Losing Faith (The Hale #3)

2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Lisette

T he smell of mixed liquor engulfs me. I can practically taste it in the air as swarms of bodies move around the crowded bar. I watch people regularly spill their drinks as they move, and as desperate as it sounds, I never wanted to be a tile on a bar floor as bad as I do right now. A simple life of having alcohol thrown on you to be cleaned up at the end of the night.

I glance around the room again because people-watching at a bar when you’re sober is a lot more fun than doing so while drunk. At least I keep telling myself that so I don’t down the double shot of tequila in front of me.

Forcing my eyes to stay off of my drink, I focus on a couple in the corner who are clearly in a heated argument.

“Do you want me to make you something else?”

My eyes snap forward to the bartender. “I’m good,” I tell her as I grab my glass and watch the drink swirl around.

I feel a pair of eyes on me, but when I look up, the bartender only gives me a nod before someone calls her over. I bring the glass to my lips, and when the sour scent assaults me, reminders of what I will need to wake up to tomorrow if I drink this nearly suffocate me. I place the cup back down hard enough that some of the drink splashes onto my hand.

My eyes zone in on the cool liquid, and before I can change my mind, I lick it off my hand. My eyes fall shut as the slight burn surges through my blood and I quickly realize that was a terrible idea . My mind runs wild as I realize having a few hours with a blank mind will feel a lot better than the worry of tomorrow’s what-ifs.

If you drink this, you’ll be another disappointment.

I’m already a disappointment, what’s one more?

Grabbing the cup, I watch the tequila swirl, taunting me for one sip. I rest the cup on the counter before reaching for the coin in my back pocket.

I pick a side before flipping it in the air, but before it can land in my hand, someone snatches it out of the air. I look up and the bartender shakes her head as she examines the coin. I feel my brows pull together and almost reach over the counter to snatch it back, but she opens her mouth.

“Flipping for a drink with your sobriety chip?” She rolls the coin between her knuckles causing my previous annoyance to be halted by her little party trick. “We’re supposed to carry these around as reminders to stay sober, not to decide whether or not we should drink.”

“I’m aware.” I reach for my six-month sobriety chip, but she turns her hand palm side up, and it disappears.

I send her an unamused look. “Cute.” I lean back in my seat and she doesn’t seem moved by my glare as it settles on her.

Instead, she slides my drink off the counter, trading it for a cup of ice and a can of club soda. “When you hit rock bottom, I’ll let you have that double shot of tequila. Until then, you keep fighting.”

I rub my finger around the rim of my new cup as my eyes settle on her again. “And how do you know I’m not already at rock bottom, Houdini?”

She seems to let out a low chuckle I can’t hear over the music. “Because you’re flipping coins to decide your fate. Rock bottom doesn’t look like that, blondie. Trust me.” The seriousness in her tone looms over me and my eyes land on my new drink.

I may not be at rock bottom, but the pain in my chest doesn’t care how low I am. I want a drink now, not when I’m desperate enough to sniff leftover oxy off the ground.

“Change your face,” Houdini calls out to me again, but as my eyes drag up to hers, I can’t find the energy to obey her wish. Her shoulders slightly slouch before she swipes someone’s card and walks over to me. “You’re doing great.”

I have no idea why the sobriety gods sent me this stranger who’s clearly desperate to be someone’s sponsor, but my nice chips are almost used up.

“I’m not.” I bang my knuckles on the counter a few times in thought. It isn’t until she takes my hand and rubs away the redness in them that I notice how hard I was hitting myself.

“You’re sober,” she reminds me before turning my hand palm side up and my sobriety chip is laying there. It’s dim in here, but the blue coin shines just enough in my hand to see the big six in the middle of the triangle.

“How long have you been sober?” I ask and a somber smile touches her lips.

She reaches for her back pocket before setting a red chip on the counter in front of me. I turn it over, expecting something different than the number that correlates with the color of the coin, but the number one stares back at me.

“I was sober for seven years before a month ago.”

My eyes meet hers and she gives me a weak smile as she shrugs.

“That doesn’t mean those seven years don’t count for nothing,” we both voice at the same time, and her smile turns more genuine.

“You meet with Winter?” She mentions the Chair of my AA group and I nod with a small smile.

“She’s annoying as shit but some of the stuff she says is tattoo worthy.” I lift my sleeve to show her my upper forearm.

Her eyes slightly widen before she breaks into a laugh and lifts her cropped top just a bit. On her ribs is my identical tattoo. It wasn’t for nothing.

My smile grows before my eyes narrow on her. “Okay, who the hell sent you here, Houdini?” I glance around the room, expecting to find my brother somewhere, but he isn’t in sight.

