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He came, he came, he came.
Well.
That is, until he opens his big, stupid, sexy mouth and ruins everything.
“Is he drunk?”
Atfirst,I’mpissed.
Like, really, really pissed.
Something dark and cruel rockets up my throat. I can feel my airway closing just behind it, telling me there will be no taking back whatever it is that comes out.
“Is he drunk?”
His question tumbles around my skull like one of those medieval weapons with the spike ball attached to a chain. The words are cutting, sharp and grating as they seem to tear at every good feeling I finally,finallymanaged to find after a day fromHell.
Irrational? Probably.
But again. Day from Hell. Not really feelingrationalright now.
The irony doesn’t escape me that if Iwerein fact drunk, as he just so rudely asked the guys—as if I’m not standing right fucking here—I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. Catch myself from saying or doing something unforgivable.
And if that’s not a straight kick to the solar plexus, I don’t know what it is.
It’s my sobriety that probably just saved our relationship.
And that’s a, ah, well, sobering thought.
“Way…” Mason warns quietly from my side. I’m sure I look about two seconds from blowing my lid.
I feel Shawn near my back just as he says quickly, “He’s not. He didn’t drink.”
I grit my teeth, nose flaring.
Will shuffles in place ten feet away, the closest he’s been inten fucking days,and I’m over here, absolutely fucking seething.
That is, until I realize what stopped me from said blowing of my lid. Somehow under the red haze of my anger, my subconscious must’ve picked up on what I was too fucking blinded to see, and only now do I realize his question was not, in fact, an accusation.
He’s not angry. Not disappointed.
He’s fucking heartbroken.
Scared.
It just takes Shawn assuring him for it to fucking click in my head.
It just takes him crumbling for me to wilt completely.
“No,” I hear myself rasp, just as I take a step forward, then another, and another. Not taking my eyes off his, I shake my head. “No.”
The bag drops at his side with a thud.
“I didn’t drink,” I tell him, my voice breaking.
His face crumples just as I grab his shoulders and yank him into my arms.
“I didn’t drink,” I whisper into the roaring rain and whooshing static of LA nightlife.
