Page 133 of Fault Lines
“Who’s home, Livi? Mine? Rachel’s? Or his? Because it seems to me like you don’t really know where you want to be.”
There was a brief, frozen moment before I realized how tight his hand was on my arm. The pressure stung and snapped me out of it.
“Nathaniel Porter.” I said it flat and cold. “I know it’s the alcohol talking so I’m going to let this go this one time. But let’s get something straight: I have been through enough. I’m not coming out of one toxic relationship just to land in another. Get your shit together or don’t call me again.”
I didn’t wait for a reply. I spotted Rachel, marched up to her, and grabbed my purse. “I’m getting an Uber,” I said, voice shaking.
Jackson didn’t hesitate. He slid his drink across the bar and nodded at us. “No need. Nate’s being a dick and you obviously need your friend tonight. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t see you ladies home safe?”
I could only nod my gratitude, trying not to think about the two sets of eyes watching as we disappeared into the night.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I woke to sunlight slashing through Rachel’s battered blinds and my lips so parched I could taste nothing but last night’s mistakes. My first sensation was regret, heavy and inevitable and close as a second skin. Regret for that tequila shot, for the club dress now bunched beneath my jaw like a crumpled napkin, regret for thinking I could dance the ache out of my bones. When I tried to sit up, my brain pounded, throbbing with the memory of the way I’d bobbed and spun until the club closed down, leaving me not exhilarated but wrecked, caught in the undertow of another morning after.
Of course, the next thing I did was grab my phone. I wasn’t sure what I hoped for, but I knew what I’d find.
Nate had called four times.
He’d texted, seven messages in all, each more desperate than the last. Two were sprawling apologies, sent in the deep dark of the night, at 2:13 and 2:20. The first one read:I’m so sorry, please call me, I fucked up, I know I did, I just can’t lose you.
The next was worse, tumbling over itself:It’s just you’re my only person and I’m scared and I need you Livi, I need you more than I can explain, please please talk to me.
I shut off the screen. There was nothing I could say—not yet. At that moment I wanted only simple things: water, aspirin, maybe a way to rewind time an hour or two.
Rachel’s apartment felt empty but not asleep; through the thin walls I could hear Jackson in the kitchen, humming aimlessly, the coffeemaker starting up its morning chorus. I found Rachel curled on her couch, the glow of her phone painting her pale and intent as she scrolled Instagram.
“You’re alive,” she said, eyes never leaving her screen.
“Barely.”
She tossed the phone aside and lifted the blanket, inviting me in. “Come here. You look like you got dragged behind a city bus.”
I dropped onto the couch and let her tuck the blanket over my legs. We sat with our hangovers and smeared mascara, tangled hair and the quiet comfort of being seen. Rachel didn’t speak, not at first. She’d watched Nate flip from gentle to possessive the night before, and she gave me time to find my words.
“Did he call?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
I nodded. The silence stretched.
“You going to call him back?”
I shrugged. “Eventually.”
She turned to look at me directly. “He was a jerk. He knows it. But also… he’s Nate. Emotional tornado. He’s got so many feelings, sometimes I’m surprised his heart doesn’t just explode.”
I tried to laugh, but the sound sent a crack of pain through my skull.
“Coffee or first aid kit?” Rachel deadpanned.
“Both,” I grumbled, and while she headed to the kitchen I couldn’t help checking my phone again, scrolling through themessages even though I already knew exactly what they said. I couldn’t not look.
I missed you as soon as you left the club. I don’t even remember what I said, but it was shitty, I know. Please don’t give up on me.
I need to see you. I’ll do anything. I’ll quit drinking if you want.
Livi. Please. I’m scared.
That last one—it got me. Not just because he said it, but because I understood it. I set the phone down. For a long moment I stared at the wall, letting that word echo through me: scared.
