“Not fine. You came home early and you’re drinking like a fish, so what is it?” I try to keep my voice calm.
Inside, I want to scream and shake him. I want him to go back to the man he was when we were together and before he ripped me to pieces at the French place.
He doesn’t answer.
He just pours himself a few more fingers and throws them back in one gulp.
Holy hell.
By my count, he’s on his third or maybe fourth drink in just as many minutes.
“I need some time alone. Leave,” he says.
“Only after you tell me what’s going on.”
Raw anger flares in his eyes, jolting me to the core because I’ve never seen this look before. Not even when we were fighting at the restaurant.
“Do you still have ears? I said leave me the fuck alone, Pages.” He enunciates every word, slowly and brutally.
“Don’t swear at me.” I try to snatch the bottle again and succeed at hauling it out of his limp grasp. “I’m not leaving you like this and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what has you acting crazy.”
“You’re pushing your luck.”
“Sotell me!”
His eyes are dark and dangerous, glazed from the alcohol flooding his system.
It’ll take a second before it hits his bloodstream full force, but I guess he’s feeling it already.
The old Hattie inside me shrinks at seeing him like this. But I’m not about to give up on him that easily, so I clutch the bottle to my chest.
“Don’t do this.” My voice shakes, but I refuse to let that stop me. “Don’t let your anger win.”
“Did your mom teach you that one? Sounds like her.” He snorts loudly.
“Don’t make this about my mom.”
“Then don’t lecture me.” His blue eyes sharpen. “What would you know about dealing with anything?”
“Working in a bookstore makes you pretty immune to giant assholes. And you’re being one right now.”
He grabs for the bottle, ripping it from my hands.
But we both fumble and it falls to the floor.
Although I know it’s impossible, it feels like time stops as I watch it fall, waiting for the inevitable mess.
Of course, it shatters.
Bourbon spills everywhere, splattering the floor.
A piece of glass grazes my toe and I jump back.
“Shit!”
He stares at the mess, bewildered, his brow furrowed and his mouth a flat, hard line.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
