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WHISKEY STOLEN MOMENTS: M LEIGH MORHAIME
PROLOGUE – SIX MONTHS AGO
With a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a Marlboro cigarette in the other, I contemplate where the hell everything went wrong.
Two days ago, everything was on track. Everything was going well—for once in my life.
I guess I should have known better.
I thought when I finally came out and allowed myself to fall in love with my first girlfriend that my love life would get easier. I mean, women understand women better, right?
Wrong.
At least the women I’ve dated. And you never really get over your first.
I tried. I tried hard. Through several men and women.
And then I met Stacey. And she fixed me. She made it easy to love her. She made it fun. She made our relationship everything I’d wanted and needed.
Only problem? She refused to come out of the closet. But that’s Kentucky for you. I’d told her my story and unfortunately, it scared her. My parents were more than okay. My friends were too. My classmates? Not so much.
Who knew bullying continued into college?
But I tried everything I could to get Stacey to come out and be herself. I didn’t want to push her but also, I was getting tired of hiding our relationship. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Hell, I wanted to throw a damn party!
I never got my party.
I got a box of clothes thrown at me with the vilest words ever hurled at me. All because she thought I’d spilled the beans. It didn’t matter how much I told her I didn’t. It didn’t matter that her friend was just perceptive.
Nope. She freaked the fuck out and kicked me out of her life.
So, what did I do?
I reached out to that first love. I’d blame the whiskey, but I knew what I was doing.
Getting invited to her wedding though? That was a different story. Not expected and I think after the words left Lyla’s mouth, she felt the shock too.
I asked her countless times over the last two days if she really wanted me to come. She assured me by buying me a dress and sending me gas money.
So here I was, sitting on the hood of my car, drowning a bottle of Jack Daniel’s finest and smoking my first cigarette—ever. I was hacking up a lung, sure, but it was also helping. It didn’t make any sense to me, but I’d heard enough of my co-workers talk about just the act of smoking was enough to relax them.
“Hey, are you Della?”
“Who’s asking?”
I didn’t even look in the direction of the voice. I was still trying to stomach seeing Lyla for the first time in nearly five years.
“Um, Callie sent me.”
“Who?”
“Lyla’s fiancée.”
“Oh. And who are you?” I knew I was being rude. But it was my defense mechanism these days.
“I’m Nico, Callies’s brother.”