Her laugh touches my ears again. “I could say the same about you.”

I turn back to her and she holds her hand out to me.

“The name’s Erin.”

I take her hand in mine. “I like Houdini better,” I tease. “Lis.”

She nods in thought before someone shouts an order at her. “On it.” She grabs a bottle and cup but keeps her focus on me as she works. “How come I’ve never seen you at a meeting?”

I open my soda and pour it into my cup. “I only go on sandwich days.”

She tilts her head back with a laugh before her face morphs into pleasure. “Ugh, those sandwiches are so good.”

“Right, and that asshole refuses to tell me where she gets them from because she thinks I won’t go to meetings anymore.” I roll my eyes at the reminder, and while Winter may be right, she doesn’t have to withhold such valuable information.

Erin sets down the drink she’s making before immediately preparing another one. “I had to switch my schedule so now I can only go on donut days.” She lets out a sigh as if it physically pains her but I bet it does. Those donuts are always stale as shit.

“Of course, you have a schedule for your plans.” I shake my head at her as I take a sip of my soda and she looks offended before she plasters a smile on her face for the girl who hands her a tip.

“Thank you, baby.” She blows her a kiss before putting the money in the tip jar and turning to me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She places a row of shot glasses in front of a group beside me.

“Just that you have perfect French tips as a bartender which tells me you’re very organized.”

A smile touches her lips as she pours a rainbow drink into all of the shot glasses in one swift move. The group of girls she’s serving record her pouring the shots before saying some sort of chant and throwing their heads back.

They each squeal as their faces scrunch and envy seeps into my blood at their freedom.

Two knocks on the counter in front of me has me turning my attention away from them and onto Erin again. “It was great talking to you, but you should call your sponsor and go grab food or something.” The sympathy oozes off of her and if it wasn’t for us being in the same AA group, I would’ve stayed.

I know AA is anonymous, but everyone in our group is like family. Even if Erin and I somehow have never met until now, I refuse to relapse in front of her.

She walks off to take another order as I text my brother.

You awake?

It’s only 1:00 a.m., but he replies immediately.

Biggest Loser

No.

I roll my eyes before sending him a middle finger emoji and he replies by reacting to it with a laugh.

You good?

Peachy.

I text him the code word we came up with because neither of us have the balls to tell the other, I’m at a bar, come save me. When he likes the message, I know he’s on his way since he has my location. While I’ll never admit it to him, I appreciate Sire more than anyone on this earth. He’ll drop the world and come to me when I need him without making me feel like the burden I am. It is one of my favorite things about him.

The next ten minutes I sit with my soda and wait for my brother as I talk to Erin when she’s free.

“Is this seat taken?” A husky voice reaches my ears before a strong whiff of cologne hits me and I don’t know much about perfume, but I know whatever that is, is expensive.

I turn to the side and a tall guy in a three-piece suit smiles down at me. It’s clear he’s not from here since he’s wearing that in the cheapest bar in LA.

“No, go ahead,” I say in my best British impersonation before nodding for the seat.

He sits before holding a hand out to me. “Connor.”

I take his hand with a smile. “Lucy,” I lie.

He kisses the back of my hand. “That’s a beautiful name.”

They always say that. Where are you from, Lucy?

“Where are you from, Lucy?”

See?

I pull my hand away as I offer another smile. “Originally from Bloomsbury, but I moved here just over a month ago.”

Erin catches a part of my sentence and lets out a loud snort which she fails to cover with a cough.

Connor nods as if he’s paying attention, but his eyes are on my chest. “And what brings you to LA?” His eyes meet mine again for a brief second before they’re on my thighs, seamlessly pulling my jeans down with his eyes.

“She’s a Dodgers fan.” A familiar voice sounds from behind me and I shake my head when Connor looks up and practically drops dead at the sight of my brother.

“Sire Griffin?” He looks around the room as if to check that the rest of the bar also sees the LA Dodgers star pitcher. He stands from his seat and holds a hand out to my brother with a nervous laugh. “Holy shit. I’m a huge fan, dude.”

“Thanks, man.” Sire shakes his hand before his eyes settle on me. He focuses on me, analyzing my features before he leans over and grabs my drink.

“You could just ask, you know.” I point out, my fake accent still in play and a furrow grows in his brows.

He takes a whiff of my drink, the proud look on his face hard to miss. “Not asking saves you from needing to come up with excuses if you did drink.” He sets my cup down. “You’re welcome.”

I let out a scoff before hopping down from the stool. “You know I wouldn’t come up with excuses; I’d just tell you I simply wanted to drink.”

