CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Julian pressed his sweaty palms against his jeans. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Kiara to come to his room to watch him do what he needed to do. However, he wanted the accountability that came with having someone there to witness it.
With trembling hands, he reached for the large chest that sat at the back of the walk-in closet. Going down on one knee, he punched in the code on the lock of the chest. He lifted the lid, then stared at the bottles of alcohol that sat lined up on the bottom of the chest.
Nine of them. There had been twelve there at one point, but he hadn’t had a chance to restock before leaving for the treatment center.
He’d been determined never to run out. If Duncan had removed all alcohol from the house, he’d planned to still be able to drink from his own stash.
Reaching inside, he picked up one bottle and tucked it into his elbow. Then he picked up two more, one in each hand. Straightening, he left the closet.
Kiara was watching the closet, so as he walked out, she saw him right away, her eyes widening when she spotted what he carried.
“It isn’t my intention to put the weight of my sobriety on you,” Julian said, “but I want to be accountable to you, starting with this.”
“What is that?” she asked.
“This is my stash. The one I kept in case Duncan removed all the alcohol from the house. And sometimes, it was what I drank when I decided that I still needed more alcohol after coming upstairs to my room.”
“That’s a lot of alcohol.”
“It is,” he agreed. “And this isn’t all of it.”
Kiara’s brows rose. “How much do you have?”
“Six more bottles. Nine in total.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to get rid of it,” he said. “I’m going to pour it all down the drain.”
Turning, he moved in the direction of the open bathroom door. Stepping up to the sink, he set the three bottles on the sink counter, then cracked the seal of one of them.
He exhaled heavily before he tipped the bottle over. The golden liquid glugged out of the bottle, into the sink, and down the drain.
As the bottle emptied, he felt a rising panic. These bottles were his lifeline. They were his ability to deal with the difficult parts of his life. What if something came up and he couldn’t cope with it without the alcohol? Maybe he should keep just one bottle.
When he felt a soft touch on his arm, Julian set the empty bottle down, then glanced at Kiara. She was gazing at him with an understanding expression.
“You can do this,” she said. “I know you can.”
The tightness in his chest eased a little, and he gave a single nod before reaching for another bottle.
“Can you go get the others?” he asked.
He wasn’t sure that he’d retrieve all of them if he was responsible for bringing them to the bathroom to empty.
“Of course.”
Kiara disappeared, and by the time she reappeared, he’d emptied the second bottle. She set the three bottles she carried down on the counter, then went to get the rest.
After she’d brought him all six, instead of leaving the bathroom and returning to her seat on the bed, she remained at his side, her hand on his back. She didn’t say anything more. Just stood there, steady and quiet, her presence giving him the strength to pick up another bottle.
He cracked the third one open. The familiar aroma of the alcohol escaped the bottle, and he thought for a twisted second of tipping it back. Not to swallow, just to let it hit his lips. But the knowledge that Kiara was watching made something hot and embarrassed settle inside him.
Turning the bottle over, he watched its contents spiral down the drain. The sound was both satisfying and sickening.
He emptied the fourth bottle and set it beside the others. The four glass bottles lined up before him were almost accusatory in their presence. A pointed reminder of his weakness.
Kiara’s hand didn’t leave his back. Instead, she applied a light, encouraging pressure. It felt strange—comforting and foreign all at once. No one touched him like that, with care and support.
Kiara was seeing him at a vulnerable moment, and usually he would have hated that. He would have hated anyone seeing him like that. But he didn’t sense judgment in her. Just support and concern.
“Halfway there,” he muttered.
He twisted the cap off the next bottle, hesitating a second.
He just couldn’t seem to get past the temptation.
The scent again drifted up and filled the air, reminding him of how much he wanted to take a drink.
To take a swig and slam the bottle down, revealing to Kiara how hopelessly flawed he really was.
But he didn’t want her to see that. It wasn’t why he’d asked her to come to his room while he’d purged his stash.
Instead, he poured it into the sink. The splash of the liquor hitting the porcelain reminded him of all those nights he’d stood in the library, pouring the alcohol into a glass, and then drinking it, the burn intense in his throat as he tried to block out the world.
