Page 207 of Holding On To Good

But he wasn’t done loving her.

And he didn’t think he ever would be.

Urban woke up the next morning face-down on the sofa, still shirtless and in his undone jeans, to his dog licking his face and someone saying his name.

He opened his eyes as much as the pounding in his head would allow—which turned out to be not much—and saw Toby crouched next to the sofa, frowning at him in concern.

“You okay?” his brother asked.

Urban would have nodded but he wasn’t a fool—just an idiot who’d switched to rum last night because he’d whipped the bottle of Uncle Nearest against the fireplace—so he blinked once and hoped like hell Toby realized it meant yes.

He must have because he straightened, took a step back and, after a long, calm look that had Urban feeling as if his brother had a clear view into the inner workings of his mind, headed toward the kitchen.

All he wanted was to shut his eyes again and fall back into the oblivion sleep and the whiskey-rum combination had provided, but while he may have had the luxury of self-indulgence for one night, he had responsibilities he couldn’t evade. A family to take care of. A business to run. A mess to clean up.

A family that no longer needed him the way they used to.

A business he no longer shared with Willow.

A mess he’d made himself.

His stomach roiled and he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

He wasn’t going to be sick. And he wasn’t going to feel sorry for himself just because everything was changing.

Just because he had no idea how to handle those changes.

With a groan that reverberated in his pounding head, he shifted until he fell from the sofa onto the floor with a dull thud. Stayed there, flat on his belly, cheek pressed against the rug, eyes closed, breathing through his mouth until the urge to puke once again passed.

Eyes still closed, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees and paused yet again. Jesus. Hangovers weren’t for the weak. Using the sofa as leverage, he slowly, unsteadily, got to his feet. Swayed once. Twice. Then, squinting so he didn’t have to face the bright sunshine or his wrecked living room, he lurched down the hall to the guest bathroom.

He flipped on the light, then turned both the wall and rain shower heads to hot. Let them run full blast as he shoved his jeans down his legs. Stood there a moment catching his breath, gathering his wits and girding his loins.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten drunk. College probably. But even then he’d walked the straight and narrow more often than not. Hadn’t wanted to take the chance of anything screwing up his chance of playing ball professionally. And later, after those dreams were shattered, he was too busy holding his family together, raising his siblings and taking care of his father’s business to be reckless. To be selfish.

He’d been both last night.

And the torture of a hangover at the ripe old age of thirty-two was his punishment.

And the least he deserved.

Steam filled the room as he leaned back against the sink for support. Lifted one foot then the other in a slow, painful march until he was able to kick off his jeans. Sweaty and nauseous, he pushed himself upright and carefully stepped into the shower.

Pressing both hands against the wall, he lowered his head and let the water cascade over him. The too hot drops were like sharp pinpricks on his skin, the sound like the roar of a plane.

He stayed there for minutes… hours… days.

Like last night in his bedroom after Willow left, it was another instance of being unable to move.

Except this time, it wasn’t because he was afraid of chasing after something he’d never have.

It was because moving meant going forward. It meant leaving behind all the things he’d wanted. Accepting the choices he’d made.

It meant letting go.

Last night he’d thought he could. He’d been angry enough, hurt enough and later, drunk enough to be certain he could do whatever he needed to get over Willow. That he could dissolve their partnership and run a business alone. That he could break up their friendship and survive without her in his life.

That he could walk away from her and not look back.

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