. He says he’s been twisted up over me for years. I had no clue. Poor fucker. Haaaa. I really could start a Lonely Hearts club now.Pause.I think I’ve crossed the emo threshold. It’s dark over here. Smells like coffee and cigarettes and the rubbery soles of checkered Vans. But you should know, I didn’t want to kiss him. Or anyone. Fuck him. Fuck them all. I don’t want to be with anyone else, Porter. Just you.
32.I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Evan.
I’d listenedto them all the way through three times before forcing myself to stop. By then, the fury I felt at him had waned to a simmer, but just when I’d start to actually feel bad for him, it’d bubble over again. Good. I needed that. He’d given me exactly the kick in the ass—and stomach, and heart—that I needed to remember why getting involved with him beyond the music was a stupid idea in the first place. He was a disaster. And like an idiot, I’d let myself get wrapped up in him.
The problem remained that as mad as I was, there were parts of it I didn’t regret. Being with him, wanting him, feeling so turned on I could hardly stand to be around him without touching him, feeling like I was no different than the rest of the horny world—the part where, for three weeks, I remembered what it was like to be head over heels for someone. That had been priceless. If only Les hadn’t been the one to get my motor running. I hated him for making me feel that way and then ripping it apart with something so stupid.
Regardless, I was done. So fucking done. I’d called Byron on the way home and told him I quit. He’d flipped out like I thought he would and told me to at least take twenty-four hours to think about it. I’d told him I would, but that the answer would be the same. And it was.