39. Henri
Chapter 39
Henri
Shaking my head, I look at my laptop screen, but it’s still fuzzy. The door to my office opens.
“It’s customary to knock on a closed door. The occupant—”
“Get up,” Deacon growls.
“Excuse me?” I push back.
When did Deacon get home? Finn mentioned it, but has it really been that many days?
“Get up,” Deacon says firmly as he pulls my purse off the hook near my spring coat.
My heart flutters in my chest.
“I’m working.” I retort, pointing to the laptop.
Why is it so hot that he’s trying to order me around?
“Your eyes are swimming. You smell like cheap whiskey, and you haven’t washed your hair in three days. I can see the dry shampoo.” He argues with me, pointing out everything I’ve done wrong today. “You’re not working, you’re looking at the computer, trying to get it to make sense.”
Oh fuck, do Cade and Finn know I’ve been drinking?
I go back to staring at the screen, pretending I can read it, embarrassment flushing my cheeks.
Deacon draws a deep breath. “Get up.”
An Alpha command hits me, and I rise to my feet. When did that happen? My heart pounds in my chest. The room sways.
“Take those ridiculous heels off before you break an ankle.” The Alpha command has passed, but the firmness is still there.
I slip out of my heels begrudgingly.
“Come on.” Deacon turns around and starts walking out of my office. “Don’t think I won’t pull a Finn and carry your ass out of here.”
I pocket my phone and follow Deacon to wherever it is he thinks is more important than work.
He leads me back down the hall and through the house until he opens the mudroom door.
Obediently, I walk through it. “What do you possibly need me in the coatroom for?”
Deacon walks past me and pulls his backpack off a hook. “Come on.”
He opens the door to the garage, and my stomach drops. “ I’m not getting on your bike barefoot. I’m not going anywhere with you. Period.”
“I am not joking. I’ll pick your ass up. Move.”
I’ve never seen Deacon like this before.
Still confused, I walk out the door, willing to humor him that much. My shoulder bumps against the doorframe. Pull it together, Henri.
He wraps his arm around me, steadying me, and involuntarily, I melt into him.
“Come on, Hen. Let’s get you home,” he whispers.
Home? The mood swing he’s got going on irritates my last nerve.
“You can’t be such an asshole and then all sweet to me.” I try to snarl and push myself up out of his arms.
He huffs. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
Deacon opens the passenger door to Lena’s red SUV and walks around to the driver’s side before I can even climb in.
Closing my eyes while Deacon backs out of the garage is a bad idea because once they’re shut, it’s impossible to open them again.
For the first time in weeks, it feels like I can rest.
Waking up disoriented is never fun. Waking up disoriented, with the man your wolf believes to be your mate in the driver’s seat of your employer’s vehicle, in front of their very remote second home, with a hangover, is significantly less fun.
I’m reminded of the times I’ve come here, semi-uninvited, looking to feel safe and finding Deacon instead of solitude. Now he’s brought me here on purpose.
The SUV is stopped just before the garage as Deacon waits for the door to finish rolling up.
“Welcome to the land of the living.” He keeps his voice low as if he knows I’m hungover.
The world spins.
“I thought wolves don’t get sick,” I groan and bring my hand to my head.
Deacon laughs softly. “As Lena would like to point out to me regularly.” He adopts a huffy, light tone, mimicking the way her voice sounds when she’s irritated. “It’s not sick, it’s a side effect.”
I grumble at him as he drives into the garage and closes the door behind us.
“I don’t know why I went anywhere with you when you said home and a vehicle was involved.” I start being contrary with him, hoping he understands my frustration. “This isn’t where I live.”
“Home isn’t where you sleep at night, Henri, it’s where you feel safe enough to let go.”
Deacon doesn’t seem to notice my shock at his words.
Home. It feels more right than anything else.
He unclips his seat belt and gets out of the SUV. “I also had an uncomfortable talk with my brother and sister’s mate, and it seems they don’t appreciate their PR professional drunk on the job.”
He closes his door before I can respond.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I cannot lose this job. I draw a deep breath, trying to stop myself from hyperventilating.
But breathing hurts my head.
Deacon pulls the backpack out of the back seat and leaves me to get out of the car myself and into the house.
I grab my phone out of the well on the door and check for messages.
There aren’t any. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
I flip to the text messages to see if maybe Deacon cleared the notifications.
Nothing at all today. Nothing new in my emails either.
I refresh the boxes and look at them again. It has to be broken.
Maybe Deacon will let me borrow his. This can’t be right.