He lets out a low laugh as he sets down a fifty bill by my drink. I already paid, but I let Erin have the tip. “You have all your stuff?”

Before I can respond, Connor, who I forgot was still there, cuts in. “Sorry, do you mind if I get a picture with you?”

Sire looks like he’s about to agree when I cut in. “He can’t take pictures with fans after midnight.” I roll my eyes. “It’s some weird thing his agent is making him do, but if you’re here tomorrow say”—I glance at Sire—“5:00 p.m., you can get a picture and autograph?” I look back over at Connor and his mouth is agape, as if I just announced he won the lottery.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, five is perfect.”

“Perfect,” I exclaim. When his brows furrow, I realize my accent slipped. “You have a great night, Connor love.” I slip back into it and he only looks more confused but I grab Sire’s forearm, walking as drunk as I can a few steps away until someone calls me.

“Hey!”

I turn at the sound of Erin’s voice and walk back to the bar.

“Your sponsor is Sire Griffin?”

“He’s my brother, but yeah, the loser is also my sponsor. Please don’t befriend me for him, he’s married.” He isn’t, but with the way he talks about his girlfriend, they may as well be married with kids.

“Brother?” Erin glances between me with my pale skin and blue eyes before looking back at Sire who’s the opposite.

“We’re adopted,” I clarify with the short version of the very long story.

She nods in understanding before reaching behind my ear and revealing a piece of paper with a phone number on it. “I must stick to my strict schedule so we won’t see each other at AA, but we should hang out. Walk the strip with our best Bloomsbury impersonations.”

I let out a soft laugh as I take her number. “I’ll text you, Houdini.”

She nods in response before someone calls her attention. I walk out of the bar with Sire, and when the fresh air hits me, the reality that I was, once again, so close to relapsing hits me.

“Is Vidia awake?” I quickly take the lead of the conversation before he wants to talk about it.

Since the topic is his girlfriend, he easily goes along with it as we walk to his car. “I woke her up to let her know I was coming here. I promised to keep her in the loop.”

I glance up at him and, for once, don’t tease him about being madly in love. I’m glad he has the support system he does. It’s not easy dating an addict, or so I’ve been told by countless exes, but Vidia sticks by him like no other.

“Why the hell did you tell that guy I’d come back here tomorrow? He’s going to be waiting all day.” He glances down at me, amusement playing in his eyes.

“That’s the point.” I shrug. “I didn’t like him. He was gross.”

He slightly pauses. “Did he do something to you?”

“No, caveman. Do you think he would’ve been smiling about autographs if he had?” I voice before he can turn around and pick a fight in my defense.

He nods in response, but when I look forward, I feel his eyes on me and I know what’s next. We reach his car and he leans against the hood before saying, “We’re going to talk about it eventually so let’s skip the I don’t want to talk part.”

I look over at him before tilting my head to the side. “But that’s my favorite part.” I pout and when he remains serious, I roll my eyes. “It’s the same reason as always. I wanna leave Earth and I’m not talking about traveling to the moon.”

He doesn’t laugh, and at times like this, he makes it hard to cope since he won’t laugh at my dark humor.

“Be happy I only almost chose alcohol over actually choosing this.” I pat my thighs, silently gesturing to the scars under my jeans.

This time he breaks and a smile slips. “I’m glad you’re staying safe, but—”

“Everything before but is bullshit.” I point at him.

He rolls his eyes before trying again. “I’m glad you’re staying safe,” he states. “What happened to our system? You could’ve called me before coming here.” He gives me a pointed look, and I walk around the car for the passenger seat, but when I pull on the door, it’s locked.

“Come on,” I plead.

“Answer me,” he counters gently and the concerned look in his eyes makes my skin crawl because he’s being too nice for comfort. Bullying each other is our entire relationship, but he’s too into his sponsor role right now.

“Open the door.”

“I just want one answer. Tell me or walk home.” He sounds annoyed now and I know he’s not actually upset, but the niceness is gone which I appreciate.

I let out a defeated breath as I run my thumb along the handle of his door. “You know that voice you get? The self-doubt. The constant reminder that you’re a bother to everyone in your life. That calling a friend or sibling is just going to annoy them?”

My eyes meet his but he doesn’t respond.

“That voice was extra loud today and when I picked up my phone to call you, all I felt was that you hated me, so I went to drink.”

Sympathy seeps into his brown eyes and I pull on the door for an escape. He unlocks it as promised, but before I can close the door, he grabs it.

“That voice is lying to you,” he reminds me. “It always will.” He shoves my shoulder, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re never a bother and I could never hate you.”

I bite back a smile and pretend to gag. He lets out a laugh before closing the door and a smile spreads across my face when he isn’t looking.