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"I'll make you a cup of coffee before I go. I want you to sober up a bit." He went to the kitchen and prepared me a cup and then kissed me on the mouth. "Wait up for me. I probably won't be too long."
"I will."
He left me alone on the couch. I switched on the flatscreen and listened to the news, trying to sober up enough that I wouldn't fall asleep before he returned. Despite my best efforts, I wasn’t able to wake up. When Drake still wasn't home by ten o'clock, I went to the bed and fell asleep. Despite my attempts to stay awake I was still recovering from our night of vodka.
Drake didn’t wake me up to fuck me as I thought he might. Instead, when I woke in the morning, the light streaming in from the window, Drake was asleep, fully clothed, lying on top of the covers beside me with his back turned to me.
I thought about what he'd said that first night we were at the Russian Tea Room – that if we became involved, we'd meet, he'd tie me up and fuck me, make me come several times and I'd sleep like a baby. He'd been so right about that – I had been sleeping really well since we'd become lovers, the sex keeping me in a state of near bliss despite the ups and downs of our relationship. But not last night or the night before.
"Drake," I said, sitting up on my elbow.
After a moment, he turned over, a hand covering his eyes.
"Ms. Bennet, what's going on in that mind of yours so early in the morning?"
He pulled his hand away and there was a bruise on his face, below his eye, which was turning black and blue.
"Drake, what happened?" I leaned over and examined him closely. "You’re hurt."
"I got into an," he said and hesitated. "An altercation."
"What?"
"I don’t want to talk about it."
I didn't say anything more, due to the note of finality in his voice. Finally, he opened his eyes, blinking against the brightness of the morning light. His eyes were so pale blue, they seemed to pierce my heart when our eyes met, but they were definitely bloodshot.
I looked him over from head to foot. "Why didn’t you wake me up when you got home? If I had known you were injured…"
"If you had known, you wouldn’t have slept."
"What happened?"
He exhaled heavily. "Maureen and I had it out and I kind of lost it. Chris and I had a pushing match and I came out worse for the wear. Luckily, neither of us pressed charges. Then, I kind of lost myself for a few hours. When I came home, I was too drunk to even get undressed."
I frowned. "What do you mean, 'lost myself'?"
"I drank with Dave Mills. I believe he drank me under the proverbial table and had to drive me home. I'm surprised I didn't wake you up."
"What happened to make you and Chris fight?"
He sighed heavily. "I don't want to get into it. Suffice to say Maureen pretty much rejected my request to give Liam the photo of my dad."
"Oh, Drake..." I kissed him briefly and he let me but he didn't kiss me back. He said nothing, turning over and I knew not to push him.
I had a shower, still a little hung over. It upset me to think Drake and Chris got into a fight. After I dried off, I saw that he was still sleeping so I put on my robe and went to the kitchen to have something to eat.
In about an hour, I heard him having his own shower.
Later, we sat at the island, looking out the window at the blue sky. Usually, we'd discuss the plans for the day. Instead, he was silent, smiling briefly at me when I handed him his coffee. He sighed heavily and it made me think he really did want to talk about Maureen.
"Drake, tell me what happened."
He made a face and turned back to the Manhattan skyline.
"Maureen didn't promise me anything except that she'd give the picture to Liam when he was eighteen."
"Why did she want you to come to the hospital?"
