39. Chapter 36
L eaving Henry after fucking him stupid should make me feel triumphant. I should feel something other than self-loathing.
But I don’t.
In fact, somehow, I actually feel worse. I shouldn’t have gone to his apartment. I shouldn’t have fucked him.
I shouldn’t have broken his heart…
Paying the cab and storming back inside the cowboy bar, I head straight for the booze, ignoring everyone and everything.
The bartender gives me a look like he knows I’m underage but sighs when I pull out a wad of cash and order a bottle of whiskey. He sets a shot glass beside it, but I swipe the bottle and forgo the glass. I’m sipping straight from the tap tonight.
“Slow down,” Charlie says, popping out of nowhere. Or maybe she’s been here all along, and my brain chose not to acknowledge her. “Where have you been, Banks?”
Ignoring her, I take another long pull from the bottle. The liquid spreads like fire through my chest, but it’s something. A feeling that hurts less than watching Henry lose himself in me, only to kick me out right after. To yell and demand that I leave.
“That’s enough,” she tries taking the bottle, and I smirk down at her. What the hell? If we’re pretending I might as well go all in.
Leaning down into her space, I press my lips to hers. The contact doesn’t last long before she’s jerking away from me and snarling.
“This isn’t okay, and that’s not happening.”
“Everyone already thinks we’re fucking,” I laugh, “why not enjoy ourselves while we can?”
“Because I’m not as heartless as you think I am, and you’re so fucking out of your mind right now that self-sabotage is the only thing that makes sense.”
“I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me,” I slur. I don’t need her to have a good time either way. Pushing my way through the tables, I spot Talon and Cin. Their heads are down presumably, so they can hear each other talk.
“Some friends you are,” I call, and their heads turn my way. “Letting Henry get drunk and leave with some guy he barely knows.”
Talon laughs, actually fucking laughs, as if anything about this is funny. As if my heart isn’t actively trying to beat its way out of my chest.
“That’s funny,” Talon spits, standing so we’re eye to eye. “Last I checked, you’re fucking the mafia princess, so what if Henry left with another guy.”
Doesn’t matter who he left with. Henry let me fuck him, not him .
Talon’s words hit a nerve, though, and I down practically half the bottle. Cin says something, but Talon scoffs. “He doesn’t deserve Henry.”
“You’re goddamn right, I don’t!” I’m vaguely aware that I’ve started yelling. The edges of my vision are getting cloudy, and my head’s starting to swim. When was the last time I ate something? “Why do you think I did what I did? For fucking fun?”
“I don’t know why you did what you did, Banks. You haven’t spoken a word to any of us. Not before or after you decided to go rogue!” Now he’s yelling, or maybe it’s all the alcohol in my system.
“I made a decision that saved Fern,” anger flares hot in my gut. “But sure, make me the bad guy.”
He laughs again, and it’s really starting to piss me off.
Cin pipes up, “You are the bad guy, Banks. And if seeing Henry with someone else is the only way for you to admit to yourself that he’s it for you, well, I’m not sorry. But you need to think long and hard before you fuck this up for him too. Koda’s a good guy, and Henry deserves happiness. Even if it’s not with you. ”
Her words are spoken softly, but they land exactly where they’re intended. I’d rather get pummeled on the football field a hundred times over than feel this overwhelming grief. The kind that pulls you under a dark sea and tumbles you around, just waiting for you to drown.
They get up without another word and leave, and I’m left standing there with a half-empty bottle of Jack and a hole in my chest.
“I think you’ve had enough,” Charlie grips the bottle in my hand, trying to take it away. Ripping it from her hands, I head off toward the dance floor. Downing large gulps as if all of my problems will be solved at the bottom of the bottle.
She chases after me, arguing with me, trying to get me down off the table I climbed up onto and start dancing on, but I ignore her. I’ve completely lost my sense of awareness to the empty bottle of whiskey in my hand.