I get out of the SUV and head toward the house.
The concrete floor is cool under my feet, so I scurry across it at the risk of aggravating the pain in my head. The room whirls as I come through the door, and I sag against the wall to make everything stop spinning.
Okay. I’m way more drunk than I expected .
Deacon is in the kitchen, writing something down on a notepad.
“What are you doing?” I try to distract myself from the pain.
“Grocery list.” Deacon doesn’t look at me.
“So, I’m fired, and Cade’s exiled me out here with you?” I mope, setting my phone on the counter.
“Nope.” Deacon pops the p .
I slouch against the countertop. Did I even eat today?
Deacon looks up at me from the list. “You were dead to the world, but I called Cade on the drive here. I’ve got two weeks to get you back together, or Cade’s going to retire you to a nice cottage on the property.”
My heart starts going a hundred miles a minute. “I’m fine. I can work just fine.”
“You’re not,” Deacon says without breaking eye contact. “You haven’t been fine because no one goes from almost completely sober to intoxicated on the job overnight.”
“It’s fine. I’ll pull myself together.” I say those words again, but his expression doesn’t change.
“Henri, quit saying ‘it’s fine’ or I’m about to get mad.” His voice is level despite the threat of anger.
It’s too much. It’s just all too much.
I draw a deep breath, trying to hold it together, but between the hangover and the emotions of failing at my job, I let the tears fall. “I’m sorry.”
Deacon sets down the pen and walks around the counter. Wrapping his arms around me from behind, he kisses the top of my head fifteen million times—or twelve, whichever comes first.
“Let’s get you fed and hydrated. I can imagine how that hangover feels. You smell like you drank your weight in cheap whiskey. ”
He gets me a glass of water and pulls a bottle of unmarked pills from his backpack. He slides it to me. “Take this.”
I put the pill in my mouth and swallow it down.
Deacon brings his hand to his forehead, smacking himself lightly before pulling it away. “You’ll just do anything anyone says without questioning it, won’t you?”
“Well, I didn’t get up earlier by choice in my office when you used an Alpha command on me. That’s not something you did before Romania. So, seems like I’m lost to the pack hierarchy, and asking questions is frowned upon.” I snap back.
“Never, not even once, have any of us thought we’re better or above anyone else in our pack. Especially you.” Deacon’s mouth presses into a thin line, brow drawn together, the look screaming disappointment.
He takes a picture of the list he wrote and sends it off to someone, if the whooshing sound of a text being sent is any indication.
“Hey, can I use your phone? Mine’s not working or something. It won’t get any updates or emails or texts.” My phone is suspiciously quiet, not even Nathan’s texted me today. And I’ll do anything to change the subject.
Deacon goes back to his phone, but instead of giving it to me, he does something on it.
He tucks it back into his pocket, and mine dings.
Deacon:
It works, Hen, you’re on timeout. Cade and I are your only allowed contacts.
“Who. Gave. You. The. Right,” I snarl and throw my phone.
He narrowly catches it before it slams into the cupboard to his right.
I pop off the stool and storm around the island to where I know Deacon keeps the alcohol .
He still doesn’t say anything when I grab a bottle and take a pull right from it.
“Henri.” Deacon stops me about two swallows in.
He tips the bottom of the bottle down so that I don’t make a mess of it.
“I left Nathan. I’m completely alone.” I spit the words at him as if any of this is his fault when we both know it’s not.
Between leaving Nathan and battling my wolf’s obsession with Deacon—and mine if I’m being honest—I have way too many feelings to process. I don’t even know where to begin.
This is easier. For now.
Deacon takes a minute, setting the whiskey bottle on the countertop. He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him and not the bottle of booze.
“You are better off without him. You are not alone.” He battles my statement with his absolute certainty, and the conviction in his tone makes the belief I’ve had for weeks falter just a little bit. “When was the last time you were sober?” Deacon lets my chin go to run his fingers back through my hair, which he knows is too-many-days dirty.
“How can you say that? Outside of work, I don’t have anyone.” I try to level with him. At least the headache is going away. “And what is it to you what I do with my free time? You aren’t really one to judge.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Deacon laughs and shakes his head like what I’m saying is ridiculous.
“What does that have to do with any of it?” My jaw drops. “You’re technically still work.”
My heart squeezes with those last words because I don’t want them to be true. How can I feel this way about him even when the wolf isn’t here to say the ridiculous words?
“Come on, Hen.” Deacon offers me his hand. “Let’s get you washed up, and then we can talk.”