Walking Disaster

entrance. Shepley seemed on edge and didn’t talk much on the ride to the apartment.
    When he pulled into his parking spot, he sighed. I debated whether or not to ask him if he and America were having problems, but I didn’t think I could handle his shit
and
mine.
    I grabbed my backpack from the backseat and pushed the door open, stopping only long enough to unlock the door.
    “Hey,” Shepley said, shutting the door behind him. “You all right?”
    “Yeah,” I said from the hallway, not turning around.
    “That was kind of awkward in the cafeteria.”
    “I guess,” I said, taking another step.
    “So, uh . . . I should probably tell you something I overheard. I mean . . . hell, Trav, I don’t know if I should tell you or not. I don’t know if it’ll make it worse or
better.”
    I turned around. “Overheard from who?”
    “Mare and Abby were talking. It was . . . mentioned that Abby’s been miserable all break.”
    I stood in silence, trying to keep my breathing even.
    “Did you hear what I said?” Shepley asked, his brows pulling together.
    “What does that mean?” I asked, throwing my hands up. “She’s been miserable without me? Because we’re not friends anymore? What?”
    Shepley nodded. “Definitely a bad idea.”
    “Tell me!” I yelled, feeling myself shake. “I can’t . . . I can’t keep feeling like this!” I threw my keys down the hall, hearing a loud crack when they made
contact with the wall. “She barely acknowledged me today, and you’re telling me she wants me back? As a friend? The way it was before Vegas? Or is she just miserable in
general?”
    “I don’t know.”
    I let my bag fall to the floor and kicked it in Shepley’s general direction. “Wh-why are you doing this to me, man? Do you think I’m not suffering enough, because I promise
you, it’s too much.”
    “I’m sorry, Trav. I just thought I’d wanna know . . . if it were me.”
    “You’re not me! Just fucking . . . leave it alone, Shep. Leave it the hell alone.” I slammed my door and sat on my bed, my head resting on my hands.
    Shepley cracked open the door. “I’m not trying to make it worse, if that’s what you think. But I knew if you found out later, you would have kicked my ass for not telling you.
That’s all I’m sayin’.”
    I nodded once. “Okay.”
    “You think . . . you think if maybe you focused on all the bullshit you had to endure with her, that’d make it easier?”
    I sighed. “I’ve tried. I keep coming back to the same thought.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Now that it’s over, I wish I could have all the bad stuff back . . . just so I could have the good.”
    Shepley’s eyes bounced around the room, trying to think of something else comforting to say, but he was clearly all out of advice. His cell phone beeped.
    “It’s Trent,” Shepley said, reading the display screen. His eyes lit up. “You want to grab some drinks with him at the Red? He gets off at five today. His car broke down
and he wants you to take him to see Cami. You should go, man. Take my car.”
    “All right. Let him know I’m comin’.” I sniffed, and wiped my nose before standing up.
    Sometime between me leaving the apartment and pulling into the gravel lot of the tattoo parlor Trenton worked at, Shepley had alerted Trenton to my shitty day. Trenton gave it away when he
insisted on going straight to the Red Door as soon as he slid into the passenger seat of the Charger, instead of wanting to go home to change first.
    When we arrived, we were alone except for Cami, the owner, and some guy stocking Cami’s bar, but it was the middle of the week—prime college bar time and coin beer night. It
didn’t take long for the room to fill with people.
    I was already lit by the time Lexi and some of her friends had made a drive-by, but it wasn’t until Megan stopped by that I even bothered to look up.
    “Looking pretty sloppy, Maddox.”
    “Nah,” I said, trying to get my numb lips to form around my words.
    “Let’s dance,” she whined, tugging on my arm.
    “I don’t think I can,” I said, swaying.
    “I don’t think you should,” Trenton said, amused.
    Megan bought me a beer and took the stool next to mine. Within ten minutes, she was pawing at my shirt, and not so subtly touching my arms, and then my hands. Just before closing, she had given
up her stool to stand next to me—or more like straddle my thigh.
    “So I didn’t see the bike outside. Did Trenton drive you?”
    “Nope.