The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

30 - Something in his Eyes

If I had my way, I would never, ever do what I'm about to do. Which is visit Sully. Face to face. After the embarrassing spectacle I made of myself the night before. I'd hide beneath the blankets on Hartley's bed until it's time to go back home.

But I can't. I have to apologize for acting like a spaz.

After we finished at Lady Bijou's, Penny drove Hartley to her weekly therapy appointment and Jolie decided to fill in for another instructor at the yoga studio, which leaves me with a free afternoon.

So here I am, standing on Sully's sprawling front porch, my fist hovering inches away from his screen door. Maybe in some alternate universe, like the one Hartley insists exists, last night never happened. Maybe when he sees me, he'll act completely normal. Because that's what last night was—one hundred percent, completely normal.

And maybe cats will sprout fairy wings and fly.

As soon as the door creaks open, surprise explodes across his face. "Gwen!" he says, stepping outside. "How are you? I wanted to come and see you earlier but Hartley said I should give you some time."

His statement startles me. "She did?" She never even told me they'd spoken.

He looks embarrassed. "She said you weren't well and that you felt ... stupid, I guess. But you know you have no reason to feel bad, right? I mean, everyone gets drunk for a first time. Although, I'm kind of surprised you did." He pauses, his brown eyes filled with questions I don't want to answer. "I thought you didn't want to drink. I didn't know what to do."

Guilt wraps around me like a scarf. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I acted that way. It was stupid."

His gaze drops to the floorboards and he peeks up through his lashes. "She said you're having problems at home."

Geez, what all does Hartley tell him when I'm not around?

I shrug. "A little."

"Well...she didn't say that exactly. She more alluded to it. I put the pieces together myself." He shifts from one foot to the next, but I can tell he's proud of his personal theory. "Do you want to talk?"

He leads me to a wrought iron glider at the far end of the porch and we sit next to each other, careful our legs don't touch in the process. Flutters tickle my stomach. "My parents are getting divorced."

I peek at him sideways and find him watching me. "I'm sorry."

I glance down at my feet. "It's okay."

The ting ting ting of an old car grabs our attention. We stare as it sputters down the street and turns out of view.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Not really." Sadness bubbles in my throat but I swallow it back. "My dad is seeing someone else. He moved out several months ago."

"Wow." His voice crackles with discomfort. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. It's fine."

But it's not fine. And somehow, he knows it.

Sully leans back in his seat. "After Sawyer died, things got really tense at home. My parents argued all the time, that is when they decided to talk to each other at all. And it seemed like they didn't have any time for me anymore. After a while, it got so bad I asked if I could live with my aunt and uncle in Rhode Island."

My jaw drops and I turn until I'm facing him. "You did?"

Sully nods. "They said no. But they finally realized how miserable I was—how miserable we all were. Me telling them I wanted to leave home was the catalyst that changed everything."