Page 43 of We Drank the Dawn

“What are you doing?” I hissed.

“Oh, hey.” His voice was slow, relaxed.

I wrinkled my nose at the smell of him—the sour bread-like scent that permeated my memories. “You’re drinking.”

“And?”

“And that’s weird.”

“I should do it more often.”

“You absolutely should not.”

I scoffed as he lifted his hand over his head, and the bartender called, “Same thing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You got it.”

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” Heat edged into my face as I suppressed simmering anger. “You couldn’t have at least told me where you were going? Where’s your phone?”

“I got your calls.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and slid it onto the counter, wordlessly answering my question with the notification stack that had my name on it. So he’d been ignoring me?

The bartender produced another beer.

“How many have you had?”

He lifted a shoulder. “This is my third.” That seemed like a lot to me. Of course, Peter would be a light weight because he was a craft-green-smoothie kind of guy, not craft beer. The rare times he indulged were on date nights where he’d get a glass of wine or a bourbon or something. Or when he was out with Ben. And considering it had been years since he did either of those things, he needed to slow his pace.

Peter grabbed the glass and started knocking it back.

I paled as fear pierced my heart.

He had a fourth of it down when I yanked his arm. “Peter! You're going to get drunk, chugging it like that.”

“Good. I wanna be drunk.” His words were already running together.

“What is going on? This is not like you.”

His fingers tightened around the cup, his voice so soft and sad that it made me want to cry. “Well, maybe you don’t know me anymore, Sarah. You don’t.” As I deciphered his meaning, he continued, “I have stuff to say.”

My whole body went stiff and my fingers clenched around the back of the barstool.

“You’re not gonna like it. But I can’t keep holding it in.”

A warning flag rose in my heart.

“I…can’t live like this anymore.”

My voice came breathlessly. “Like what?”

“You and me. The way we are. I need some space to figure things out. I’ve been trying to tell you that, but you haven’t been listening.”

I shook my head, fighting to stay focused and sane amid the swelling storm in my chest. “Space to figure what out?”

“Us.”

Us.