“Sorry…. This whole thing blows…. I’m just …” Colton nods his head at me in acknowledgment, forgiveness laced with the guilt that’s eating at him reflected in his eyes. And it makes me feel a tad better to see it there. Like teeny tiny. I grab my right wrist with my left hand and flex it. The fucker hurts like a bitch from punching Dante.
“Fuck.” He blows the word out, making it sound exactly how I feel.
“What can I get you, boys?” Viv’s back and in front of us, trying to act like everything is normal—like the melee never happened—and I just hang my head, drowning in my own thoughts, too occupied to be embarrassed.
“Macallan neat,” Colton says, my shoulders tensing at the significance of his request.
“One shot for each of you, handsome?”
“Two glasses, one bottle, please. And a bag of ice for his hand.”
Both Viv and I raise our heads and look at Colton, her for the tip she might be getting and me because I don’t want to sit here and drink. I want Colton to drive me to Haddie’s. Like ten fucking minutes ago.
“That’s pretty pricey for—”
“Not a problem. Thanks,” Colton says with a flash of his “public” smile as he dismisses her.
“Thanks, Wood, but I don’t want to drink anymore. I need you to bring me to see Haddie.” I start to stand, and Colton is up just as fast, his hand on my shoulder pushing me back down, before I can even get steady.
“No can do, brother.” He gives my shoulder an extra shove before he sits back down. “First off, you’re drunk. Not a smart move to show up at her house right now. Alcohol makes you say shit, man … like profess your love when the last thing she wants to hear out of your mouth now is that you love her, … She’d think it’s out of pity, …”
I keep staring at the table as Viv slides two glasses in front of us. She starts to pour, and Colton tells her thanks but takes the bottle and pours them himself so that we have privacy.
He slides the bag of ice over to me, but I just look at it. I deserve the pain in my hand. Haddie has cancer. Her hurt’s going to be a whole lot worse. I wish a simple bag of ice could fix it for her.
“… you telling her that means you’re only doing it because she’s sick. Not because you really feel that way.”
I wince at the word sick and then blow out a breath, knowing he’s right … that the last thing she needs is me drunk and blubbering all over her. But, Christ, all I want to do right now is see her, touch her, talk to her.
He pushes the glass in my hand and wraps my fingers around it when I don’t respond. But if I don’t drink, then I sober up faster, and get to see her that much sooner.
“I already told her.” The words come out in a whisper as I stare at the Macallan in my glass. I don’t even realize I’ve said the words until Colton sputters beside me.
“Fuck me, dude. I think we’re going to need another bottle of this shit.” He taps his glass against mine. “Bottoms up.”
I’m on autopilot as I swallow the Scotch. It’s a shame to waste it on me right now. I don’t appreciate the taste or how damn smooth it is because all I keep thinking about is Haddie.
The neck of the bottle clinks as Colton refills our glasses. “Breathe, brother,” he tells me, my fingers gripping the glass so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter in my hand.
“What am I … how am …” I blow out a breath in frustration because I can’t process the thoughts whipping through my mind fast enough.
“Ry’s with her. She seems to be dealing, you know. She’s a tough chick, Daniels.”
“Yeah, but fuck …” I can’t even speak in complete sentences. I toss back the second pour of the Macallan. This time the burn’s a little less, and the warmth’s a little more.
“I know, Becks.” It’s all he can really say, and I appreciate the fact he’s not bullshitting me, telling me she’s going to be okay, telling me I’m a stupid fucker for going and falling for her.
My eyes burn just as much as my throat right now. So many questions I want—no need—to ask her, and the one in the forefront is like a ghost that keeps slipping through my fingers. The alcohol dims my logic enough to figure out what the hell my subconscious is trying to tell me, but my mind isn’t grasping it.
“She kicked Dante out last week.”
Well, fuck. That works. I can’t think straight enough to figure it out. The question is just out of reach.
“She’s not with him?”
“Nah … kicked him out. He either was just fucking with you because he’s jealous or he really tried to get in her pants and she gave him the boot … and if that’s the case, I should have added a fist to his face too.”
Relief rushes through me. And then confusion followed by anger again. She’s all alone? What the fuck? Shit’s being thrown at me so fast right now, I’m having a hard time coming to terms with any of it.
And then it hits me like a goddamn bulldozer. She knew. She fucking knew that night. She was pushing me away, trying to protect me, choosing for me. Just like I told her not to.
Well, fuck that.
I shove up out of the booth again. My vision goes black, and the whole room pulls me into its tumultuous tornado of darkness and stars.
“Woah. Easy. Easy.”
I hear Colton’s voice. Feel his hands on me, but I can’t focus. The seat’s beneath my knees again, and my stomach lurches into my throat momentarily until I can swallow the bile and the gallon of alcohol back down.
“I need to see her,” I plead with him. Because even though I’m so shit-faced I can’t stand, my stubborn stupidity keeps hitting me in the face over and over. How could I not have seen right through her and what she said to me? How could I have been such an idiot?
“I know you do but not till the morning. You’re sleeping with me tonight,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.
“When hell freezes over.” I mutter, but just maybe it has because, holy shit, Haddie really is sick.
“I think it already has, dude.”
I snap my head up as fast as I can without making the earth tumble and fall around me again. “What?”
He clinks his glass against mine and throws back the swallow of amber liquid. “You love her? What the fuck is up with that? I got you were dipping your wick, but now you want a permanent place to burn your candle?” He shakes his head and laughs before resting it back on the booth behind him.
I can’t help the laugh that falls from my lips, grateful for his random humor right now. “Candle?”
“Mm-hmm.” He’s buzzed enough now that he doesn’t continue the train of thought. Instead we fall back in silence, our eyes closed, heads fuzzy, and glasses empty. “Got quarter of a bottle left. We finish it off, get Sammy to drive us back to my place,” he says, referring to his bodyguard and sometime driver. “We’ll sleep it off, you’ll get a clearer head, and then you go see her tomorrow and fight like fuck to prove you want to be a part of her life. Sick or not sick.”
I choke back the emotion clogging my throat, stunned by my best friend’s ability to know this is what I need to hear when he’s never been good with emotions or relationships.
And from just hearing the word sick out loud in reference to Haddie.
“Yeah.” The word is barely a sound as it passes past my lips.
“She’s gonna beat this, Daniels.”
Images of Lexi flash through my head from the pictures I’ve seen in Haddie’s house—the only way I’ll never know her. And I can’t help but acknowledge the fear creeping in that that could be all I’ll have left one day of Haddie.
I’m immediately pissed at myself for even thinking it. Furious that for one moment I thought she’s not going to fight the fight so she can walk the walk afterward. But fuck if I’m not scared, even with liquid courage flowing through my veins like it’s my own blood.