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"I thought about—"
"You didn't think!" I interrupted. "If you had, then you wouldn't have driven home drunk. You wouldn't have gotten this drunk in the first fucking place. What the hell were you thinking? You're the only parent she has left and she can't lose you."
"I didn't drive home," he said. My mouth opened, then closed.
"What?"
"Taxi." He fumbled with his phone before tossing it to me. My throat was tight as I stared down at the screen. Sure enough, it was a receipt for his fare. I glanced up at him, finding his glassy gaze on me. "Wouldn't drive drunk. Not a dumbass."
"I didn't say you were," I breathed, handing his phone back to him. It slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor. Immediately, I bent to reach for it. Our heads clashed into each other, and pain shot through me. I stumbled back a step, holding my forehead. Jesus, his head was hard.
"Shit." He scooted to the edge of the seat, his arm outstretched. "Let me see."
"I'm fine," I mumbled. I wasn't, but he didn't need to know that.
"Then let me see." He struggled to his feet, and swayed as he stood. Reluctantly, I pulled my hand away. He grimaced. "It's a bit red. But I think you'll be fine."
"Told you." I rubbed the sore spot again. He reached for my hand and gently tugged it from my head. He stared down at me like he genuinely cared. I don't know why that made my throat tighten the way it did. "Is your head alright?"
"I'm okay," he whispered, his hand still wrapped around my wrist.
"What happened?" I shuffled a step closer. "Why are you drunk?" He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath.
"I found out some bad news," he said breathlessly. "I wanted to forget about it for a while."
"Did it work?" His eyes fluttered open.
"No," he admitted. "It just made it worse." I bit my bottom lip.
"What was it?" I didn't know if I really wanted to know, but maybe he needed to talk about it. He opened his mouth, but hesitated.
"Nothing for you to worry about, angel," he murmured. My breath hitched at the pet name. He had to stop calling me that, but I couldn't force the words out. "I'm sorry I missed dinner."
"I can warm up some leftovers for you." I made to step away, but his grip tightened.
"Can we just—" He took a deep breath. "Can we just hang out for a bit? I'm not hungry."
"Hang out?" I repeated, my brows scrunching together.
"Yeah. Watch a movie, or—never mind." He shook his head and let go of my hand. "Never mind."
"We can," I rushed out. "I just—"
"No," he said, stumbling back until the back of his legs hit the couch. "It's not a good idea."
"But—"
"I know I'll want something more," he rasped. "I know I'll want to hold you, or—or more. And I can't—" I nodded. I understood, and I agreed. A movie night would definitely end with us crossing another line. But the lines were starting to get more blurred, and I was starting to not care as much. Yet, I couldn't tell him that. I couldn't form the words to say that I wanted him to hold me, to kiss me, to do more with me.
But I kept my mouth shut.
"I'll go to bed then," I said. "Will you be okay?"
"Fine." He waved me off as he sank back onto the couch.
"I'll keep the door open in case you need me," I said as I took a step back. He nodded as he reclined back, his head resting against the back. "I'll check on you—"
"Goodnight, Reagan," he rasped, and I clamped my mouth shut. I sulked back to my bedroom, checking on Emma on the way.
