Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
“Get up, asshole!” Riot demands, nudging my foot with his work boot.
“Just leave him there. Consequences of his own actions and all that.”
Squinting, I look up to see Carson sitting on top of my counter, obnoxiously slurping a fancy ice coffee.
“No, I need to look at his hand and get him cleaned up.” I watch Riot through blurry eyes as he leaves the room and returns with the first aid kit I keep in the laundry room. Opening it, he takes out what he thinks he will need to doctor me up.
“He’s definitely not going to be able to work this week. I hope he doesn’t have many clients to reschedule.” Carson stirs his drink with his straw before taking another noisy mouthful.
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right here,” I grumble from where I’m lying flat on my back on the cold tile floor. After Hannah left, I plopped myself down here with a bottle and apparently this is where I stayed. Groaning, I sit up and squint at Carson. “What time is it?”
“Just after 10 a.m. Get up,” Riot answers for him.
“What’s your problem, man?” I glare as I use the counter to pull myself upright. Every muscle and bone hurts. I can’t say this was my best decision lately. I could have at least chosen the couch in the living room to pass out on. I’m freezing.
“Don’t poke the bear, Logan. Riot’s big mad.” He shakes his head with wide eyes.
“Do you want me to list my problems? Because I will.” Riot mutters.
Sitting down, I place my elbows on the kitchen table and hold my head in my hands. “Sure, let’s hear it, big guy. But before you start, can someone grab me some water and Tylenol?”
Jumping down from the counter, Carson finds what I need and places it in front of me. “I got you, buddy.”
Riot sits down across from me and slides the first aid supplies within reach. “Give me your hand.” he demands.
Narrowing my eyes at my friend, I slowly extend my hand towards him. Grabbing my wrist, he twists my hand back and forth to assess the damage.
“Fuck, watch it, that hurts,” I say, to my angry friend.
“Stay still,” he demands as he douses my cut knuckles with peroxide.
“Jesus, fuck, shit that hurts,” I yell, trying to pull my hand away.
“I know,” he smirks, “if you hadn’t been a dumbass and actually cleaned it out with soap and water last night, you could have avoided that. Now, stay still,” he insists.
I watch him use a sterile pad to wipe away the dirt and debris left behind before applying antibacterial ointment to each knuckle. Taking a gauze bandage wrap, he dresses my busted-up fist. After checking his work, he sits back in his chair and looks at me.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he tips his chin up. “You look like shit.”
“Gee thanks, man,” I reply sarcastically before taking a drink of my water.
Carson walks to Riot’s side of the table and spins a chair so he can sit backwards on it. They’re both staring at me.
“Is this an intervention or are you presenting a list of your problems?”
“This has to stop,” Riot booms, slapping his hand on the table.
“What?” I look around the room in feigned innocence.
“Every time you have a minor inconvenience or disagreement, you are not going to drink away your feelings. You’ve been there and done that. Get a hold of it before it gets a hold of you. Got it?”
“Yeah, I hear you. In my defense, I don’t consider last night minor.” Though I’m not going to say it out loud, I know it was reckless to reach for a bottle, and I need to do better. Let’s just say, Riot answered a lot of drunken phone calls the first year after I broke up with Hannah.
Ignoring me, he continues, “Next thing, what the fuck was that last night between you and Jackson?”
“How is that my fault? He showed up here to cause shit,” I argue, crossing my arms as I lean back in my chair.
“So, you thought you would fix it by breaking his fucking nose?” He rolls his eyes to the ceiling.
“He called Hannah a bitch!” I shout.
The rage I felt when Jackson yelled at Hannah is indescribable.
I acted on instinct. One moment, I was on the veranda, and the next, I was on the ground with my fist in his face.
Do I regret breaking his nose? Not a bit.
Do I regret not telling Hannah everything before Jackson had a chance to open his big mouth?
Absolutely, I will never forget the look of betrayal on her face when I told her the truth.
“I would have broken his nose too.” Carson reaches across the table to fist bump me but then reconsiders when he remembers my wrapped hand.
“Fair,” Riot concedes with a tilt of his head, “but the entire thing didn’t need to go down that way. You could have just talked to him, seen what he wanted, and sent him away. But no, you had to antagonize each other and now you must deal with the consequences.”
Hanging my head low, I take a big breath before meeting Riot’s eyes again. “How is she?”
“What the fuck, dude, you haven’t called her yet?” Carson narrows his eyes and scrunches up his nose.
