Page 49 of Covetous

The night’s just getting started as we hit up the bars in Hyannis, ready to let loose after a day at the beach and a quick dinner at a local clam shack. Esme and Victor are putting on a brave face, insisting they’re up for a night out despite their recent breakup. The rest of us are just trying to keep things as normal as possible, hoping a change of scenery might help take everyone’s minds off the tension. The music’s pumping, the drinks are flowing, and for a little while, it almost feels like old times, laughing and joking around like nothing’s changed. But I can’t help noticing Esme throwing back one too many cocktails, and I get the sinking feeling that the night’s about to take a turn for the worse.

Sure enough, it’s not long before heads turn to observe Victor supporting an intoxicated Esme with a firm grip around her waist. He guides her toward the exit while the rest of us clear a path through the crowded bar. Once we’re outside, Esme tries to shrug off Victor’s grip. “I’m fine.”

He gives her some space but stays close by, ready to catch her if she falls again. But when her body begins to sway, he immediately wraps his arms around her waist and holds her steady.

“You’re not fine. You’re drunk.” He chuckles.

“Maaaybe,” she slurs, then giggles, trying to stand still but failing miserably.

He snorts and lifts her into his arms. “That’s it. You’ve lost your walking privileges.”

“For how long?”

“That depends on how many Long Island iced teas you really had when no one was looking.”

Liv joins me on the curb, facing away from Victor and Esme. “How much do you think she had?”

I shrug. “I saw at least two Long Island iced teas, but Smith claimed she also had a few shots with some locals celebrating a bachelorette party. And she barely ate.”

“Thank you, baby,” Esme murmurs into Victor’s neck.

“Baby?” Liv mouths silently.

I know better than to react in any way other than indifferent in front of Liv. If Esme wants to call him baby, that’s her choice. How he chooses to respond to that is his choice. And if they have loud, drunken sex tonight, that’s also their choice. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Liv purses her lips. “We’ll see how long this breakup lasts,” she says, using air quotes around the word breakup.

My mind races with the implications of her words. Are they just going through the motions of breaking up but secretly hoping for a reconciliation? I had never considered that possibility. “You think they’ll get back together?”

“If she has her way, absolutely yes.”

Smith interrupts our conversation. “What kind of car are we looking for?” he asks, standing at the corner.

I check the ride share app on my phone. “A black Chevy Tahoe.”

“There it is.” Smith signals the SUV, which crawls to a stop at the curb.

It’s the middle of the night when I’m jolted awake by loud, urgent knocking at my door. Groggy and disoriented, I fumble for my glasses on the nightstand, trying to make sense of what’s happening. As I stumble toward the door, a sinking feeling in my gut tells me that something’s wrong. I open it to find Liv standing there, her face etched with worry. “It’s Esme,” she says, her voice tight. “She’s in bad shape.”

I throw on some clothes and follow her to the guest bathroom. The sound of retching grows louder as we approach, making my own stomach turn in sympathy.

When we push open the door, the overpowering stench of vomit fills the air. Esme is hunched over the toilet, her complexion ghostly and slick with sweat. Victor is there, too, kneeling behind her and holding her hair back with a look of concern on his face. It’s kind of sweet that he’s here for her in that way, even after their breakup. It’s obvious that he cares for her. Maybe a reconciliation is possible.

“We can take it from here. You’ve done enough.” Liv all but pushes Victor out of the way, kneeling down on the other side of Esme.

Victor reluctantly moves away. He knows he has no choice. Not unless he wants to face off with Liv, and I don’t think he wants that kind of smoke. He leaves the bathroom and disappears down the hall as Liv and I crouch on the floor at Esme’s sides.

I don’t know what happened over the last few hours. She was okay at the beach. A little sad at dinner. And obviously numbing her feelings at the bar. Something had to have happened at some point between the beach and dinner. Something that made her crumble.

Esme’s nothing more than a heap on the bathroom floor, crying and puking her guts into the toilet. Liv holds her hair back while I wipe her face down with a cool washcloth.

“What happened?” I ask Liv behind Esme’s back.

With a somber expression, Liv shakes her head. “Victor,” she says. “He happened. Fucking dick.”

As if he was summoned, Victor appears in the doorway again, his pained expression giving a clue to what occurred tonight. He hurt her again—said something or did something to irrevocably break her heart.

When Liv notices him, she shoots the most hostile glare I’ve ever seen her give in his direction. It even scares me. But Victor only seems concerned for Esme and not his balls that Liv just might kick if he doesn’t walk away now. “She doesn’t need a fucking audience,” she spits out.

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