Page 10 of Try Me

“Yeah,” I grumbled. “It’ll be fine.” After a bag of ice and another couple of beers.

We stopped in front of the off-campus house I now shared with three other guys, and Marty leaned over the passenger side as I got out. “I can come inside if you want. Drink a little, play some Call of Duty or something?”

“Nah.” This time I managed a bona fide smile. “It’s cool. Thanks for the ride.” I shoved a hand in my pocket, digging for my keys. “How’s Laura? That going good still?”

Marty brightened. “Yeah. She’s great. Hot as hell, totally cool. Listen, you need anything, you know who to text.”

“Appreciate it, man,” I said and shut the door, wishing for a split second I was him, happy-go-lucky on a Friday night, none of the emotional vultures circling the angst carcass inside me.You get that from your mom, my dad always said.She’s sensitive.The unspoken had lain just underneath, pointing an accusing finger in my direction.

I jammed my key into the front door.

Our house, which was usually filled with the cacophony you’d expect from four undergrads occupying a couple thousand square feet, was deathly quiet and smelled faintly of burned toast.

I headed straight for the kitchen, where I grabbed a glass from the cabinets and guzzled two rounds of water before going to the freezer to snag an ice pack and see what liquor remained. Probably not much since we’d pre-partied here earlier.

Sure enough, there was only a tiny bit of vodka. Popov. The first brand I’d ever tried at fourteen in Meg Whitmore’s basement. Cheap, but I hadn’t puked. And I’d gotten a kiss out of the night, too.

I eyed it skeptically as I pressed the ice pack to my cheek and shuddered with the chill that washed over me. Instead of angry, now I was annoyingly curious. Would Chet be bruised too? I’d gotten him good in the ribs, judging by the lingering throb in my knuckles. Maybe somewhere else. It all started to blur together:Nate, Eric, Sam, Chet. And the ghost of Cam, of course.

Cam. Fuck me. The guy didn’t even go to school here anymore and he’d still managed to be a grenade between me and Chet.

I hadn’t heard from him since his uber-religious parents had arrived at the hospital and not-so-politely asked me to leave. All my texts had gone unanswered except one months and months later: a “Who’s this” that suggested his number had been reassigned. I’d stopped trying after that.

I grabbed the bottle of vodka and took it, along with the ice pack and a towel, into the living room, where I heaved myself onto the couch, wrapped the pack in the towel, and flopped back, laying it over my face. It wasn’t even midnight yet.

I turned the TV on, listened to the drone of an infomercial in the darkness, then pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. I hesitated over Chet’s name before I punched the contact, the last messages we’d sent a year and a half ago popping up.

Pynch:Where is he?

Mark:Union General. Rm. 240. They say he’ll be okay. His parents just got here.

Mark:Don’t fucking message me again.

I should’ve deleted them, but had I? Nope.

I sawed at my lower lip, then let my thumbs fly over the keys before I could reconsider.

Mark:Meet at Farley quad in 20. Clock tower. Want to clear this shit up for good and be done with it.

Campus was a half mile away, and that seemed like good neutral ground to meet on. I didn’t want Chet in this house. It’d taken me long enough to manage walking into my bedroom at home without seeing him twisting in the sheets, hearing the echo of his moan as he came all over my fist.

I sent the message and stared at the dim glow of the screen. For all I knew, he wouldn’t respond or had deleted my number. I probably should’ve done that, too. But a second later, dots popped up, indicating he was responding. It stopped and started several times before vanishing altogether. My screen went dark, and I dropped the phone on my chest, then threw an arm over my eyes.

Fuck it. It was probably for the best. Summer was set to be awesome. I was a mere two semesters from graduating, I’d snagged a stellar internship with a law firm that was going to look great on my resume, and I was a free agent. I didn’t need to be messing around with the past.

I’d just dozed off when my phone chimed and startled me awake again.

Pynch:25 minutes.

I hopped up immediately.

3

Chet

Itook the scenic route across campus, winding past dorms that were nicer than the duplex-style student housing I lived in now but didn’t offer the same level of privacy.

Shapes moved behind the glowing windows of the athletes’ dorm, and faint strains of the Weeknd poured from an open window. Athletes were the only ones allowed to stay in the dorms through the summer. If I’d been able to walk onto the basketball team as originally planned, I’d be there now. A jolt of spite rushed through me without a target and left me edgy.