Page 115 of Falling

Wrenny

If you mean to stare at me while I read, then no. I just want to be alone for a bit.

Is that okay?

Of course, it is.

Is everything okay with us?

Wrenny

Of courseit is.

I don’t know what I was expecting to happen this morning, but it wasn’t to wake up in bed alone.

There is no doubt that we both had a good night last night, so Wren running off from me was not expected. I know she’s probably got all in her head and let the last week’s worries crash down on her when they don’t need to. I don’t know how many more times I have to tell her and prove to her that I’m right there with her in whatever she’s feeling because I am.

Maybe sleeping together was a dumb idea. As good as it was at the moment, we both have a lot to deal with right now. With the pressure on Wren from her sister and my own struggles with trying to get back my captaincy on the team, complicating our relationship is the last thing either of us needs.

Our flight isn’t until tonight, and I have no idea what to do with myself until she comes back. I tried calling her, but she clearly doesn’t want to be disturbed. Usually, I’d push her on this, but I have a strong feeling that she doesn’t want to be pushed right now.

I catch a cab into town to a good bar-restaurant so I can let myself think. I know she’s at the beach closest to the hotel, and the best thing I can do is to give her space to figure out what she wants. Whatever the fuck that is.

I’m not surprised when I walk into the bar and it’s completely deserted. It would be crazy for anyone to be up this early on New Year’s Day anyway. The air inside is thick with the energy of last night, and the bartender is nursing a hangover as he wipes down the counter. I knew my fake ID would be accepted in a place like this, so he doesn't look twice when I take a seat and ask for a soda.

I stare at the soda, my fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on the glass. My mind won’t stop spinning. The drinks are right there, and it would be so easy. Just one shot to take the edge off.

I've worked too hard to fuck it up now.

I look around, the shadows of the bar feeling like they’re closing in on me. The polished wood of the bar, the clinking of bottles as the bartender restocks, the faint hum of a distant television. It’s all too familiar and too tempting. I can almost taste the burn of whiskey on my tongue and feel the warm numbness spreading through me.

I grip the edge of the bar, my knuckles whitening. The urge to order a drink claws at my insides, a restless itch that won’t go away. I know it would only take a moment, a simple word to the bartender. Just one drink to make everything fade, to silence the chaos in my head.

I pull out my phone and flick through my photos as a distraction. My entire camera roll has been consumed by Wren the same way my brain has.

I’ve always been a picture-taking person. I love having these kinds of memories on my phone to look through over the years. Whenever I post any pictures of Wren and me, my followers go insane as if we’re the new celebrity couple. It's got to the point where I'm basically a Wren Hackerly fan page, and I love it.

One of my first pictures of her is when we went to meet up at the gym one cold morning. I forgot to give her my keys before I told her to go to the car so I could pee quickly. When I walked back out, she was standing at the side of my truck with the most ridiculous look on her face. Her hair was braided into two pigtails, and she was wrapped in a huge puffer jacket, a beanie, and a scarf while she sulked at the camera as I snapped pictures of her. “It’s for the memories,” I said, and she pushed me, almost making me topple over in the snow.

I catch myself smiling and don’t bother to hide it.

I have tons of candid pictures of her in the library, at the rink, in my room, and in her car. And my favorite picture of us: a candid taken by Kennedy on Christmas Day. In the photo, I’m leaning on the sink, drying the dishes while Wren washes them, but the picture is a small moment caught where we both look at each other, smiling as she passes a dish to me. Kennedy sent it to me on Instagram, and I didn’t get it until I was in bed that night.To add to the photo album for your kids, the message read.

Another of my favorite photos is the one we took when it was snowing. She’s straddling me, wisps of her blonde hair falling out of her beanie as she smiles at me. It isn’t one of those fake smiles she gives to the camera when we’re in public, but it’s one that she reserves just for me. In contrast to the white snow covering the background, Wren looks like she’s in screaming color, and I didn’t want anyone else to see it, so I’ve kept it to myself. My girl is so gorgeous it almost hurts.

In all the ways that count, she’s still my girl, and her running away from me isn’t going to change that. Being with her this week has stopped this constant orbit that I have been in, trying to get her to pull me into her. To get her to notice. But when that happens, she pushes me back out again and I’m stuck circling around her.

I sit there, scrolling aimlessly through my camera roll, smiling to myself like a loon. I’m so caught up in listening to her laugh that I don’t notice the tall, dark-haired guy who sits next to me. He looks around my age, maybe a little younger, but definitely not allowed to be drinking.

“Is that your girlfriend?” he asks, nodding toward my phone. Instinctively, I lock my phone and turn it face down on the table.

“Yep. I think,” I reply, but my voice sounds distant. The drinks must be getting to me, and I’m too far in to stop.

“What do you mean, ‘you think’? Is she or not?” He looks at me with kind eyes. His features seem boyish and friendly, a lot like Carter’s. A huge part of me is telling me not to talk to strangers, but there’s something about him that’s so familiar. I gesture to the bartender for a drink

“Do you want to hear a story?”

WREN

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