Page 57 of Forgiving Fate

I knew today was going to be rough. I knew I was going to want to run out to my truck and drain half a bottle of whiskey just at the sight of seeing Logan and Gray home from their getaway.

That you fucking ruined, you idiot.

I shake my head to clear the annoying voice in my head. I know they aren’t upset, but the guilt is still there. Hell, it never leaves. None of it does.

I should never have sent them on that mission, especially after everything Logan has gone through. But I’m selfish and didn’t want to leave Allie.

I round another corner and my skin sets fire again. I hit my steering wheel and yell, “Fuck! Get it together Landon.”

Great, now I’m talking to myself. And here I am on the way to help Allie. She needs someone that isn’t losing his mind. She needs someone that isn’t reaching for a bottle of whiskey under the passenger seat as he goes to help her.

But is that need going to stop me? No.

Ever since she told me the truth about her parents, it’s almost like she retreated into herself. I came back the next day to check on her, but she wouldn’t let me in. She texted me, telling me she was fine, but I didn’t believe her for a second. Since that day, she has barely spoken. A few days later, she warmed back up to letting me inside, but most days, I stay in her driveway.

I can’t fathom what is going on inside her head, but I will do whatever she needs. Whether that’s sitting in the driveway or sitting in the living room in complete silence.

And as selfish as it sounds, I’m relieved when she texts me and it’s because it shows that she is still here. That is a big part of it, but the main reason is being in proximity to her. Knowing she is alive silences the voices in my head. So, in a way, I think she may be trying to heal herself while I am simultaneously attempting to figure out how to silence my own demons.

She hasn’t allowed me anywhere close to touching her like she did that day, and I wouldn’t even dare try to. Even if it breaks my fucking heart to sit and watch her go from utter silence to sobs ricocheting off the walls.

But for some reason, she is letting me close, and it’s the least I can do. Even if I have to watch as she slowly fades away into her pain while I slowly drown myself in mine.

I pull into Allie’s driveway and before getting out, I stare at the bottle of whiskey in my hand.

“Don’t do it,” I beg myself.

My grip on the bottle tightens and the fire spreads to my throat. It’s almost like my body takes over and I am just a passenger on its way to complete self destruction.

I know I need to stop messing around and get to Allie, but I won’t be able to focus with the pain and need coursing through my body.

Maybe if I just smell it, that will cure the urge and I can go inside.

I pop the cap off the bottle, and the sounds echo throughout my truck. I bring the bottle to my nose. The warm spices and smoke fill my nose and I feel my body relax. But as I go to close the bottle, my stomach revolts and the fire returns.

Before I can tell myself to stop, I bring the bottle to my lips, and it’s cold from sitting in the truck. I tilt the bottle back slightly and, as the liquid hits my tongue and slides down my throat, the fire settles.

My eyes close and I settle back into my seat. My muscles relax, my mind clears, and the panic ceases to exist.

When I open my eyes and rest the bottle on my knee, I look down at it and see half the bottle is gone.

I find myself being oddly proud only half the bottle is gone this time.

The wind picks up outside and I’m reminded of where I am.

Shit. Allie!

I put the cap back on the bottle and shove it back under my seat.

Hopping out of the truck, I nearly slip on the ice and head to the front door. I don’t know if she will answer, but if she doesn’t, I’ll text her.

Somehow, our agreement has stayed strong. She has cameras and never sleeps, so I know she sees when I pull into the driveway. If she doesn’t answer the door or my text within ten minutes, I will use my key.

I knock and, as suspected, nothing. I pull out my phone to text her and expect to see a message from her already telling me she’s fine, but nothing. So I send her one.

Landon: I’m here.

I watch the clock tick down, and as the minutes tick by, my panic grows. Everything in me wants to run back to the truckand make the panic go away. But for the first time, I can’t. Something is wrong.

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