Page 17 of Troubles

She’s going to feel like shite as it is, so I water down her drinks and try to get her to eat something. “What is it with you and food? We should just go have a picnic—that’s totally what we should do.” She slams both palms down on the bar to make her point. “We should go to…that place on the river…that mansion?” The place is beautiful. It’s a historic mansion with gorgeous grounds and gardens. I drove through there a while back and have had it pegged as a place to go and shoot—to get creative with my photography.

“Maybe we should get you home soon so we can take advantage of…”

She cuts me off with another slam to the bar top. “There will be no taking advantage of m-me tonight. Nope. Sorry, not gonna happen.’’ She’s adorable and trying so hard to look offended and serious…and not off her tits.

“No feckin’ takin’ advantage of your girl. You treated ’er like shite today and you canna do tha…and ye nade ter be ’onest wit ’er…” Jimmy’s far gone and making no fucking sense anymore. I can hardly understand his slurs—hopefully Lisbeth will miss what he’s getting at, as well. But I slide him another pint to distract the bastard from spilling about Lorna.

Jesus, I need to call her first thing in the morning and talk with her.

“Love. We need to take advantage of the beautiful day tomorrow.” Though, Christ, if I’m honest with myself, I’d love to take advantage of her. “Let’s get you safe home and to bed, and we’ll go on that picnic tomorrow.” Jimmy glares at me, just now figuring out that I distracted him with a beer. I hold his stare and slide him another pint. “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

As I help Lisbeth toward the door, I turn to Finn. “I’m taking her home now—and Jimmy’s got my shift tomorrow. You good?”

Finn looks up from his phone. “I am. You taking Jimmy home wit’ you?”

Shaking my head, I laugh and silently tell him no.

12

Lis

My head is a splitting, fuzzy mess. I cover my eyes to keep the bright sunlight from killing me, as I feel around for my phone. Why? Why did I do this to myself? Why did I drink so much? After rummaging through my sheets and blankets, I finally find my phone stuck to the back of my thigh—Jesus. I peel it off and swipe the screen awake squinting to check the time. Thank God, it’s only ten o’clock. I close my eyes as gently as I can, not wanting to face the world yet.

I know Aidan brought me home and Gracyn helped him tuck me into bed, with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. Probably, I should feel worse than I do, but I pull my duvet up and snuggle in to sleep this misery away. I’m never drinking again. Who doesn’t think that at a time like this? Just as I’m drifting off to sleep, my phone buzzes with a text.

A: I’ll be there in an hour.

L: Why would you do that?

A: This was your idea.

L: OK. What was?

A: Our picnic at the mansion. I’ll bring the food. Drink your water and hop in the shower. You’ll feel better.

L: I doubt it.

Reluctantly, I drag myself out of bed and have to sit right back down. Good God, just how much did I drink last night? Way too much. I take a couple sips of water and wait for my stomach to accept or reject what I’m putting in it. Somewhat satisfied that the water is not going to make a reappearance, I shuffle to the bathroom. I start the shower before even chancing a look at the mess in the mirror. Mhmmm—ratty auburn hair, raccoon eyes.

I strip out of my clothes and step into the steam, letting the hot water wash over me. My body shudders, actually shudders, in appreciation and I find a small bit of hope that I’ll live and not resent the hell out of life today. I stay in the shower far longer than strictly necessary and come out feeling pretty close to human. Not human enough that I deal with blow drying my hair. Instead I lazily twist it into a loose braid, where it leaves a wet spot as it lies on my tank top. I swipe on a little mascara and brush my teeth twice.

Absently, I glance at my phone to check the time, and grab my sandals and the biggest, darkest pair of sunglasses I can find.

“Gracyn?” The sound of my knuckles against the wood sends a fresh flash of pain through my skull.

“Yeah? You feeling okay?” she rasps, her voice laced with either tears or sleep.

I scoff at her question as I crack her door open, holding up her sunglasses. “Not great, can I borrow these?” She is exactly where I want to be—in bed—in the dark, not headed out into the world with a hangover. “How am I going to do this? I don’t know that I’m gonna make it today.” My eyes close and I lean my head against the doorframe—the cool wood offering a touch of relief to my aching head.

“Lissy, you’ll be fine. Go get another glass of water. You drank the one he left you last night, right?” This conversation is usually the other way around. Me taking care of her. I know the routine, I just don’t want to move. “Go drink another, take something for your headache and pray he brings you something good to eat.”

My feet make their way to the kitchen even though my head is still wishing it was soaking in the cool, smooth wood. In the kitchen, I move to fill a water bottle and take some ibuprofen. My phone buzzes just as I’m tipping the little brown pills into my hand. Of course, it makes me jump, spilling the perfectly round painkillers across the counter with each of them bobbling and tinkling as they spin around.

I lean my forehead on the cabinet in front of me and answer. “Hello?”

His voice is soft. “I’m here. Are you ready to go, or do you need a minute yet?”

“I’m ready. I…” I sigh and gather up the pills I dropped, popping a few of them in my mouth. “I just need to clean up my spill. Do I need to grab anything?” I swallow the pills just as they start to dissolve on my tongue with that acidic burn.

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