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“Semantics. Get your shit together. Stop drinking away the pain. It’s time to move on.”
“Move on?” I ask, standing. “You don’t know what it’s like for me to be trapped in that day. Over and over again.”
“She was Scotty’s sister, Dec. I have plenty of an idea.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “Yeah? What was the last thing she said to him?”
She doesn’t answer as I stand and rip off the soaked t-shirt. “The last picture she drew? The last song she listened to? What was she wearing when she took her life? What did her suicide note say?”
She swallows, shaking her head. “I’m not saying you have to forget her. I’m saying you have to wake up and live your life.”
I drag a hand through my hair and shake my head. “You don’t fucking get it,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Then tell me!” Saoirse shouts. “Tell me so I can understand why you do this.”
Scotty steps into the room, dressed in a crisp black suit and ready for whatever it is he’ll be needed for today. I glance at the clock above the bookshelf and sigh. It’s nine in the morning, and I’ve officially missed the brothers’ monthly morning meeting. He’s been going to them ever since he and my sister announced their engagement.
“Fuck,” I sigh, shaking my head. “I missed the meeting.”
“I covered for you. Told them you had the flu.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Though I’m sure Jimmy will tell Callum about last night.”
“Thanks.” I drape the towel around my neck. “I should get back to the hotel to change. Callum has my schedule packed with business meetings.”
“Did you not hear me? I told them you have the flu. You’re off for the week. And you should take that time to focus on sobering up. It’s not good for you to get like this, bro.”
“I need work,” I say.
“Well, you should have thought about that before you got shitfaced and puked in my car,” Scotty says.
Saoirse cups my face, forcing my attention toward her. “I’m worried about you, big brother. You’re sick, and the only person who can help you is yourself.”
She presses her forehead against mine.
“Okay,” I whisper, a stray tear falling down my cheek.
“Good.” She pulls away and her hands fall on her hips again. “And for the record? Sammy’s husbandwaskilled. She wasn’t lying.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Stopmoping,”Veesaysfrom her desk across from mine in the home office.
I glance up from the monitor and shoot her a glare. “I’m not moping.”
“That frown on your face while you stare blankly at your computer screen says otherwise. When are you going to call him?”
I scoff.Call Declan?It’s been five days of radio silence. We both made it clear we don’t want to see the other person, and that will not change just because I miss him enough to be sad about it. He acted like a jerk when he pinned me against the counter. Was it because I may have been having an anxiety attack spurred on from the PTSD of being attacked in that very kitchen? Probably. But he had no right to do it, no matter how much he felt I owed him.
My lack of coming clean about the truth doesn’t mean I should excuse his behavior. Maybe if we had sat down like adults and talked about it. Instead, he let anger rule his actions.He hurt me.Maybe not physically, but emotionally. I was fucked by how he handled the situation. Things were said by both of us we can’t take back.
“Never,” I finally answer her question. “I’m never calling him. He was a complete jerk and was in the wrong.”
“You strung him along, Sammy. You hurt the poor boy. Lied to him.”
My breathing picks up, fury in my veins at her words. “I did not lie to him. I told him from the beginning what I wanted. He didn’t need to know the rest, and that’s not my fault. He’s the only one who can be blamed for any other outcome than the one where we slept together for fun. No strings attached.”
I blow out a slow huff. If I keep talking about this, my blood pressure is going to skyrocket. I pick up my phone when the text notification sounds, read the message from Saoirse, and then let out a groan.
“What is it?” Vee asks. “Is it him? Did he send you a dick pic?”
