Page 76 of Caught from Behind

Are you going to Ella’s place?

I frowned, worry eating away at my insides.

Yes, why?

A pause long enough that I nearly ground my teeth down to nubs.

I just think she could use someone to talk to—whether or not she actually agrees with that.

WTF Nova. Tell me what happened.

She’s my best friend, Riggs. I love her and I’m worried about her, but unless she shares with you, I won’t betray her confidence.

You’re playing with fire.

Maybe. But as much as I love her, as much as I respect her privacy, I won’t let her drown like so many other people in her life have.

What the fuck does that mean?

But Nova stopped replying.

And now I’m rushing up Ella’s driveway, heart pounding a million fucking miles per hour, trying desperately to stay calm as I wait for her to answer the doorbell I’m ringing repeatedly.

“Christ, chérie” I mutter, jabbing at it again. “What the fuck are you doing?—?”

I don’t get to finish the question because the door is swinging inward and my entire body is flooded with relief when I see her standing there in the entryway. She’s wearing my T-shirt and it engulfs her body, hanging over lush curves, stopping just above her knees.

“Baby,” I say, stepping toward her, plunking a hand on her belly and nudging her back enough for me to move inside, to close and lock the door. “What the fuck have you been playing at?”

Her brows furrows. “What do you mean?”

I frown, trying to pinpoint why that sounds wrong, why it feels wrong. “You haven’t been answering my calls or texts.”

A shrug before she whirls around, heads for the kitchen and my frown deepens when she pauses at the counter, lifts a bottle of vodka, and?—

Pours.

That’s what’s off.

The hint of alcohol in the air. The slight waver in her gait. The glassiness in her eyes.

This isn’t slightly tipsy Ella, hanging with Nova and having one too many mules. This is the sloppy Ella who tried to blow me in my car and propositioned me for one night—and one night only.

This is the Ella who made my skin crawl, who forcibly yanked those memories into the forefront of my mind.

Who’s yanking them forward again now.

I grind my teeth together, push that down.

This isn’t the Ella I’ve grown to know, the Ella I’ve grown to love.

This is wrong.

Something is seriously wrong.

So, I close my eyes, take a beat, and breathe. When I open them again and see her downing vodka from a coffee mug that says Fresh out of fucks, bile burns the back of my throat.

I move to her, snag the mug, and set it on the counter. “What are you doing, chérie?”

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