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Jaci forced herself to stop crying before they reached Cam and Chase’s home. She dried her face and stayed in Cam’s arms—and refused to speak the thoughts on her mind.
When the limo pulled into the garage, she let him lift her from the car, safe in his arms, and she let him carry her up to the apartment. She didn’t want him to let her go. She was terrified that if he did, then he would never hold her again.
He got the door open while she kept her face buried in his shoulder. She felt weak. She felt as though she should be on her own two feet, rather than depending on him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t let him go. She had to hold onto him.
And he didn’t seem inclined to let her go. He moved into the apartment, the door closing softly behind them as he moved to the couch.
“Here. ” He placed her on the couch, but she didn’t let go of him. She couldn’t.
“It’s okay. I’m not going far. I promise. ” He forced her arms from behind his neck, pulled back, and turned away. She shivered.
The ice was still in his eyes, despite the gentle tone of his voice, and the sight of it had a shiver racing up her spine.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. She watched him miserably as he moved across the room to the kitchen, opened the cabinet, and dragged out a fifth of whisky and two glasses.
When he returned, he sat down beside her, poured a small amount into a glass, and handed it to her. When he turned to the next glass, he seemed to give it a second thought—then he pulled the bottle back and tipped it to his lips.
He didn’t even grimace. Then he lowered the bottle and held it loosely between his thighs.
“I haven’t seen you drink whisky since I’ve been here,” she whispered, her voice raw.
She had only seen him drink beer, and he rarely finished those.
He brought the bottle up, tipped it again, and took a long drink before lowering it and staring at the label thoughtfully. “I used to drink a lot of it. ” He finally shrugged. “Sometimes I drank too much of it. ”
She read between the lines easily. He had been so wild as a young man, so filled with bitterness and hatred—and whisky.
She sat the glass carefully on the table before them, and stared at the amber liquid in it. She didn’t want the drink. She didn’t want to dull the pain raging through her, or the sickness that roiled in her stomach. He had lived his life, survived it, and now he was being forced to reveal it. She wasn’t going to dull her own emotions, she wasn’t going to dull the love and aching grief she felt for him.
He took another long drink, then set the bottle on the table.
“The whisky stopped working a long time ago,” he finally said. “When I realized it was going to take something stronger to dull the pain, I picked up a pistol, got in my pickup, and drove out to the most deserted place I could find at the time. ”
Her heart leapt in her throat.
“The day you were on the back road of the farm,” she whispered.
He nodded slowly, his lips pursing. “I’d had enough. Enough sick shame, enough banging my head against a wall, trying to hide what was happening and trying to find a way out at the same time. ”
She couldn’t cry again. Not yet. He would stop talking if she did, and she needed to know, to understand.
“Then you showed up. ” He reached out and caressed the dark label of the whisky bottle with the back of a finger. “And there was this innocent little face and pretty eyes. And you told me you would take the pain away. I almost believed you could. ” He shook his head at the thought. “You were just a kid, but the only person in that fucking town that seemed to believe in me, besides Chase. And hell, all he wanted was answers. Answers I couldn’t give him. ”
He pulled his hand back and wiped his hand over his face before he let it hang with the other between his spread knees.
“He loved you,” Jaci whispered, “just as I did. ”
He lift
ed his head and stared across the room, his expression so distant, his eyes so cold she wanted to scream out at him. She wanted to hit him. Wanted to rage at him for carrying this alone for so damned long.
“I went to the sheriff the next day,” he finally said. “You see, Jaci, I almost killed one of those old bitches. They insisted I spend the night, that they lie against me. One night, I messed up. I dozed. And I felt her touch me. The next thing I felt was my hand around her throat. ”
He looked down at the hand he clenched slowly, then shook his head tightly again.
Jaci had to force back a cry of pain. Eighteen. He had been eighteen. Too young to face such violence inside himself.
“Anyway,” he breathed out roughly, “I went to Sheriff Bridges. I told him what happened. ” He jerked the bottle up, tilted it, and consumed an amount that had Jaci covering her mouth again to hold back a tortured cry.
