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I am, but I’m not ready to admit it. “What?” I shout. “What the actual fuck, Rachel? I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a drop in over a year. Why can’t you just trust me?”
Rachel heaves a long, drawn-out sigh before saying, “You haven’t given me a reason to trust you, Hunter.”
I blink and my mouth opens, trying for a retort, but there’s nothing to say. What can I say to that? She doesn’t trust me and she has good reason not to. I fucked up. I’m going to continue fucking up.
Without a word, I stalk toward the door, grabbing my coat still hanging on the coatrack.
“Hunter!” I hear Rachel call after me, but I slam the door shut behind me and walk as quickly as I can to the elevator and out of my apartment complex. I don’t even know if I have my keys or my wallet, but I can’t stay in there. I can’t handle this guilt stabbing through me. I was an asshole.
I still am an asshole.
I walk down the sidewalk, not knowing where I will go. Flurries rain down around me while the wind whips against my skin. I blink away the tears stinging my eyes as I continue walking, knowing at some point I’ll wind up exactly where I want to be: the bar.
Chapter 23
LUCAS
Istrokemychinwhile pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Rachel is sitting at the table, crying, while Seth holds her, rocking her back and forth. Her sobs fill the apartment. Alex doesn’t say a word. I know I’m speechless.
“Ssh,” Seth soothes and I watch as he strokes Rachel’s hair away from her face.
Her eyes are swollen. Her face is beat-red. I’m torn between wrapping my arms around her and running after Hunter and beating his face in. How could he do this? What was the point in it? And how long has he been drinking?
“It’s going to be all right,” Alex says while crouching in front of Rachel and taking her hands in his. “Do you want me to get you a glass of wine?”
Rachel shakes her head. I don’t blame her. I don’t want a drink either after Hunter’s little tantrum.
“When did he start drinking?” I blurt out.
Seth, Alex, and Rachel turn to me. Their gazes telling me they have no idea. I suspect Hunter began drinking today when he went for his little “phone call”, but in general? Did he begin a month ago? Two months? Or has he been off the wagon since June and has kept it from us?
“I know I should have said something earlier,” Rachel murmurs while wiping the tears away from her face. “I just didn’t want to ruin Thanksgiving.”
“It’s not your fault, Rachel,” says Alex.
I nod in agreement. “He’s right. It’s not.”
Rachel meets my gaze and her bottom lip trembles. “What are we going to do? He’s out there all by himself, drunk.”
I shake my head. My irritation is growing. I stalk to Hunter’s bedroom, finding the nearly empty bottle of rum on the floor near the bed. I clench my fists to keep from kicking it and grab my coat, quickly pulling it on before returning to the others.
“Where are you going?” Rachel asks while rising.
“What does it look like?” I zip my coat all the way up to my chin. “I’m going to get Hunter.”
“Do you need any help?” Alex asks while rising.
I shake my head. “Stay with Rachel. She needs you more than me.” I grab my phone and hold it up for everyone to see. “Call me if Hunter returns.”
“Let us know if you do need help,” says Seth. “You might need it.”
With a curt nod to the bros, I leave the apartment, already knowing exactly where I will begin. Hunter’s usual go-to points shouldn’t have changed since college. I know he will be at some disgusting little hole in the wall, taking shots and complaining about his life to any poor, unfortunate soul sitting next to him. Given the bottle I found in his room, I assume after a couple his head will be plastered on the table by the time I find him.
As I look through each bar I pass, memories of Hunter drinking with us from our college days surface. He was always known as a heavy drinker. Mike was often impressed by how much he could handle. Seth and I never really noticed he had a problem. Each year, it would get worse. Our freshman year, it would be every weekend for frat parties and events. Then our sophomore year, it was three times a week, which really wasn’t so bad. However, Hunter insisted on doing a keg stand each time and afterward would guzzle down nearly an entire bottle of liquor. Then our junior year, we were going out nearly every night when Rachel came to us. And then that first semester we began dating, he moved up to heavy drugs.
I shake my head, blinking back the stinging in my eyes. Hunter is a good guy. I don’t understand why he has to do this. I know he’s troubled by his mom dying. I know he has things to work through, but I thought he was doing better.
I stop when I see a familiar blond head through the window of a small, dirty looking bar. The neon lights inside flicker behind him, casting his hair in an eerie purple-tinged glow. He’s the only one inside. His head is resting on the table. Three empty shot glasses surround him. A man hovers above him with thinning hair and glasses, scowling down at Hunter while tapping his shoulder. Looks like he wants to close up. It’s not very late, but it is Thanksgiving after all. Everyone has their families to get to.
