Page 116 of Fragile Heart

Shit.

Ethan hasn’t so much as tasted whiskey since Kayla died.

Suddenly, my body is convinced it’s four years ago, and I’m walking into this same damn house after a different emergency flight home. At least Camden isn’t crying in his crib this time.

There’s a stumbling crash, and I rush for the kitchen, not bothering to take off my shoes. Ethan’s sprawled on the floor, facing away from me, wedged between the island and the coffee bar. I take a step closer, and the smell of vomit overpowers the alcohol. I grimace, controlling my own reaction to the awful mix.

He’s fucking shitfaced. My Omega is a goddamn mess, hiding somewhere in Jackson, and he’s so wasted he can’t even move out of his own vomit.

“Ethan,” I growl, all my frustration rising to the surface.

He twitches and slowly twists his head.

“She’s gone,” he says, a wealth of pain and sorrow and agony lacing the words that it brings me up short.

I play ignorant. He might just be remembering Kayla. He’s trashed enough, it could be possible.

“Who is gone?” I ask, my voice calmer and softer than it had been.

“Brielle,” he mutters, closing his eyes. “My city princess…”

He sobs, and every single ounce of my anger drains away, tucking itself in a box to deal with later. I grab the dish towel and wet it down, using it to get the worst of the vomit off of him. Then I pull him to his feet, supporting him when his legs buckle.

“She needed me to say it, to admit out loud how much I need her, and I…” He sobs again and tears track down his face and into his beard. “I couldn’t do it. I love her, but I couldn’t say it.” He sucks in a breath, and for a second, I’m convinced he’s going to throw up again. Instead, he closes his eyes and whispers, “I couldn’t lose Kayla like that.”

My stomach twists. This is not a conversation we can have until he’s sober.

I get him into his bed, and he drops onto it.

“Shirt,” I order him. “Before you get vomit on the sheets.”

He pulls it over his head and lets it fall to the floor. His jeans are clean, at least, so I don’t force him out of those. Which is good, because not a minute later, he’s passed out on the bed, nowhere near the pillows.

I turn off the light and head deeper into the house, dropping onto my own bed.

I send a single text to Brielle.

I love you.

The message marks as read, but the dots don’t appear. With a sigh, I tuck the phone onto the nightstand and get ready to sleep.

Chapter Fifty-One

CALEB

My phone chimes, and I grab it, abandoning the half-finished burrito. That awful pit in my stomach gets wider when I see the notification. Every single one has made dread build this morning. A multitude of texts—from Mom, from Lynn, from Melissa, from Sam. But Brielle’s name stays the same. No notification, no text. Not even those damn dots that show she’s at least thinking about sending something.

Is she all right? Is she scared? God, the idea of her being scared eats at me, but I can’t risk calling her and it leading to her running even farther. Jackson, at least, is accessible with only a short drive. If she goes any farther, it’ll be a plane ride. And that just doesn’t bode well for any of this shit.

I focus on my phone again. This text is from Mom.

Cam’s with us. Lynn mentioned Emily needing to do something at Misty. You might check in with her.

I send her back the latest update… which is the exact same as the last one.

I’ll let you know when I have a plan.

Take as long as you need.

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