But the pull is familiar. Strong. It calls me back to old habits, to numbing, to forgetting.
I shove the door open and step into the haze of stale beer, cheap streamers, and a bunch of drunks laughing too loudly. Fuck. New Year’s. I almost forgot. Same tacky party hats. Same countdown chants. Same damn place and people, frozen in time.
I keep my head down and order a whiskey. If I ever needed a drink, it’s now. The redheaded bartender slides it over with a wink. I barely notice. The glass feels warm in my hand, its weight solid, grounding. The first sip burns, then another. Two drinks turn into four. Four into six. It hits harder than I expected. Maybe because it’s been so long. But the ache doesn’t leave, and neither does the guilt.
As I’m about to order another, a voice cuts through the noise.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Dylan. Back from the dead, huh?”
My body tenses. All these years, and his voice still makes my skin crawl.
I turn slowly and see Mike. Same cocky grin. Same dead eyes. The guy who used to call himself my brother’s best friend. The one who handed him his first hit. But he doesn't look invincible anymore. The shadows under his eyes are darker. His frame is thinner. And his shoulders sag, like the weight of his shitty choices is finally catching up to him.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here again,” he says, his tone sarcastic. “Thought you were clean.”
“I am. Just… rough night,” I say, though I know exactly how it looks.
Mike laughs, the sound sharp and familiar. “Yeah, sure. Rough night. You always were good at excuses.” And I was, back then. He saw me at my worst, chasing a high to escape the grief of losing my brother. I clutch my glass tighter. He doesn’t know me now. And I’m not about to explain myself to him.
I toss back the rest of my drink, the sight of him stirring the anger I keep buried. “Good seeing you, Mike,” I mutter, getting up.
“Aw, come on. Stay a while, we should catch up. Let me buy you another drink,” he presses.
But being near him drags me back to places and people I’d rather forget. And I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just one fuck-up away from screwing up.
Mike’s voice drops lower. “You ever think about what happened? With your brother?”
“Every. Damn. Day.” The bitterness in my voice bleeds through each word.
He sighs. “You know… I never meant for it to go that far. I didn’t mean to—”
I cut him off, throwing down enough cash to cover the tab. “You didn’t mean shit, Mike. Take care of yourself.”
I turn to leave, shaking off everything he represents. But before I make it to the door, a hand catches mine. “Where do youthink you’re going, hot stuff?” A young woman with platinum blonde hair and a short silver dress looks up at me, glancing at my ring finger, then at my mouth.
“It looks like you’re single. And I’m single. And your lips should be on mine in less than two minutes,” she slurs, gripping my hand with long manicured nails.
I smirk. “Is that so? Maybe I’ve got a girlfriend who’s out of town.”
“Do you?”
“Maybe,” I hesitate. “Or maybe I’m gay. Maybe I don’t like kissing strangers.”
She laughs. “That’s a lot of maybes.”
Maybe I should shut up and take her home. Let her make me forget about Jenna. But that’s the problem. She’s not Jenna. And I’m done with this fucking meaningless sex. Done with women. Done with this damn night.
The countdown blares over the speakers, and the energy surges. People start reaching for their loved ones, their friends, the nearest stranger.
“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!”
Silver Dress watches me, waiting.
“THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
She pulls me in before I can move, her lips crashing mine. It’s sloppy, cherry lip gloss and red wine on her lips. The room blows up with cheers, champagne popping, and noisemakers going off in every corner.
She pulls back, smirking. “Why don’t you start the new year off right at my place? I’m only a few blocks away.” She winks, and sways toward the coat rack, fully expecting me to follow. Most guys probably do. I don’t.
