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Yet, he’s doing it for me. He’s ignoring the way he feels for me.
Maybe I haven’t been alone. Maybe I’ve just been too busy being a dumb, selfish girl that I didn’t notice the man in front of me and the way he selflessly cares for me.
The one who lost not just his Cami, but then my dad, his mentor, mom and Roman, all within such a short time frame. He’s lost so much and somehow, I’ve forgotten that I’m not the only one suffering.
Of course, he hides.
He’s broken, too.
“Isaac,” I choke out. “I can’t—please.” That snaps him out of whatever he’s feeling and he rushes to my side before gathering me in his arms.
“I’m here,” he murmurs as I press my face into his chest. His big hand rests on the side of my head, cradling it like it’s precious—like I’m precious. Softly, his lips press against my hair and he lets them linger. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”
He holds me while I break. Everything I’ve tried to hold in comes pouring out. Gently, he rocks us back and forth, shushing me and murmuring comforting, incoherent words.
The memories that haunt me and the alcohol coursing through my veins make me feel more broken than usual, and I cling tighter to Isaac. I know he has to hate this, that I’m soaking his shirt with my tears, that I’m making a mess of things, but he doesn't say a word. He just holds me.
“I’ve got you,” he promises again, his breath a whisper against my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting more tears overflow. I try to calm down, but the intense, raw emotions from the day have me taking staggering breaths. I’m nearly hyperventilating, but he rubs his hand down my back in long, soothing strokes, the steady rock to my raging sea.
I take a deep breath, inhaling his usual spicy scent, something peppery with a hint of heated bourbon and sandalwood, letting it ground me. Calm me. After countless minutes, I pull away and roughly wipe my face with my shaky hand. The wine bottle is still clutched in my other, and again, I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything.
Instead, he slowly takes the bottle from me, and inspects it, twisting it in his hands, his eyes glued to the sloshing liquid inside. “Where’d you get this?”
My heart thumps in my chest, waiting for the chastisement that I already know is building on his tongue. Swallowing roughly, I shrug. “Church.”
The single word is a barely-there whisper, but the tension between us is akin to a bomb, waiting to explode.
He blinks, long and slow. Then, he’s laughing. My brows crash together in confusion. “Of course, it is,” he chuckles. “Fitting, isn’t it?”
I don’t understand what he means by that but before I can question him, he lifts the half-empty bottle to his lips. A gasp leaves me as he tips his head back, taking a deep pull of the pilfered wine.
“I didn’t mean to tempt you,” I breathe, my eyes still wide. “Isaac—” My head is frantically shaking and my hands are outstretched, ready to snatch the bottle back as guilt pulses through me.
“It’s fine,” he rasps, using the back of his hand to wipe his upper lip in a move so unlike him. He glances sidelong at me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Truthfully, I had a drink at the church. Probably from the same stash you snagged this from.”
The confession is a tumble of emotions that I can’t process fast enough.
Frustration. Anger. Sadness. Defeat.
Resignation.
It’s the last one that has me forcing my lips to move in a barely there response.
“You did?” I blink at him, even more shocked than before. Isaac doesn’t drink. Isaac shouldn’t drink, he can’t—
“A few,” he confirms.
But he did.
“You don’t drink,” I murmur, my cheeks burning with shame. “You don’t.”
“Today, I do.” Glancing away, I watch him take in Roman’s room for the first time. Really take it in. The veins in his neck are protruding with the force of his emotions, his cheeks turning pink beneath the low light. “On this day, I do.”
I swallow roughly as he takes another long drink, leaving the bottle only a third of the way full. I consider his words, confusion pulsing through me.
I know why today is so hard for me. It’s the day I gave myself over to the man I loved more than life. The day I buried my mother. The day I lost my first love. Though today isn’t the anniversary of Mama’s death, it’s the day we buried her. Yet, I’m surprised it’s enough to drive him to drink.
To break his vows.