I don’t feel anything, I have no idea how much time has passed, and it’s pretty damn good.
Until strong arms wrap around me and a voice I know but can’t place speaks in my ear. “You’re done here.”
Laughing, I try to dislodge myself from the vise-like grip. “I’m not done. I’m just getting started!”
“No, you’re drunk and making a fool out of yourself.”
Rolling my eyes, I try shaking him off again, instead, cold air whips me in the face, and it takes my breath away for a moment. I gasp, shaking my head and pulling in a cold breath.
Words are exchanged, but my ears are fuzzy, or maybe they don’t work anymore. That would be a blessing, then I’d never have to hear Henry talking about fucking another man.
Never have to listen to him say how much he wishes he could hate me right after we–
“That’s the least of your worries, son.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, I haven’t said a word, and he can’t read my mind.
“I don’t need to read your mind. You’re doing a damn good job of spewing your thoughts.”
“Dad?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond before everything just kind of shuts off.
My head is pounding, and the fucking sunlight in here doesn’t help. I don’t remember getting back to my dorm. I try to recall what happened last night, the only thing that comes to mind is Henry leaving with Koda.
Vomit works its way up my throat, and I gag, jumping out of bed only to wobble on my feet. I was expecting the floor to be further away.
Fuck.
I’m not in my dorm.
The room around me isn’t the tiny space I’ve come to hate. It’s the room I moved into when Mama died. The walls are light gray, my bed sits in the middle of the far wall, and the bathroom is too far away.
Fuck, I’m gonna be sick.
Rushing down the hall, I make it to the toilet just in time to wretch up what feels like my entire stomach. Bile burns my nose, and acid fills my throat as I continue emptying my stomach.
When I feel like I have nothing left to give, I slump against the toilet, my head hitting the wall.
“Here.”
My eyes pop open–though I don’t recall closing them–to find my dad squatting in front of me. My throat feels raw, saliva pools in my mouth, and I feel like I’m going to wretch again.
With my head hanging over the toilet, I dry heave so hard I start to sweat while Dad taps my back. When nothing comes up, I sit back down and look at the glass of water he brought me along with two pills and a shot of pink liquid.
“Do I even want to know how bad it got for me to end up here?” I whisper as embarrassment heats my cheeks.
“It wasn’t your finest hour,” he says, shoving the pills into my hand. “Take these and meet me in the living room.” He says as he gets up and walks out.
Oh fuck.
I debate whether or not to make myself throw up some more. If I can, then maybe I won’t have to face whatever it is waiting for me in the living room. Knowing my dad, he won’t care. He looked less pissed off and more resigned.
Washing my face and brushing my teeth, I look at myself in the mirror. Seeing someone I don’t recognize isn’t new. The state of my clothes from last night, with questionable stains, is.
I’ve never been so drunk that I couldn’t remember anything from the night before. Never been so hung over that I’ve almost thrown up in my bed. Even when I tried a few psychedelics after Mama… I never let myself go too far. I always had control, but last night, everything inside of me broke.
Images of Henry’s naked body on his knees before me flash behind my eyes.
What the fuck was that? I shake my head and blink the images away.
Deciding to go ahead and face whatever is waiting for me head-on, I stand up and walk into the living room. Charlie’s head snaps up, her face looking less grim than I remember.
“You look like shit,” she says by way of greeting.
“Feel it, too,” I admit. There’s no point in trying to hide how I’m feeling. Not with my dad seeing me vomit into the toilet and Charlie having to call him. I assume that’s what happened. She doesn’t have his phone number, though, so I’m not sure how we got here.
Creed, Nile, and Luca are all here.
“What is this an intervention?” I scoff, eyeing each one of them. “News flash, I got too drunk once. Big deal.”
More images from last night assault me.
Me at Henry’s new apartment.
Henry bent over in front of me.
Henry moaning my name like he used to before I ruined us…
“It’s not about the drinking,” Dad says, snapping me out of the memories of last night. “Though, that’s a conversation for another time.”
