Chapter 22 #2
“Well, that’s cause for celebration right there.” Pete motions to a bright-eyed staffer who looks barely old enough to vote.
The kid hurries over. “Sir?”
“Ethan, top me up, will you?” He glances my way before turning back to the young man. “And bring another one for my friend, here.”
“No,” I say, but it comes out quieter than intended and the kid is already hustling off, following orders. Across the room, Ethan opens a cabinet and pulls out a decanter, filling two glasses with a generous measure of scotch.
I take a conscious step away, clenching my fists at my sides, and try to command my breathing to steady.
Caroline is still deep in conversation with Fletcher, a frustrated frown marring her features.
What the fuck is he saying to her?
My heart thumps wildly against my rib cage like it’s jumping between the two sides of the room, just like my eyes. It’s like watching my past and my future.
No, it’s not, I remind myself. Because Caroline isn’t my future.
But she sure as shit isn’t just a distraction, either. If things were different… If I was different…
The distinct clink of crystal glassware pulls my attention back to Ethan and the two tumblers he’s carrying back to Pete. Saliva pools under my tongue even as my stomach roils.
No. Say no. Leave. Push it away. Anything.
But I can almost feel those familiar neural pathways wake up, yawn, and stretch before blasting electricity through my brain, lighting up every reason to accept the drink.
I’m losing the woman I love. Nothing else matters.
What’s one more fuckup, really?
It’s what everyone expects from me, anyway.
Relapses are common.
It’s only one drink.
Time seems to slow as Ethan passes Pete the glasses, the older man’s leathery fingers curling around the second tumbler and lifting it in my direction. As he extends his arm toward me, the amber liquid undulates like an invitation.
It’s just one drink. Just one.
“Dad!” Caroline suddenly pushes between us, forcing me to take a step back. “What are you doing?”
“Offering your guest a drink, sweetheart.” Pete’s smile is as slimy as his fucking personality, but he’s holding my kryptonite in his hand and my attention keeps jumping back to that glass of scotch.
“He doesn’t drink.” Without turning, Caroline reaches back and grasps at me, clumsily interlacing our fingers. An anchor point. I try to let it ground me, but I’m drawn in by something with a much stronger pull.
Fuck me. I just want one drink. Just one sip.
“Oh, what’s the matter?” Pete catches my gaze over her shoulder. “Can’t hold your liquor, son?”
I swallow the twin flames of anger and shame burning a path up my throat.
“Dad, stop,” Caroline begs, her voice breaking. “Put it away.”
“See, this is what I mean, Miles.” Ignoring his daughter, he steps closer, the whiskey sloshing gently as it encroaches on my space like it’s trying to reach for me. Pete drops his voice to avoid being overheard. “You’re just not the kind of man who fits in here.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right.
“Dad!” Caroline turns, her hands finding my waist and her glacial eyes blazing up at me. “We’re leaving. Right now.”
I don’t move, my attention jumping between Caroline, her father’s hateful smirk, and the crystal tumbler still held in his grip.
He swirls the whiskey again and I hate myself for wanting it so much. But I fucking do.
“Miles,” Caroline says again, digging her fingertips into my ribs to get my attention.
I finally snap out of it, but shame instantly cuts trenches into my guts.
For being tempted. For being an addict in the first place.
For letting this asshole bait me, manipulate me, and treat me like trash.
Still, however fucked up her family is, the thought of taking her away from them to deal with my bullshit is a bridge too far.
“Uh, no, I don’t wanna be the reason you—”
“No,” she says, cutting me off, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“I’m not making you go through this again.
” When she clasps my hand tight, I let her lead me out of the room, down a long hallway, and into the massive foyer.
My coat is shoved into my arms and the front door opens to a blast of icy wind.
Darkness cloaks us as we cross the driveway to Caroline’s car and I welcome the jarring bite of cold, the spatter of rain on my cheeks.
Anything to put some distance, some new sensation, between me and what just happened. What almost happened.
As I slump into the passenger seat, I try not to cry. Or rage. Or scream. It wouldn’t change a damn thing if I did, anyway.
I can’t fight this. Can’t tell Pete off, can’t keep the woman I love. None of it. Not with my livelihood at stake.
Losing my job would be exactly the kind of stressor that tiny voice in my head would love to exploit. He only wants one drink, and I’m terrified that, unemployed and unable to pay the bills, he’d get what he wants.
Because, of course, it’d never be just one.
Caroline takes angry swipes at her wet cheeks, then guns it out of the driveway, throwing me back into my seat.
Jesus, this little electric car can go.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Slow down.” Eyes wide, I brace my forearm against the door and my throat tightens as the memories flash through my mind.
Dark. Rain. The pair of police officers on our front porch.
“Slow the fuck down, Caroline!”
As if snapping out of it, she eases off the accelerator and the car slows to a less-frenetic speed. “Oh my God, I shouldn’t have—”
“You fucking scared me.” Heart pounding, I try to reason my way back to calm, clenching my fists to stop my hands from shaking.
Speed hadn’t been a factor, the investigators had told us.
But still.
“Sorry! I’m— I just wanted to get as far away as I can from—” With a pinched frown and tears in her eyes, she wrenches her attention back to the road. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’re okay,” I say, though we both know it’s not and we’re not.
Long seconds pass before she speaks again. “Dad was way out of line.”
I don’t argue.
“He’s been difficult plenty of times before,” she adds. “Coercive. Controlling even. But I’ve never seen him be outright cruel like that. Maybe he didn’t know about you being in recovery. I didn’t tell him.”
“No,” I say, my voice low. “He knew what he was doing.”
I’d seen it in his eyes; it was no accident. Plus, he admitted he’d looked into my past the night of the fundraiser. Offering me a drink had been a blatant power play.
She sags against the headrest. “I should never have brought you here.”
“I would’ve come anyway.”
Confusion shadows her face. “You can’t tell me you wanted to be around these people. My Dad. Fletcher. All the—”
“No.” I shake my head, cutting her off. “Fuck those assholes. I wanted to be around you.”
“Miles…” My name on her lips sounds tired, and she grips tighter to the steering wheel.
“Well, it’s fucking true, Caroline!” My chest threatens to crack open.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “I can’t have this conversation in the car. Not now. I can’t drive while I—”
“When, then?” I ask, cutting her off.
Her shoulders shoot into her neck. “I don’t know!”
“There’s no good place. No good time. This whole thing has been the wrong fucking timing…” My voice breaks on the last word—right as her phone rings.
The goddamn irony.
Sniffing back my emotion, I gesture at Adrian’s face on the car’s touchscreen and drop my hand in defeat. “Answer it.”
She gives me a long look, then draws in a steadying breath before accepting the call.
“Hey,” she says, her voice soft.
“Hey. Can you talk?” His voice is cautious this time, like he might have sussed out why Caroline hung up on him so fast earlier.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” She flicks a glance my way.
“How’s your dad taking the news?”
“What?” She frowns. “What news?”
Adrian scoffs. “What news? Aren’t you watching the election results?”
“No, I… We were, but we had to leave. What’s going on?”
“They’re calling it,” Adrian says. “He lost, Care.”