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"I was getting some water," she muttered, throwing her hand toward the kitchen.
"Get some wine," I said. "You haven't had any yet." The bottles I'd bought her still sat untouched in the fridge. Maybe they were the wrong kind. I should've asked her what she liked.
"Oh." She stared at the archway into the kitchen. "I—I don't drink often."
"Drink tonight," I said softly. "We need to talk, and alcohol might make it easier." She blinked at me. I waited for her to reject me, to tell me there was nothing to talk about.
Instead, she just nodded and headed toward the kitchen on silent feet. I didn't even bother reprimanding myself for staring at her perfect ass.
I downed the rest of my glass as I stared at the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the end table beside me. Maybe I did have a problem. Maybe I was relying too much on alcohol.
Fuck.
The opposite end of the couch dented in as she sat, and I held my breath, anticipating her words. But they never came. Instead, she sat silently, her occasional gulps the only sound in the silent room.
Finally, I looked toward her and barked out a laugh, startling her. "Didn't want a glass?" I asked, jerking my chin at her. She grinned as she brought the bottle to her lips. My eyes dropped to them as she wrapped them around the tip and took a long drink, her eyes on mine.
"Why dirty a glass?" she said when she brought the bottle down. "I plan on drinking it all." My brows lifted.
"All of it?" I repeated. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey by the neck and contemplated filling my glass. Glancing at her again, she gave me a wry smile as she took another pull. "Fuck it." I set the glass where the bottle had been before taking a long drink, my eyes squeezing shut as the liquor burned its way down my throat.
"I have a problem stopping once I start," she admitted. I forced my watery eyes open to look at her again.
She tucked her long legs under her as she shoved her dark hair over her shoulder. Her face was makeup-free, and while she still looked ridiculously gorgeous, she looked young.
Too fucking young for me.
I took another drink as I stared at her. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath.
"If you want me to leave, I understand," she said softly, dropping her eyes to her knees. She played with a loose thread on the couch, her full lips pressed tightly together.
"Why would I want you to leave?" She didn't look at me, but I wanted her to. I really fucking did. "Rae?"
"Last night," she breathed. "I—what I said—"
"Last night wasn't your fault," I interrupted. "I drank too much, and stepped over a line. I shouldn't have—I shouldn't have said or done anything that I did." Finally, she looked at me.
"You think it was a mistake?" she whispered, her voice more vulnerable than I'd ever heard. I took another sip. She copied, taking a deeper drink.
"I think if we were different people, it wouldn't have been," I said. "But we are who we are, so yes, Reagan. It was a mistake."
The words tasted like ash coming from my mouth, but what choice did I have? I couldn't tell her I wanted what she did—I wanted it more than she did. She'd think I was a fucking loon.
Hell. I thought I was a fucking loon.
"Right." She nodded a few times, hesitating before taking another drink. "But if we were different people," she gave me a wary look, "what would've happened?"
Dangerous territory.
This was such dangerous fucking territory.
I cleared my throat as I shifted in my seat, suddenly too hot. "Well," I said, drawing the word out. "What would you have wanted to happen?" She shook her head as I spoke.
"That's a copout," she laughed, gripping the bottle of wine tighter in her hand. "I asked you first. Answer."
"Rae." I huffed out a laugh as I shook my head. "What does it matter? It's just going to make things awkward between us, and—and you're the only real family we have left. I won't fuck anything up between us."
Her smile slowly fell. "You have Mom," she muttered.