His face is stern, scarred hands clenched by his side. The sight of them makes me want to spiral. With my heart in shambles, I can’t help it.
“Charlie told us her plan,” Dad drops like it’s casual conversation.
Well, that’s not what I expected, so I turn to Charlie and ask, “You haven’t even told me the whole plan, so what exactly did you tell them?” I can’t believe she would tell them anything about her father, how he hit her mother and does the same thing to her. Getting her to open up has been like pulling teeth, and I’d like to think she’s comfortable with me. But them? No.
“Everything,” she surprises me by admitting and then ducks her head as if she’s ashamed.
“Why?”
“You were so out of it last night, B. Do you even remember what happened?” Her eyes find mine again, this time they’re unreadable.
I don’t want to admit that most of last night is a black hole in my memory, other than hearing Henry moan my name. That I can hear loud and clear, along with the feeling still in my fingers, as if I ran my hands through his curls for hours and not just a few stolen moments.
The only thing my mind plays on repeat is the fact that Henry let me fuck him and then screamed at me to get out.
My mouth opens, attempting a reply that doesn’t sound childish, but ultimately, I close it and shake my head.
“Your silence is telling enough,” she murmurs.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Dad takes a deep breath.
“I do,” Creed’s deep voice booms. “Start with how you thought you could murder your father and not die in the process.”
Suddenly, I can't control my face because my eyes pop wide, and I stare at Charlie. “You told him that ?”
“What was I supposed to do, Banks? You were spewing things about Henry, how he broke you, how much you loved him, all in a public space. You tried to kiss me last night for fuck’s sake!”
I did… What?
Just those few things she’s said make me want to crawl into a hole and never come out, and then there’s the flashes of what I obviously did with Henry last night.
I cheated.
I’m a cheater.
“Jax tried to calm you down,” she continues as if I’m not already internally imploding with the little information I’m computing. “After you downed a whole bottle of whiskey, there was little I could do. You said… God, you said so many things. Dancing on tables, practically impersonating a stripper.”
“I didn’t…” My heart sinks. I never wanted to embarrass her, and if I weaponized her father’s abuse against her, I’ll never forgive myself.
“You didn’t say anything about my dad until after yours came to get you anyway,” she grumbles.
Hanging my head, I collapse on the couch, ready to hear whatever else I fucked up.
“We’ll get to you,” Creed says to me with a stern brow and turns to Charlie. “I want to know how you planned to execute the head of the Irish mob without retaliation, step by step.”
Charlie eyes me, it’s clear she doesn’t trust me. Why should she? I’ve given her little to no reason to. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
She stands, comes over to where I’ve folded myself into the couch, and sits down. She doesn’t grab my hand or rub my back. She only nudges my shoulder. “It was bound to come out sometime, Pretty Boy, at least now you can start making amends with Henry.”
Snapping my head so I can see her, I ask, “Your father…”
“Will be dealt with,” Nile says, “for now, we need to know who was helping you and what you had planned.”
“It wasn’t much of a plan, and I already told Diego everything.” She starts sharing her secrets with my family. The only people in the world I trust. When she’s done, Creed leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with one hand.
“What’s the goal here, Charlie?” He asks, “What do you want out of this?”
“His death,” she states plainly. Her conviction’s so strong her chin juts out. “For us all.”
Her words strike something in me. Something that feels like I should know what she means.
“You and Banks?” Luca asks.
My mind turns over all of our conversations, anything that would make her believe that I wanted her father dead. She shakes her head, a subtle move that has the hair on my arms rising.
“And Diego.”
Dad’s eyes slide to hers, but she doesn’t stop staring at Creed, who looks like he’s trying to piece something together. After a tense moment of silence, she turns her whole body my way. Silver pools in her lashes, and my gut squeezes. Whatever she’s about to say, it might kill me. “My father was the one who killed your mother.”