I catch his arm. “Jesus, Remy, what the fuck?”
He spins around, wet eyes spilling over and a snarl on his lips. “You don’t have the right!”
He’s got me there.
I’ll let him scream at me all night, but I need to get him home and he’s not cooperating. Logic has left his beautiful head; he’s upset and drunk and about to jump in front of another damn car. I grasp his hand as he wriggles like a worm.
“Let go of me!”
“Baby, you’re gonna get hit—”
He shoves me. “No, you don’t get to call me that,” he whimpers, head shaking back and forth, over and over. “You had me. You fuckinghadme, Win, and you— you fuckingleftme.”
His choked sobs are bullets riddling my body, but I take them, one after another because he needs to say them.
“I didn’t want to.”
He grips his hair by the roots. “Stop, please, just fucking stop, I’m begging you.”
I approach him like a cornered animal. “Alright, just let me get you home safe.”
His face contorts in anguish. “I’m the worst person.”
“What?” I ask, caught off guard by the sudden switch as I gently guide him off the sidewalk toward the Rover. “No, you’re not—”
He jerks away again. Christ, I need to leash him.
“I am!” he yells, arms thrown wide. “You’re in recovery and here you are taking care of my drunk ass. You know what’s worse? I thought it’d be too much and you’d leave, but you didn’t so I kept drinking because being around you hurts too fucking much.”
I’m bleeding out.
Rocks scrape my throat raw.
“I know.”
His back hits the trunk of the SUV and he slumps. Cautiously, I touch his shoulder, nudging him to the passenger side and open the door for him. He sways before plopping into the seat. I try to buckle him in, but he swats me away.
Once I’m behind the wheel, I ask, “How muchdidyou drink?”
“Too much, obviously,” he scoffs, kicking a boot up on the glovebox. “My medication makes me a lightweight.”
I want to hug him and strangle him simultaneously.
“That’s fucking dangerous, Remy.”
He flips me off like a twelve-year-old.
“Did you even eat the dinner I left you?”
“I don’t want your food,” he huffs.
I grind my teeth.
He’s a mess.
And I’m the reason.
Remy plays with the radio, sniffling and muttering to himself the entire way while I struggle to suppress burning tears. By the time I park in front of his apartment, he’s dozing off.
