Page 66 of Love Rewritten

“I’ll go talk to him. See if I can’t get that drink away from him. And I’ll let the bartender know to stop serving him. Just stay here. Like I said, I don’t want him to lash out at you. He would never forgive himself if he did.”

“What about you?”

Logan lets out a humorless chuckle. “I’ll be fine. He’s said some pretty harsh things to me when he’s drunk. Can’t get any worse.” And then he stands up and makes his way to the bar.

He doesn’t go to Dallas first. Instead, he finds a bartender likely to tell them to stop serving Dallas. The bartender nods and I watch as he passes the word to the other bartender, both of them nodding toward Dallas.

Dallas is oblivious. His head remains down, staring at the bar top or his drink, I’m not sure. He doesn’t budge or move seats when Logan sits next to him, but when Logan tries putting a hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off. I wish I could hear their conversation. Or maybe I don’t based on what Logan said Dallas can be like when he’s that drunk. Logan talks for a bit. I’m hoping Dallas is listening to him rather than tuning him out.

Motion from Dallas gets my attention when he pulls something out of his pocket and sets it in Logan's hands. His car keys. Logan talks some more before slowly reaching for Dallas’s half-empty glass and sliding it away from him. Thankfully, Dallas doesn’t try to stop him. Logan must be getting through to him.

I watch a little longer, my appetite for my own drink now completely gone. I push my glass forward to join the rest of the partially drank glasses on our table. Rose’s looks to have barely a sip gone from hers. When I look back at them, Logan gets up from his seat and approaches me.

He nods toward the door with an urgency I’ve never seen from him. “Time to go. He agreed to leave. I paid for the table already. Just grab your jacket.”

I stand, probably too abruptly, but if Dallas isn’t putting up a fight, then I’m not waiting around for him to start. Logan grabs his jacket and returns to Dallas’s side. He says something and points to the door. I’ve still yet to see Dallas say anything to Logan. But sure enough, Dallas gets up and makes his way to the front. He keeps his eyes down the entire way to the car and hops in the passenger seat without a fuss. I hop in the back while Logan gets in the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe some bickering, but not complete silence. It’s unsettling.

Dallas leans his head against his hand, his elbow braced on the door, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. Is he mad at himself? Or is all that anger still directed at his dad? And if he’s so upset, should I be concerned about how he will act when we get home? With Dallas, this is all new territory. After dealing with a drunk Sam for so long, it's impossible to keep my mind from remembering all those times he’d come home upset and take it out on me. I would like to believe Dallas wouldn’t do that, but my body is telling me to run. My instincts are so skewed that I don't know what's right or wrong anymore. I take a deep breath and try to remind myself that it’s not Dallas my body wants to run from. It’s the memories I’ve brought with me from Sam.

I can’t do that. I can’t run from him. I won’t. No matter how upset I am that he’s been keeping secrets from me.

No one says a word the entire drive home, and by the time Logan parks the car, my cuticles are bleeding from subconsciously picking at them.

Dallas gets out of the car and makes his way inside before either of us moves.

“Is he drunk?” I ask, watching his figure disappear into the building.

“I don’t think he’s drunk, but he’s got a good buzz going. So, just be careful.” Logan finally gets out of the car and holds the front door open for me.

Dallas leans against the doorframe of our unit, waiting for one of us to unlock it. I reach for his hand, but he pulls back before I make contact. My chest tightens, a fierce ache straining my heart and forming a pit in my stomach.

When Logan unlocks the door, Dallas disappears into his room and closes the door without a word to either of us.

I take a deep breath, kick my shoes off, and hang my purse and coat up, debating whether I should try to talk to him or not. But the only thing flashing through my head is Sam’s drunken anger and items flying through the air.

I think I was a little relieved when I first learned that Dallas didn’t drink. It made things easy. I wouldn’t have to find out what kind of drunk he was. From what Logan told me, he seemed to be a usual college party, drunken shenanigans kind of drinker. But he wasn’t drinking for fun tonight. There weren’t going to be any fun shenanigans.

“You may want to sleep in your own room tonight,” Logan says, his face already buried in the liquor cabinet. Bottles of liquor accumulate on the counter as he pulls them out, as well as a few small shots hidden in the back. When it’s empty, he goes to find a bag from the hall closet to stash everything in.

“Where are you putting it all?”

“I’ll hide it in my room for the night and see if Rose can take it tomorrow.”

I nod as he disappears with the full bag into his room. He returns shortly after and has changed into comfortable clothing. I still haven’t left my spot in the entryway, my feet feeling like they’re glued in place.

He grabs a glass of water and a bag of chips and heads to Dallas’s room. He knocks lightly. “Dal? I’ve got water. You need to drink it.”

A moment later, the door cracks open just far enough that Dallas takes the glass and chips from Logan and closes it again.

“You’ve got this down to a T,” I say.

“This’ll be an easy night. Buzzed Dallas, even if he’s angry, is far easier to take care of than black-out-drunk Dallas. Trust me.”

My heart breaks at the thought of Logan having to take care of Dallas all those nights. I’ve never pictured Logan as the caretaker in a relationship, even a friendship. He’s always been the fun friend, there if you need him, but not the one most people would go to. I’ve asked for his help a few times, but this feels different.

“You don’t seem as bothered as I do.”

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