Page 69 of The Lies We Tell Ourselves

“I didn’t know?—”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

DILLON

“Ididn’t know…” The finality of the door to the stairwell slamming shut was like a bullet through my heart. I thought I knew what it felt like to have my heart broken five years ago, but that pain was nothing but a dull echo of what consumed me now.

My heart froze in my chest as I fell to my knees, my hands reaching out to him, my fingers clinging on to nothing but air. “What have I done? What have I done?”

“Hey, Dillon. Come on, man, let’s get you out of here.” I shook my head. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t want to exist in a world where he didn’t. It was like he’d died and taken a part of me with him when he ran from me. In the silence he left behind, I finally understood how someone could die while still breathing.

I didn’t want to breathe anymore.

What was the point?

“Dillon,” B growled in my ear as he wrapped his arms around my chest and tried to pull me to my feet. “You weigh a damn ton. Help me get you up. I need to fix your hand again, you idiot.”

“What’s the point?” I rasped. “He left me…” Shame swallowed me whole, and the last remnants of the adrenaline I’d been running on faded away, leaving me hollow and cold.

“I’m not discussing this with you here.”

His words were a harsh slap in the face. “Fuck off, Taylor. Just leave me alone.” I was a piece of shit. He didn’t deserve my anger, but he was there, and he’d take it like a champ.

“No. You’re my friend whether you like it or not, and I’m here for you, no matter how many times you tell me to fuck off. I’m not going anywhere. So shut the fuck up and get your ass on your feet.”

“Fine,” I gritted out through clenched teeth and let him haul me to my feet. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, picking myself off that floor. Letting go of that last lingering connection between us. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see his face, tear-stained and broken.

“Your room or mine?” he asked. His assessing gaze cataloged my face, but I didn’t care if he saw my tears or pain.

“Yours. I can’t go back to mine yet. It hurts too much.” All I wanted to do was go and hunt Jamie down so I could beg him to forgive me for the way I’d treated him. For how I’d lashed out at him. I’d promised never to hurt him. Instead, I ripped his damn heart out and crushed it under my feet. I wanted to smash something to alleviate the rage boiling inside me before it twisted me into something he’d never recognize.

I wanted to do so much but I didn’t know how.

“I know, big guy. The ones that hurt the most are usually the ones worth fighting for.” I didn’t have the capacity to process his philosophical words as he dragged my sorry ass into his room and deposited me on his desk chair. “Sit and stay.”

“I’m not a fucking dog,” I snapped and carded my hand through my hair.

“Then stop acting like one,” he called from the bathroom. The sound of running water and his low hum filled the silence that blanketed the room. Buchanan washed my hand down with a wet cloth, then cleaned the cuts with antiseptic to stop them getting infected, grumbling when he had to pull a few splinters out with a pair of tweezers before wrapping it in a bandage.

“Thanks,” I mumbled and stared down at the floor as I toed a loose bit of carpet. My mind churned, and my heart seethed. I couldn’t see beyond my own failings.

Buchanan cocked his head to the side and folded his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall opposite me. “Tell me what you need.”

A lobotomy so I could forget him? A time machine so I could go back and undo everything I’ve ever done wrong to him? “A bullet to the brain?”

“Ha fucking ha, Dillon.” He cuffed me around the head and walked over to his closet. “You have two options. Either we talk about whatever the hell just went down, or we drink and then we talk.”

I didn’t like either, to be honest, because the bottom line was they were the same. I’d just take a different route to get there. B was relentless once he got going. He was like a dog with a bone and would hound me until I gave him exactly what he wanted. I didn’t talk about feelings and shit, not really. Not anymore. “Hargraves don’t do therapy.” My dad’s snake-like voice slithered through my mind like the poison it was. I was tired of plugging the gaping holes in the wall that I hid behind and more than anything, I needed to fix things with Jamie. I just didn’t know if that was even possible.

“I could drink.” B glanced at me over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face as he pulled out a top shelf bottle of tequila. “Fuck no. That stuff is lethal.”

“That’s the point, my friend. Loose lips sink ships.” He grabbed his laptop and sat on his bed, patting the space next to him. There wasn’t much room on the queen-sized bed for the two of us, but this was something we’d done on many occasions over our time here at Briar U.

“You want to get me drunk and snuggle? You can fuck right off,” I said as I shuffled over onto the bed next to him. I grabbed the bottle from where he had it propped against his leg, opened it, and swallowed the burning liquid down while he found some inane program to put on.

“Give me that,” he griped, ripping the bottle from my hands and swallowing a few gulps, grimacing as it went down. “Ugh. Just because it’s expensive, doesn’t make it nice, does it?”

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