Page 112 of Piece Us Together

He cries for a very long time then, me sitting on the other end of the line, whispering that it’s okay every so often, hoping he can’t tell how close I am to breaking apart at the seams myself.

“I have to go,” he eventually says, sounding wrung out and exhausted. “I have to go.”

“Okay. Can you let me know when he comes home, please? I need to know when he’s safe.”

“Y-yeah. Yes. I can do that.”

“And Nolan?”

His voice wavers, dangerously close to breaking again. “Yeah?”

“Call me anytime. For anything. Promise?”

“Promise.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. It’s heavy with a thousand things we can’t say. A thousand wants and fears and hope.

It’s heavy with Maison’s absence.

I let the weight of that silence grow until I can’t bear it anymore.

The moment I hang up, I can feel myself losing my hold on the thin control I have. It feels so much worse than the night Carter had to be picked up because of our disastrous scene.

I do what I did then, knowing I have to, even if I don’t want to hear what my best friend will have to say about how much he told me so.

He answers faster than I expected, though he sounds sleepy. I wince when I remember he had to drive back this morning from visiting his family.God, was Thanksgiving really just yesterday?“Hey. What’s up?”

“I—” I scrub my hand over my face, wondering what to say.Is there even a point in trying to word it the right way?It is what it is. Everything is a fucking disaster and he saw it coming a mile away. “You were right.”

“I was right?” he asks, each word slow as he tries to figure out the meaning.

I clench my fingers tight around the bottle of Scotch, wondering what it’d feel like if it broke.Would the pieces resemble the shards of myself slowly flaking off as the hours go by? Would they cut me? Would I bleed like Maison? Would it make him feel better to know I’m hurting too? To see proof of it?

“Hunter?” Wells prompts.

I let go of the glass, not wanting to hurt myself. “You were fucking right, okay? About them. About—about all of it. You were right.”

He pauses.

Then, “I’m on my way.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Maison

The punching bag didn’t help. Even when I started to bleed, my hands aching and burning with the pain, it wasn’t nearly enough.

There was no liquor leftover from the holiday dinner, unless I wanted to drink one of Matt’s disgusting seltzers or the cheap beer Casey’s dad favors that would require an entire case to get me drunk. Even my emergency stash in my office was gone. I had forgotten I’d finished it off back when everything first started with Hunter.

I end up at a bar downtown, my knuckles tacky with drying blood, a double whiskey in front of me. It’s on the same street as the pub where Carter works. The pub where I met with Hunter. I had walked past it to get here. Walked past the alley where Hunter had put his hand on me for the first time and promised things would be okay.

My silent phone sits on the bartop as I drink my way through a first round, and a second, and a third. It lights up often. At first, it’s just texts every few minutes, followed by a call from Hunter.Then a voicemail notification. Once Nolan wakes up, though, it’s near-constant. I can’t get myself to read the messages. Can’t get myself to listen to the words either of them leave for me.

Someone slips onto the stool beside mine as my glass is refilled by the bartender.

I glance at them, annoyed that they decided to sit so close when there are plenty of open spots around the place. I close my eyes when I see who it is.

He flags the bartender down, ordering himself a gin and tonic.

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