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My jaw clenches as anger bubbles in my stomach. “I don’t want wine with dinner. I want it now.” Conscious of the eyes on me, I try to keep my voice low, but I’m not sure I’m successful. I take a deep breath and swallow. “Please, Ford. This is really fucking hard. Being here is hard.”
He nods, eyes going soft as he runs a knuckle down my cheek, before sliding his palm to the back of my neck, where it settles warm and heavy. My omega immediately calms, but I’m still upset.
“I know it’s tough, Vee. But you’re stronger than this.”
I frown. “Stronger than what? Having a polite dinner with the pack of alphas that hate me for no reason at all?”
Half his mouth quirks up, but then it falls and his thumb strokes over my pulse point. “No, stronger than your addiction.”
Addiction. I jerk back like he hit me. He might as well have for how hard those words smack me in the face. He thinks I’m an alcoholic. I think back to the significant look they all gave each other when I said I’d need alcohol. They all think I’m an alcoholic.
My fingers tighten on the glass in my hand as I put space between us, glancing around the room of people avidly watching us.
I push a shaking smile to my lips and slide the glass onto a nearby table, using a coaster, because I’m not a fucking animal. “Vee.” Ford starts, but I hold up a hand with a strained smile on my face.
“I’m just going to go powder my nose. Excuse me.” I keep my shoulders straight and my chin up as I move through the room, aware of every single pair of eyes on me. I ignore them and keep going, hoping like hell they can’t see the way my hands are trembling.
As soon as I step into the hall, I know I’m not alone. Ford’s maple bacon scent stays with me. “I don’t want to talk to you right now,” I mutter without turning around, striding down the hall toward the guest bathroom.
“That’s fine. You don’t have to. But we promised we wouldn’t leave you tonight, so that means one of us will always be with you.”
It both warms my soul and infuriates me. “Then go get one of the others. I don’t want to be around you right now.”
“Too bad, pip. You’re stuck with me.” He pauses. “The others won’t be any more inclined to give you wine than I am.”
Oh, white hot anger bubbles in my chest, boils over and I spin, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You do not get to judge how I coped after you broke my fucking heart, Ford.” I hiss at him, trying like hell to keep my voice down. “I was in constant pain. My body was shutting down. I couldn’t sleep. There were times I didn’t sleep for fucking days. So I’m sorry if I had to help myself be a little rested!”
He doesn’t look the least bit inclined toward empathy, so I growl and spin back around, take two steps and then turn to face him again. He’s right there, just a step behind me. My finger jabs into his chest again. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Ford. I haven’t had a sip of alcohol every night we’ve had dinner together. I haven’t had a drink since…” I think about it, brow lowered. “Well, in days. Because I haven’t needed it. Being with you assholes helps with my stupid body and its stupid RMD. And I’m sleeping better than I have in years. I’m sorry that I needed a drink before sitting down with the man that, for whatever reason, wants to destroy me and my happiness. I’d think you’d maybe be a little more empathetic to that. It’s not an addiction, Ford. It was a coping mechanism. One I thought I didn’t need anymore, but maybe I was wrong.” He opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something, probably something that will piss me off more. But before he can. I spin on my heel and stomp into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it.
I grip the marble counter on the vanity with both hands, chin dipped toward my chest as emotions battle for dominance. Anger, shame, sadness, grief, heartbreak. None of them are good.
I can’t do this. I can’t. Why the fuck did I think I could?
And why are they out of the blue accusing me of being an alcoholic? Now? Today of all days?
The words sting. Probably because they are at least partially true. I needed to drink to sleep. And it got worse when I came to the city. When I saw Jackson for the first time in seven years, my first instinct was to go buy three bottles of wine. I drank two of them by myself.
Definitely not healthy.
But also fuck them. Fuck him for judging me.
They did this. Put me in this position of needing something since they weren’t there.
I could have asked Dr. Callahan for sleeping pills, but how would that be any better if I was taking them every night? Then they’d accuse me of being addicted to pills instead of alcohol, but at least I’d be able to have a fucking glass of wine now.
A soft knock sounds on the door, followed by Ford’s voice. “Vee, pipsqueak, open up.”
“No,” I whisper to the sink. “I don’t want to talk to you.” But the whine that immediately follows tells a different story. I both want space and want the comfort of my alpha’s arms around me.
A moment later, the lock clicks and he pushes into the room, making it seem a hell of a lot smaller than it was a moment ago. “Oh, pip,” he growls when he sees me looking dejected, bent over the vanity, fighting tears.
In a moment he has me bundled against his chest, my ass on the cool marble, his hips nestled between my thighs. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against my hair, as I bury my face in his soft button-up, taking deep inhales. “I’m sorry. This was neither the time nor the place to bring that up. And we have noticed you haven’t had any alcohol while with us, but…”
I speak without lifting my head, “You weren’t sure I wasn’t drinking after you left and hiding the evidence.” God, that hurts too. Like they think me that devious.
“Yeah.” His lips brush over the crown of my head as his purr starts up. “But it sounds like we were wrong. And I definitely shouldn’t have brought up our concerns here. Please don’t be mad, pip.”
“I am.”
