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“Oh, I think you just got a tiny taste,” I say with a maniacal laugh. I don’t even bother to fill him in on the sense of guilt weighing me down that perhaps I caused the miscarriage. I know Dr. Segal said absolutely not, but it still feels like my fault because I got all domineering on her in bed that morning. It may have only been a handful of thrusts because her mouth on my cock had me on the edge, but they were hard and deep and it’s killing me to think I might be responsible.
Drake surges out of the chair, but I hold my ground. Thank fuck he doesn’t hug me but veers right to the mini bar and nabs two bottles of Jack Daniels. Not even bothering with glasses, he tosses a bottle at me. “You need this.”
I twist the little plastic cap off and tip the bottle back. I don’t take a sip but instead chug the entire thing, hissing after I swallow.
Drake doesn’t say anything, merely returns to his chair, holding the other bottle. I toss my empty in the trash can and plop down on the end of the bed. Resting my elbows on my knees, I press my hands to my face. The smell of the liquor on my breath blows back as I breathe into my palms.
“You know that anything Kiera said or didn’t say since the miscarriage probably isn’t an accurate representation of how she feels about you, right?” Drake asks.
I lift my head. He has my attention.
“She’s a tempest of emotions and clearly so are you. Just as she probably doesn’t mean what she said to you, you probably aren’t in a great place to be the one to help her out. You’re hurting too.”
My tone is dry. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you two care about each other. You’re both going to figure things out and you’ll heal from this loss. But you’ll still have each other.”
I can’t help my snort of skepticism that pops free. “Didn’t you hear me? She told me to leave. She didn’t want my comfort or care. We’re done.”
“I don’t believe it,” Drake says dismissively. “You two just need to talk things out.”
I rise off the bed, take a step toward him and yank the other bottle of Jack out of his hand. I twist the cap and while I don’t chug the entire thing, I take a healthy sip. “You think we should talk things out?”
“Yeah,” Drake says hesitantly.
“At the risk of getting punched, your sister and I aren’t known for our long conversations. We were fuck buddies—”
“You better watch it,” Drake growls.
“We were fuck buddies,” I reiterate as I glare at him. “It was sex and that was it. It was amazing sex and we had good times and lots of laughs, but that’s all it was.”
“Bullshit,” he says quietly. “You were more than that.”
I nod, waving the bottle at him. “Yeah… we became more. But only because she was pregnant. Only because we had that tie binding us. Now that’s gone and we’re not anything.”
“I call bullshit again.”
I take another sip of the whiskey, waiting to hear his pearls of wisdom. “I saw the way you were with her after the miscarriage. You were a man who wanted to care for his woman. You were protective and tender. And that didn’t stop after the baby was no more. You were still in it.”
I sink back down on the edge of the bed, my head dropping to consider the bottle. “I was still in it, but she wasn’t.”
“She was drowning in grief. You’ve got to give her a pass on anything she said and did. You need to sit down and talk this out.”
I don’t reply because the truth is, as much as she pushed me away, that felt an awful lot like abandonment and I needed the support I was giving her reciprocated.
Still, he makes me curious. I lift my gaze to his. “Your sister had a bad experience with her last boyfriend.”
Drake grimaces. “Fuckwad. He was an obsessive nut job.”
“She was completely happy to remain single. It’s why our relationship wasn’t deep at first. She was fine just being a casual fling. She doesn’t want a relationship. What could we possibly have?”
He lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know. But let me turn it back on you. You were fine playing the field and fucking puck bunnies. Do you want to go back to that?”
“I want your sister,” I say, and that’s about the only thing that has felt right in this entire conversation. “I need her to want me back.”
“Then you have to talk to her. You have to lay your feelings out there. My suggestion is to give her space for now. Maybe when we get back to Pittsburgh next weekend, you sit down and hash this stuff out.”
“You think she’ll be receptive to it?” I ask, afraid to hope there could be a chance.