He didn’t speak again as he settled into the rhythm of emptying bottle after bottle. Open, pour, set down. Repeat.
The last bottle was the hardest. Maybe because it was the end, or maybe because it was the rare one he’d brought back from Europe and saved for… what? A celebration? A disaster? It had been expensive and was probably irreplaceable.
The urge to close the bottle and return it to the chest in his closet, one final backup, flashed through him. But the silent pressure of Kiara’s hand and the heavy expectation in the room swept the thought away.
He tipped the bottle over and watched as the amber liquid flowed into the sink and down the drain. Once it was empty, that final bottle joined the others on the counter.
The air in the bathroom reeked like a dive bar, and he had flashbacks to waking up reeking of the same smell. The idea shamed him.
With the task done, Julian braced his fists on the counter on either side of the sink and let his head hang forward, his head throbbing, the acidic tang of spilled booze lingering in his nose and throat.
Kiara still hadn’t said anything, but she was closer now, her weight shifting beside him. He couldn’t think of what to say, but he felt a need to fill the silence.
“Thanks,” he said, voice unsteady. “That sucked.”
“But you did it,” was all she said.
He didn’t know what response he’d expected—some speech, maybe. But the simplicity of her words cut through the shame and revealed a weird kernel of pride. He almost laughed, but it caught in his chest, coming out as a strangled exhale.
He lifted his head and saw his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror—raw and red-eyed, jaw tense. But though there was emotion and strain on his face now, he still looked healthier than he had on the mornings when he’d woken up hungover.
Straightening, he rubbed a hand along his cheek, feeling the grit of a day’s growth. His mind was settling, and his body was surprisingly steady.
Julian realized in that moment that he’d expected himself to fail. The worry that had driven him to hide the bottles of alcohol so he’d always have something to drink wasn’t completely gone, but not having the backups didn’t make his skin crawl with anxiety the way it once had. He’d done it.
He looked sideways at Kiara. She had leaned her hip against the counter, arms crossed, her expression still free of judgment or condemnation.
She had suffered because of his drinking.
He hadn’t taken care of her like he had other lovers he’d had over the years.
And yet here she was, offering her support.
“I wasn’t sure I’d do it, you know,” he said.
Kiara shrugged, but there was something bright in her eyes. “I knew you would.”
“You did?”
She nodded and picked at the peeling label of the closest bottle on the counter. “You seem like someone who, when he decides something, follows through.”
“I’m not sure that's true," he said.
“Well, at least it was in this case. You were brave," Kiara said, as if this was unarguable. She peeled the label with methodical patience, stripping it bit by bit, rolling the torn paper between thumb and finger. "It's not nothing, what you just did. I'm glad you let me witness it."
He felt a strange tightness in his stomach. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. On some level, he had felt it was necessary to prove to Kiara that he could do what needed doing when it came to alcohol. Why that had been important, he didn’t know.
“Let’s get these cleaned up,” Kiara said, gesturing to the empty bottles. “Then you can put this behind you.”
Physically, maybe. Mentally? It might take a little more time before he could be truly grateful that he didn’t have those backups anymore.
They gathered up the bottles, then Julian led her from the room. Down in the kitchen, they dumped the bottles into the recycling bin.
“Are you ready to go back to the house?” Julian asked.
Kiara nodded. “Are you?”
“I’m just going to grab a few things from my room, then we can go.”
“I’ll wait down here.”
Julian jogged back up the stairs and grabbed a duffel bag from his closet. He added some things from the bathroom and his dresser, figuring he could get the rest of his things the next day. Including the now-empty chest that had contained his stash.
The following Saturday, Angela had invited them all to dinner at her and Jude’s. He and Kiara walked over from their house, enjoying the warm late afternoon air.
He’d been at the house for a couple of days so far, and it had gone well.
Kiara was an easy person to share space with, and he found that he liked living there better than at the main house.
He hoped that the living arrangement continued to go well, and that Kiara also agreed so that he wouldn’t have to move out.
“I wonder what we’re having for dinner,” Julian said as they made their way along the road. “Does she have a meal that she enjoys making?”
“Not really,” Kiara replied. “Back in Briar Hollow, we kind of just made whatever we found on sale at the store.”