Chapter 36 Aidan
AIDAN
Iwill never forgive myself.
This is the thought that keeps swirling through my head as I take another slug of whiskey, setting the tumbler on the coffee table without a coaster. Something that would usually bother me, but who cares, when I’ve hurt Iris? Betrayed her trust? Humiliated her?
The whiskey burns my throat, and I let it. I need it to drown out the burning in my chest every time I think of the hurt on Iris’s face. The betrayal shadowing her eyes.
God, I’m such a fucking idiot, blurting that out to John. I just couldn’t listen to him rant about her for another second. Couldn’t let him continue to see her as a failure. As broken.
The irony is, that’s exactly how she thinks I see her now, isn’t it? Putting that label on her without even talking to her about it. That wasn’t my place—and was never my intention—it just erupted out of me in fury. In a futile attempt to force John to see how wrong he is about her.
But that doesn’t excuse it. Doesn’t justify it. Doesn’t make it okay. She deserved so much better than overhearing me blurt that to her father. She deserved—deserves—gentleness and care. Patience. Someone who can be steady when she needs it. Not someone who loses his shit.
I take another swig of whiskey, grinding my jaw. I didn’t return to the office today. Didn’t want to face John’s questions. Couldn’t imagine walking in there knowing I wouldn’t see Iris’s face.
Instead, I cleaned my apartment. Put in two hours at the gym. And tried to think of a way to fix this fucking mess I’ve made.
But I’m not sure I can.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I leap at it hopefully, pressing answer before I even check who it is. All I can think about is Iris. Hearing her voice.
But my sister is the one who says, “Hello? Aid?”
I heave out a breath, settling back onto the sofa. I shouldn’t have answered.
“Hey, Soph,” I mutter, words coming out rough as gravel.
There’s a pause. “You sound weird,” she says. “What’s going on?”
I grunt, slugging back more whiskey. I don’t even know where to begin.
Sophie exhales down the line. “I’m going to grab food and come over, okay?”
Fuck. No. I can’t let her see me like this.
“I’m fine,” I grate out, but it sounds like a lie, even to me.
There’s another pause, and then, “Please? I could use someone to talk to.”
Everything within me softens. I’m such a selfish bastard, sitting here wallowing when my sister needs me.
“Of course. Should I…” I begin, about to offer to drive to her apartment, trailing off when I realize how much I’ve had to drink.
“No, I’ll come to you,” she says, as if she knows. “Chinese okay?”
“Sure.”
We end the call, and I stare into my whiskey, debating whether to finish the glass. If Soph wants to talk, I should have my wits about me, but it’s probably too late for that already.
I down the rest, distracting myself with Netflix while I wait for her to arrive.
Choosing a show at random—Brooklyn 99—I press play and sit back, trying to take my mind off Iris.
It’s not until I’m halfway through the second episode that I realize I haven’t chosen this show at random at all.
Iris has talked about it multiple times.
The thought makes me even more miserable, and I decide fuck it, pouring another glass of whiskey as Soph knocks on the door.
She runs her eyes over me with a frown when I answer. I catch sight of myself in the entryway mirror and wince. My hair sticks out at all angles from me anxiously running my hands through it all afternoon, there’s a stain on my sweats, and my eyes are red-rimmed. I’m a mess.
Soph holds up two bags of Chinese, and I step aside to let her in, the room spinning a little around me as I do. God knows how much help I’ll be to her in this state, and I’m not only talking about the booze.
We settle in at the coffee table with the food, and I’m reminded of that first night after Iris started at the firm, when Soph and I sat here and talked about her. It makes my chest ache, and I push the thought away as I pour Soph a tumbler of whiskey.
Her brows rise. “What’s going on, Aid?”
I wave a hand. “Don’t worry about me. Are you okay? You said you wanted to talk.”
She smirks. “Of course I did, otherwise you never would have let me come over.”
I pause, my glass of whiskey halfway to my mouth. Shit, how did I not see that?
“Come on.” She takes the glass from my hand, setting it on the table. “Tell me what’s happened.”
I rake a hand through my hair, wavering. She has enough of her own shit going on, she doesn’t need me dumping my problems on her.
But she softens. “Ever since Mom left, you’ve spent your whole life protecting me. Hell, before then.” She reaches for my hand. “You saw I needed it, saw I was different.”
My throat thickens, because I didn’t, did I? I didn’t see how much more support she needed, and I should have.
