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And why should she?
That voice in the back of my head taunted me.
I’d fucking left her at possibly the worst moment of her life to… what? Be selfish? To fucking drink myself into a hole because I couldn’t handle shit anymore?
What a piece of shit I was.
I finished off the glass and gave the bartender a half-hearted wave for another. I was a piece of shit. Selfish and destructive. That was what I was. The selfish, destructive piece of shit who had ruined her life. Her life would be better without me in it.
And it wasn’t just her.
My family too. The ridiculous number of phone calls and text messages I had—particularly from Declan—was a great fucking indicator of how much of a screw-up I was. They would’ve been better off if I had never come home.
I chased that fucking thought with a long drink. And then another. And I kept drinking because I was fucking done trying. I was done convincing myself everything would be okay. I was done treading water and trying to fucking survive.
I just wanted to drown.
Chapter 67
Killian
How I ended up back at Brady’s house was a fucking mystery—one I struggled to ponder as I stumbled up the front fucking steps. I fumbled with my keys, dropped them, lost them, found them, dropped them again, damn near fell down the fucking steps, and managed to get the door open. Getting in the fucking house was a different fucking mess. My boots stuck to the fucking carpet, the room was too damn hot, and the lights wouldn’t turn on.
“The house is a fucking mess, Ethel,” I grumbled. Ethel was Brady’s deer head thing he hung on the fucking wall—something about he shot a deer or the boys shot a fucking deer… I couldn’t remember. It was a dumb ass story. But that fucking deer judged my drunk ass as I struggled to turn on the damn lamp. The incessant vibrating in my pocket was a fucking distraction, making it hard to fucking focus on things.
I stared at Ethel as the world swayed and emotions clashed violently inside me. Oh, to be a fucking deer on a wall with no goddamn worries in the world.
A dead deer.
“How quiet is your world, Ethel?” I demanded. I stumbled and struggled to get my fucking jacket off. “It’s fucking quiet, isn’t it? I want fucking quiet.”
A pathetic sob caught in my chest. I wanted peace and quiet. I wanted to not feel like I was constantly at war with myself. Why the fuck was I so goddamn broken?
The world didn’t need my fucking mess.
People didn’t need my fucking mess.
I didn’t want my mess.
I wanted the world to not fucking hurt so much.
Was that such a bad fucking thing?
I took out my gun and checked the magazine. Fully loaded. Safety off. Right to the fucking temple. One bullet. That was all it’d fucking take. One bullet and the world would be fucking quiet and painless.
“You’re a coward.”
Genevieve’s voice weaved through the darkest parts of my brain. I drew in a sharp breath. A fucking coward. Damn straight I was. But I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d tried. I’d fucking tried for two goddamn years to fucking fix myself. There was no fixing it. I was fucking broken.
And broken things were tossed in the trash.
Broken animals were put out of their fucking misery.
Was it so fucking wrong for me to do it myself? No one else would.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered as my phone went off all over again. I struggled to pull it out, damn near falling over as I did. “Who the fuck keeps calling?”
“Killian, where the fuck are you?” Declan snapped, his voice distant. I stared down at the phone in my hand. Oh, I didn’t mean to answer that.
