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I want to say “I promise”, but I can’t.
Chapter fifteen
Stubborn Old Man
Tanya
I pull up outside Brian’s mansion, my stomach churning with a mix of anticipation and dread. It’s been over three days since I last saw him. I’ve tried calling and texting, but he hasn’t responded to any of my messages. This isn’t like him at all. Brian is many things, but he’s never been one to ignore me or his almost daily workout sessions. Something feels very, very wrong.
My concern for his well-being is the only thing that’s dragged me here today. Part of me didn’t want to come out of fear of discovering something terrible. I try to shove the word relapse out of my head. He couldn’t have fallen off the wagon again, could he? Diane’s traveling away for the weekend, which is partly why I’ve mustered up the courage to come over today. Could something have happened between father and daughter?
His Bentley’s in the drive, so he must be here. I pound on the heavy wooden doors of Russo Manor, my heart racing. When the housekeeper opens the door, my worry ratchets up another notch. She looks pale and shaken, confirming my fears that something is very wrong.
“Is he all right?” I demand, pushing past the housekeeper and into the foyer.
She hesitates, wringing her hands. “Mr. Russo is…unwell. Miss Diane is out of town”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Could be in the den. Or his bedroom. I’m not sure, miss. I’ve been asked to stay away from his section of the house. I’ve been worried sick. He isn’t even allowing the cleaning crew to sweep his floors, and—” Before the housekeeper can finish lamenting, I’m sprinting past her at full speed.
I reach the den first. “Brian?” I call out, frowning at the silence. Unease trickles down my spine as I walk through the foyer and den. Crumpled tissues litter the floor, and the whole room smells stale, like no one’s opened a window for days. I spot several empty liquor bottles in the trash. My heart plummets. I take two bottles in my hands and stare at them, disappointment seeping through my veins. What has he gotten himself into? “Brian!” I shout, rushing upstairs and into his room, bottles still in hand. I find him slumped in bed, pale and disheveled. He looks weak. He can barely sit up and has huge, dark circles under his eyes.
“Tanya.” His voice is hoarse, and he grimaces as he sits up. “What are you doing here?” The room is so dark it takes a while for my eyes to adjust.
I shake the liquor bottles in the air, right in front of his eyes. “What’s the meaning of this? You promised you were done with the booze! It’s mid-afternoon and you’re in bed doing what exactly?”
“I’m not drinking again,” he protests weakly. “Those have been there for weeks. No one’s cleaned—”
“Don’t lie to me!” I shout. “Look at you, Brian! When’s the last time you ate or showered? You’ve clearly been on a bender for days!”
“I haven’t—” He sucks in a sharp breath, clutching his ribs. His breath comes out in raspy, hoarse tones.
My anger evaporates, replaced by concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Just then, I notice the true extent of what I’m looking at. Are those bruises under his eyes that I mistook for dark circles? I rush towards the windows, pull open the blinds, and turn to look at him, with light infiltrating the room. I gasp. The sight that greets me stops me dead in my tracks.
Brian’s slumped against the bed. His wrist has a bandage on it. His hair is greasy and unkempt, and his eyes are sunken and bloodshot. But what alarms me most are the dark bruises mottling his face and the deep gashes caking his split lip. I rush over and crouch beside him, tentatively reaching out to touch his face. He flinches at the contact, and I snatch my hand back.
“Who did this to you?” I demand, barely able to contain my anger. How dare someone hurt him like this!
Brian catches my wrist before I can touch him again. “Leave it, Tanya.” His fingers tighten around my arm, and I wince at the pressure. He seems to realize he’s hurting me and releases his grip, looking away.
“I can’t do that,” I say softly. “Talk to me, Brian. Please. Just tell me the truth. Did you relapse and get into a fight or something?”
After a long moment, he exhales heavily and meets my gaze. What I see in his eyes makes my heart clench. Pain, shame, defeat.
I swallow hard, fighting back tears. “Did you relapse?” I ask again. My voice trembles as I awaited the dreaded answer.
Brian shakes his head. “No, I didn’t relapse.”
Relief washes over me, followed swiftly by confusion. “Then what happened?”
He looks away again, his jaw clenching. I can see this is difficult for him to talk about, but I need to know the truth. I place my hand over his, feeling the rough calluses and old scars marring his knuckles.
“You can tell me anything, Brian. I’m here for you.”
After a long moment, he turns his hand over and laces his fingers through mine, squeezing gently. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.
“I’m not using again if that’s what you mean.” He stares at the wall, avoiding my gaze. “I ran into some trouble with a…business associate. It’s been taken care of.”