“But I’m grown now,” Soph continues gently. “I have Jada, and now I have this new diagnosis, I can get the help I need. I want to be there for you for once.”
Fuck.
The tightness in my throat makes it hard to swallow, and I glance down. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or my sister’s compassion, but I croak out, “I’ve ruined everything, Soph.”
She leans forward. “Ruined what?”
“I wanted to tell her,” I say, voice strangled.
“I meant to, but I couldn’t find the right time, the right way.
I was so afraid…” I pause, trying to pull myself together.
“I was so afraid she’d be hurt, but I fucking hurt her anyway, didn’t I?
” I reach for the glass of whiskey again, needing to feel the burn.
Soph’s eyes crease with sympathy. “What happened?”
“John,” I mutter, dragging my wrist over my forehead, sloshing whiskey on myself.
Soph flinches, and I set the glass down again, my hands shaking.
“He was going on and on about what a disaster Iris is, and I snapped. I couldn’t take it.
I told him I think she has ADHD, and Iris…
” God, I can still see her face, still see the shock, the confusion, the pain.
It’s like a punch to the heart. “She overheard,” I finish at last. “She overheard me, and…”
“She was upset?” Sophie asks gently. “That makes sense, finding out that way.”
“I didn’t mean to tell him,” I say urgently, needing Soph to know. “I didn’t plan to. It just came out. I was so angry—”
“You were defending her.” Sophie squeezes my hand, and I feel the faintest flicker of relief that she understands. “You were trying to protect her from him. I get it. I know you, Aid. You’re not hurtful. Not careless.”
“This was pretty fucking careless of me,” I mutter.
Sophie winces. “It wasn’t ideal, but you meant well.”
“It doesn’t matter what I meant.” I eye the whiskey on the table again. “Iris won’t talk to me.”
“Did you try to explain?”
“Of course. I apologized and said it was a mistake. I told her how much I love her, how knowing this doesn’t change how I feel about her…”
Sophie’s eyes soften. “You love her?”
I lose the battle, taking another sip of whiskey to numb the pain. “I love her so much, Soph. More than…” A ragged breath escapes me. “More than I knew was possible.”
“Oh, Aid.” She practically melts into my side, pulling me into a hug. “I knew you had a heart in there somewhere.”
“Ha, ha,” I deadpan. I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter though, does it? Because I’ve ruined it all.”
Soph sighs, finally picking up the tumbler of whiskey I poured her, taking a long sip. “You haven’t ruined it. She’s in shock, probably. She needs time.”
I swallow, hoping with every fucking fiber of my being that my sister is right.
“Just give her space,” Soph says. “Focus on work for a bit. You’re good at that,” she adds, bumping my shoulder with a wry smile.
But I don’t smile.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve tanked my career,” I mumble.
“The way I yelled at John…” I shake my head.
“And I ran after her. He’s smart enough to put the pieces together, and if he’s figured out there’s something happening between Iris and me…
” I grind my molars, fury rising inside me again.
Fury with myself, because now, not only does Iris have to deal with what I’ve said and how carelessly I’ve said it, she’ll no doubt have John beating down her door to accuse her of impropriety.
Soph nods, absorbing this. After a beat, she says, “I know it might be hard to see this now, but maybe it’s a good thing?”
I grunt a humorless laugh. “How’s that?”
“Well… do you really want to work for a man who treats the woman you love so poorly?”
I stare into the amber liquid in my glass, letting her words settle. I’ve known for some time I don’t want to work for John, even if I couldn’t acknowledge it. His offer of partnership made it crystal clear. Now I know what I want to do, but can I make that happen without Iris?
“No,” I say at last. “I want to start my own firm. I was planning to ask Iris, but…” I trail off, unable to make myself say the words. That I’m worried she’ll never speak to me again.
“As your assistant?” Sophie asks, and I shake my head.
“As a designer. As my partner. She’s so talented, Soph. You should see what she can do.”
Sophie’s eyes sparkle as she gazes at me. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
I snort bitterly. “What, drunk and miserable?”
“No.” She gives me an affectionate shove. “In love.” She tilts her head, studying me. “You haven’t ruined everything, Aid. You just realized what matters to you.”
Emotion jams in my throat, and I drain my whiskey, setting the empty glass down. “What if…” My voice breaks, and I try again. “What if she doesn’t…”
Sophie’s hand lands on my arm. “She will. She just needs time.”
God, I hope she’s right.
“In the meantime,” Sophie says, straightening, “you can get ready.”
“Ready?”