Page 14 of Searching for Valor

Fuck.

With a groan, he hauled himself up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, the room swaying momentarily before righting itself. He steadied himself with a hand on the nightstand, knocking over the empty whiskey bottle from the night before. It clattered to the floor, the sound like a gunshot in his oversensitive ears. A glance at the clock on his nightstand told him it wasn’t even eight a.m. Too damn early after drinking himself into oblivion mere hours ago.

He could ignore it. Pretend he wasn’t home. But whoever was out there didn’t seem to be planning on leaving anytime soon.

“Jesus Christ. Fine.” Dragging a hand down his face, he pushed to his feet and stumbled out into the living room, not bothering with a shirt. Whoever had the audacity to pound on his door at this godforsaken hour could deal with his bare chest and pajama pants.

Except…

What if it was Zak?

Or, worse, Shane?

He froze mid-stride, panic slicing through the hangover fog.

If it was one of the guys…

He glanced around wildly, taking in the empty bottles scattered across the coffee table and the askew couch cushions. Evidence of yet another night spent trying to drink away the demons that haunted him.

Shit.

They couldn’t see him like this—unshaven, barely able to stand upright, with the stench of booze seeping from his pores. He’d spent the last few months carefully crafting the image of a man who had his shit together, who was healing and moving on. But they’d take one look at his bloodshot eyes and haggard face, and they’dknow. They’d know he’d been lying all this time about how well-adjusted he was. He’d lose all credibility with them, and he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing the disappointment in Zak’s eyes or the worry in Shane’s.

No. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.

Gritting his teeth, Rylan spun on his heel, intending to make a beeline for the bathroom to pull himself together. But the sudden movement sent the room careening sideways. He threw out his arms for balance but forgot he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic, and the move only sent him more off-kilter. His left hand flailed uselessly, grasping at air as he lost his balance andfell into the side table. The lamp toppled over with a crash, the bulb shattering. He went down hard, his knee slamming into the hardwood floor with a loud crack. White hot pain lanced through his leg, and he bit back a howl, curling in on himself.

The knocking stopped abruptly, and a muffled voice called through the door. “Rylan? Are you okay in there?”

His eyes flew open. That voice... It wasn’t Zak or Shane. It was feminine, familiar. It took his sluggish brain a moment to place it.

Isabella Delgado.

Izzy.

What the hell was she doing here?

A confusing mix of emotions swirled through him— relief that it wasn’t one of the guys, happiness at the prospect of seeing her, and a strong undercurrent of irritation. He’d made it quite clear he wanted to be left alone, and yet here she was, disturbing his solitude at an ungodly hour.

Anger won out. With a muttered curse, he hauled himself up using the side table for leverage, ignoring the sharp protest from his throbbing knee. He limped heavily to the door and yanked it open with more force than necessary.

Izzy looked as put-together and gorgeous as always, not a chestnut hair out of place despite the early hour. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his disheveled appearance, her gaze flickering over his bare chest and down to his plaid pajama pants, which hung dangerously low on his hips. She stared at the maze of scars decorating his torso for a beat too long before snapping her eyes back up to his face. Her expression smoothed over into one of polite neutrality, but not before he caught a flash of something that looked uncomfortably like pity.

Great. Just what he needed. Her feeling sorry for him.

“It’s barely eight in the goddamn morning, Izzy. What do you want?” The words came out harsher than he intended, his voice rough from too much bourbon and not enough sleep.

She looked up at him with those big golden eyes, and his traitorous heart skipped a beat, even as his gut twisted with a confusing mix of longing and resentment.

Goddammit. He thought he was over this, over her, but apparently, his heart hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Ry...” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry for just showing up like this, but I didn’t know where else to go. I need your help.”

He barked out a humorless laugh. “What makes you think I’d help you after what you did?”

Izzy lifted her chin, meeting his glare head-on. “I know I have no right to ask you for anything. But this isn’t about me or even about us.” She took a deep breath as if steeling herself. “Can I please come in?”

He stared at her for a long moment, jaw clenched, warring with himself. Part of him wanted to slam the door in her face, to tell her to go to hell. But another part, the part that still cared about her despite everything, was curious. What could be so important that she’d come to him, of all people, for help?

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