Page 98 of Safety Net
LINCOLN
Iwatched Celeste leave, too ashamed to call after her. But not so far up my own ass I didn't make sure she got inside her car. I wiped my hands over my face as she drove off, trying to ground myself enough to think clearly. The buzz I'd embraced only a few minutes ago was now an aggravating blocker.
It had all spiraled so quickly. At the beginning of the night, I'd convinced myself I had a handle on everything, that the drinking wasn't a reactionary response to all my disappointment, but a celebration of my choosing to be my own person.
The look of hurt in Celeste's eyes was a stab to the chest. The tension and pain lodged inside, burning as it melted.
My immediate instinct was to call one of the guys. Ask them to pick me up and help me sober up in time to drive across town and pick up the set pieces. But as soon as I unlocked my phone, I hesitated to pull up anyone's contact. It was past midnight, and they’d been firm on their stance of how I should have handled my failure this summer. I couldn't stomach another disappointment from people I knew wouldn't give up on me (no matter how much they should).
Frustration at every single decision I'd made to get to this point boiled to the surface. Why did I come here tonight?
I knew Celeste wanted to leave. I knew that hours ago. She'd been so patient.
Something in me needed to prove I could still live life if hockey weren't on the table. I needed a good enough distraction, so I didn't sit and ruminate on everything I'd ruined.
I hadn't left because the noise and drinking were the pause button I needed on life. And a small part of me, a part that seemed to feed off my budding insecurity, wanted to show Celeste who I really was. How careless I could be, just so she completely understood what she was getting into.
So she had a reason to leave you. So you didn't have time to screw it up any more than you already have because you're not worth it. You're a lost cause.
The thought began as a whisper, expanding with every second that ticked by. I was doing it again, self-sabotaging when things had started to get good. Ruining something that was working because of a belief that'd attached itself to me over a decade ago.
"Shit," I breathed out, trying to contend with my growing headache and the knowledge that this is a cycle I've built and fed into. And when everyone in my life mentioned it to me, I ignored them. Convinced them, with hollow words, I could maintain control.
I didn't know how to fix myself, but that wasn’t the top priority tonight. The sets were. Celeste was. She'd given me every ounce of her trust, and I'd tucked it into the back of my mind, forgetting it was the most valuable thing I possessed.
Without wasting another second, I pulled up navigation on my phone and typed in the nearest gas station. Thankfully, the campus was close, which meant the most essential places were within walking distance. I alternated between jogging andwalking, acutely aware of the ticking clock. The opening show was today at three PM. That meant I had fifteen hours to pick up the set pieces in the next town over, drive back to Tinsel, figure out how to get the keys to the playhouse, transfer everything inside, and put it all together before the curtain rose. Exhausting but not impossible…for a sober person. For a drunk asshole? Time would tell.
The gas station cashier looked concerned when I stumbled inside.
"Can I help you?" he asked, voice gravelly.
He watched as I made my way to the back wall, set on grabbing every cold bottle of water I could carry.
"I'm in some deep trouble, Dave," I said. His name tag had been upside down on his shirt, nearly faded from what I assumed were years of wear and tear from his shifts.
"What kind of trouble, kid?" He glanced outside as if he'd find someone strapped up and waiting for me at one of the empty pumps.
"The kind that will determine the fate of my entire existence." I pointed at the steel tin of coffee. "How much?"
Dave scanned me, wary and unsure if I was a threat or a joke. My look of sheer exhaustion convinced him of the latter.
"Two fifty," he said.
"And how much if I use one of those?" I pointed to the jumbo-sized slushy cup.
"Six and a free call to the ER," he said. "Aren't you one of those Mendell kids? Hockey player, right?"
"Guilty." I dumped my water bottles at the counter and headed for the coffee.
"Yeah, I thought I'd seen you in here before."
"You're usually on the morning shift. Your kid is in high school, right? You said he wanted to run for Mendell. Cross country," I noted while trying to decide if I really wanted a 32-ounce cup of coffee. I needed enough fuel to stay up until I installed the sets.. Desperate times.
"That's right." He huffed, surprised I remembered. "He got a scholarship."
"Congrats." I swayed a little but managed to catch myself on the counter, resting my forehead against the cold surface. "Great school. Athletic department is in shambles, but by the time he's a junior, I'm sure they'll have it all figured out."
"Yeah, I heard about all that on the news. Last season was unfortunate. Sorry, you all's season was a bust."
