Lifting his head, he glances at me. His face is flushed and splotchy, his eyes are swollen and red, and tears slowly slide down his face as his lip trembles.
He’s crying.
He’s fucking crying.
Fury like I’ve never felt before fills me, and I thrust to my feet, searching for the culprit.
“Who the fuck made him cry?” I roar, and even Skylar jerks back. “Who?” I bellow.
“You, you fucking idiot,” Skylar hisses, and I freeze. Blowing out a breath, I look down when I feel a touch. Mackie’s hand fists my sleeve, and he looks up at me with wet eyes.
“Noah, you aren’t really here, are you? You wouldn’t be. You wouldn’t come for me.” His words are sloppy as he presses against me, inhaling deeply. “You smell like him. That isn’t fair. You haunt me, and I hate it. I hate how I let you break my heart all the time. Why can’t you just want me the way I want you? Why does it hurt so much? Why can’t I let you go?”
His words crack my heart wide open, and I lean down and scoop him into my arms. “Let’s go, Mackie,” I murmur as softly as I can as he buries his head in my neck and sighs. I shiver and try to ignore my reaction as I glance at Sky.
“If you let him drink like this again, you’re track grounded for a year,” I warn him.
“He’s an adult. He can drink if he wants. You’re lucky he called me so he wasn’t alone,” Skylar snaps as he stands. “Sort your shit out, Noah, and stop breaking his fucking heart. It’s stupid, and I’m tired of seeing my brother so hurt.” He softens as he slaps my side. “I know why you’re doing it, but it isn’t working. Either let him go or hold on, your choice, but you need to make it. It isn’t fair to either of you. Next time, I won’t call you. Say goodbye if that’s your choice.”
I watch him go, my heart racing at his words.
He called me so I could say goodbye.
He’s giving me one last chance, and I know Mackie is too.
This will be the last time. He’ll be gone tomorrow if I let him.
I leave the club and open my passenger door, kneeling on the wet pavement as I slide him into the seat. Carefully arranging him, I reach over and put his seat belt on, then I grab the water from the compartment in the middle, uncap it, and hold it for him. “Drink this, it will help.”
“No,” he mutters, turning away.
Sighing, I grab his chin and jerk him around so he looks at me, then I force the bottle between his lips and tip it back. He chokes and tries to pull away, but I slide my hand down and rub his throat until he swallows, then I cap it again. “Good boy, let’s get you home.” Shutting the door, I hurry around to the driver’s seat and start the engine.
“It’s you, isn’t it? You actually came.” His voice is low and filled with pain. “Why did you even bother? We both know you didn’t want to. You should have left me to be everyone else’s problem. It isn’t fair of you to show up. It isn’t fair that I can’t let you go.” He falls into silence as my eyes close for a moment.
He’s right. It isn’t fair. I’m a cruel asshole, but when I look at him, I can’t regret it.
“I know,” I admit softly as I press on the gas.
I should take him home, but instead, I drive in the direction of my house.
The entire way, I listen to his soft, heartbreaking cries that he tries to hide from me.
My hands tighten on the wheel as my heart breaks with his.
“Hold on, baby,” I murmur as I lift him into my arms, juggling him as I unlock my front door. His head lolls on my shoulder. This isn’t the first time he’s slept at my place after a night out, but it feels different tonight as I walk through my house to my bedroom. Once there, I lay him on the bed, and he covers his face with his arm as I take off his shoes and socks and set them to the side. Heading downstairs, I grab some drinks and pills, and when I return, I force him to sit up before I offer them to him. He doesn’t look at me as he takes them, and once he’s done, he rolls onto his side, facing away from me.
“I’ll go home when I can drive,” he mutters, more sober now.
Sighing, I kick off my shoes and climb into the other side, sitting up with my back against the headboard. “You’ll stay until morning, and we’ll talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he snaps.
“Mackie—”
“Don’t,” he protests, and his red eyes finally lock on me. “I’m not in the mood to be shouted at or chastised. I know nothing has changed. I made a mistake when I called you. I won’t do it again.” He turns away from me, or he tries, but I stop him with a hand on his arm.
“You can always call me, and I will always come,” I promise. “That will never change, and I’m not going to shout. Yes, I worry when you drink that much, but it’s only because?—”