My shoulders sag. “Nah, I knew she was upset, and I didn’t want to make it worse. I hid my phone from myself, so I wouldn’t drunk dial her again. I think I put it in a cereal box in the pantry.”
“Okay, that was smart.” Carson jumps up and starts rummaging through the boxes. “Found it in the Lucky Charms, good choice.” Nodding, he grins as he hands me my phone.
Turning it on, I find one message from Hannah from earlier this morning.
Hannah
I’m just leaving my mom's. I found out information that I don't think you know. I just need time alone to think. Text you later xoxo
I type out a response and hit send as soon as I read her message. It’s only been a couple of hours, hopefully she doesn’t think I’m ignoring her. I don’t know what to do not to make this any worse.
I’m so sorry. xoxoxo
Thrusting my phone in Riot and Carson’s faces, I ask them, “What should I do? Should I go out to the cabin?”
“No, dipshit. She specifically said she needs to be alone. She will reach out when she’s ready.” Riot pushes his chair back and stands. Walking to the fridge, he starts pulling out everything he will need to make hangover breakfast. It’s like they knew.
“She didn’t have to text you at all, you know?” Carson says, stepping into the kitchen and setting a frying pan on the stove for bacon.
Fair point, maybe there is hope, after all. Getting up, I start emptying the dish washer mindful of my bandaged hand. Pausing, I turn to Riot and ask, “Why did you stay and wait for her last night? How did you know?”
“I just did,” he says, dropping bread into the toaster.
“Thank you,” I say with a weak smile. I hope someday I can repay Riot for all the times he’s had my back.
“I didn’t do it for you, I did it for her. Plus, I knew she would want her girls – they were waiting for her.”
“How was she on the way back to the lake?”
“Hurt, angry, confused. Take your pick.” He looks up and meets my eyes. “No more secrets, Logan. You will only get one chance to fix this.”
Waiting for Hannah to text me back is torture. I have checked my phone at least 100 times since Riot and Carson left earlier. I know I promised to give her space, but maybe we could negotiate being in separate rooms not separate houses while she thinks.
I was very tempted to crawl into bed and rot until I heard from her, but I decided raking the yard was a better use my time and anxious energy.
Not the best thing for my hand but whatever, I deserve the discomfort.
Morgan was endlessly entertained as he ran back and forth through the piles of leaves I created.
At least one of us is having a good day.
Now showered and dressed in clean sweats, I’ve thrown myself onto the couch to watch something mind-numbing on the TV when a soft knock at the front door catches my attention.
I spring up, sliding across the hardwood floor toward the sound.
Skidding to a halt, I fling the door open, only to find my mother standing there.
Honestly, the past 24 hours have felt like the worst family reunion ever.
“What are you doing here?” It has been years since I last saw my mom. The sale of the house was taken care of by real estate agents and lawyers so there was no need.
She looks good. Her long hair is braided in a loose braid, the colour more grey than blonde now. Dressed in jeans and a sage green half zip pull over sweater, she has managed to look stylish and casual at the same time.
“Hello to you as well,” she looks me up and down before saying, “you look rough.”
Forget I said that, she looks awful.
Dumbfounded, I watch her slip past me and walk right into my living room without an invitation.
“Yes, please come right in,” I mutter sarcastically as I shut the door and follow behind.
Ignoring me, she spins in a slow circle looking around the space. “Wow, you have done a lot of work. It looks really nice in here.”
Morgan raises his head from the pillow he’s lying on to look at our guest before flopping back down uninterested.
Rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly I say, “Thank you. I’ve enjoyed fixing it up.” Walking towards the kitchen, I ask, “Can I get you anything?” I could drink coffee. Coffee seems like a great idea.
“No thank you,” she replies, sitting down at the kitchen table. Reaching out, she runs her fingers along one of the tiny pumpkins Hannah used in the centerpiece. “This is pretty.” She looks up at me and smiles.
“Thank you. Hannah decorated for the holiday.” Leaning my back against the counter while I wait for the coffee to brew, I ask, “Mom, why are you here?”
“I got a call last night to let me know Jackson was in Emerley. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to get him bailed out,” she says, softly biting the inside of her cheek.
“I see.” Turning my back to her, I fix my coffee and take a moment. I know why she’s here. I’m just frustrated that she runs every time he needs something.
Sighing, I turn and walk to the table and silently take a seat across from her.