Page 29 of Bar Down

Knowing him, it's probably the latter.

My thoughts spiral as we walk around the store, grabbing some groceries, along with a bag of charcoal and some other supplies to grill.

“Since when do you cook?” Eli asks all of a sudden, sounding kind of surprised. I guess he has a right to be, considering he’s only ever seen me eat takeout and steal Robbie’s food every time I go over.

“I started recently. Olive has been sending me some recipes that she and Robbie have tried out.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Olive?”

“Yeah, what about her?”

“Since when do you call her that?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” I huff, going to the self-checkout and scanning the asparagus and chicken first.

“I’m not trying to interrogate you, I just want to make sure you’re notactuallyhitting on Olivia, who is in a relationship with our best friend.”

I look over my shoulder, unceremoniously dropping the lettuce I just scanned into the grocery bag. “I thought Jordan was your best friend.”

He’s got the frustrated murderous look on his face again, but he says, “Jordan hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts in a couple months.”

I stop, looking at him. Eli’s arms are folded across his chest and he looks sad. “What do you mean he hasn’t answered? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, I guess. To his credit, he does answer sometimes, but it’s all just small talk. He doesn’t respond to any actual questions about hockey, or how he’s doing, or if he’s coming to visit. I think the trade really fucked with him.”

“Shit. I should really reach out to him more. I’ve kinda been distracted by my own shit. Therapy really sucks the life out of you sometimes.” I laugh, tapping my card to the reader to pay for the groceries.

Eli doesn’t say anything as he scans and pays for his clothes, and it’s not until we get back to the car, everything put away in the trunk, that he says, “You’re in therapy?”

I take a deep breath. “I started going when I got back from Finland,” I say, swallowing hard and slanting a glance his way. Eli is looking at me intently, but his face doesn’t show any sign of being upset or annoyed that I brought up Finland. He maintains eye contact for a moment, before nodding along in understanding.

Does he really understand though?

How fucked up I was a few months ago, and how bad I feel for everything I did and said?

We’re both quiet as we drive the twenty minutes to the cabin, 90s hits playing softly on the radio. Once I park the rental car in the driveaway, I take a deep breath and squeeze the wheel to steady my nerves before saying, “I’m sorry, by the way. I had no right to blow up your life and drag you through the mud.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I look over and see his confused expression. “Drag me through mud?” he repeats.

Right, sometimes I need to explain all the weird sayings we have that he doesn’t get.

I chuckle and say, “Generally, it means I ruined your reputation, but in this case I meant that I brought you down to my level and fucked everything up.”

“Would you fucking stop it?” he snaps, and I rear back, my smile dropping. The only other time I’ve seen him this upset, this out of sorts, wasthat nightin Helsinki. I’m frozen now too, not knowing if I should exit the car and flee, or stay and let him yell at me, punch me, whatever he needs to do to justforgiveme.

Eli’s fists are tight, resting on his thighs, and his jaw is so clenched I’d be surprised if he doesn’t need dental work after this.Fuck, he’s really mad.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my face from crumpling.

“Stop talking about yourself like you’re beneath me; you always fucking do that, Ash, and it’s infuriating. You didn’t bring medownanywhere. But you know what?” he says, finally facing me and pinning me with a look of such hurt, I want to curl up and die. “You did fuck up, but so did I, and I need you to stop acting like I’m goddamn perfect, because I’m not.”

He gets out of the car, and opens up the trunk. I slowly get out too but don’t know what to say. Eli’s reason for being mad is not what I expected. He grabs his bag of clothes and walkstowards the cabin, and I’m left staring at the groceries in the trunk, my eyes stuck on the lettuce poking out of the bag.

“One more thing,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me, one leg on the front step. “I’m sorry too. I let you down when you needed me most.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say quietly, but he’s already walking away.

FOURTEEN

---