Page 105 of Please Save Me

He shifted in his chair and I had a feeling that if I kept this conversation going, I’d end up a lot closer to Seb than I wanted, so I excused myself and apologized for disrupting him. But, the second I left his apartment, I wondered if getting to know Sebastian would be as bad as I thought.

Chapter 33

Lucian

My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel, staring at the old brick diner in front of me. My stomach swam with a type of nausea that made my head spin. I knew when I woke up this morning that today was the kind of day I needed to stay in bed, but Mason had other ideas. And it wasn’t her fault.

She deserved to be taken out on dates, and, much like the rest of the house, I wasn’t very good at telling her no. But with how I felt, I didn’t want anyone other than myself in the car with me. Sure, I’d managed not to use again, which was probably why I was amassive prickto my wife, but the withdrawal symptoms were just as debilitating.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking of my hands. All I needed to do was go in, get Mason breakfast, make a stop for flowers on the way home, and apologize profusely. Anything to make her forgive me, I’d do.

With that in mind, I stepped out of the jeep and made my way to the door with unsteady steps.

Fuck—was withdrawal this bad last time?

It couldn’t have been. Sure, there were days I felt like I was literally going to die, but this all felt new. It was like I was drunk despite not touching alcohol since Sophia made me drink with her on our date.

It felt like it took forever to close the distance between myself and the front door of the diner, but eventually, I made my way to the glass door. Just through it was the diner, and I knew that it’d be warm and smell of greasy food and burnt coffee. But instead of going in, I stared at my reflection in the glass.

I looked like shit, to put it nicely.

My eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles hung beneath them. I hadn’t bothered to braid my hair last night or straighten it up before leaving, so my normally well-maintained curls hung in a mountain of frizz. I’d have to pull it into a bun or something before I even tried to apologize to Mason.

She deserved better than this, better than me, better than someone who snapped at her fornothing.

I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair, wincing as my fingers caught in the knots. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t who I wanted to be. This was who I worked so damn hard not to be. But right now, this was all I could manage. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

When I stepped in, the smell of the food caused my stomach to flip, and I fought the urge to gag as I slowly stumbled to the host stand.

A middle-aged woman in a stained white shirt greeted me. “Morning, sweetie. You look like you had a rough night.”

“You can say that again.” I scoffed, wondering if she could tell I was in the throes of withdrawal.

“Table for one?” she asked, reaching for the menus.

I shook my head. “I’m ordering takeout… I kind of fucked up with my pregnant wife, and well, the way to her heart is through her stomach right now.”

Never in my life did I think I’d be able to say that about Mason.

The waitress eyed me for a moment before giving me what I hoped was a sympathetic laugh.

“Well, let’s try to get you back in her good graces.” She handed me the menu, and I took it with a forced smile. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Nothing for me.” I waved her off before sitting on a red pleather bench in the corner.

“It’s on the house,” she explained, going to the waitress stand for a mug. “Can’t have you going home looking half dead. A good cup of joe should perk you back up, so how do you take it?”

“Black,” I said reluctantly.

I watched as she poured the cup, steam wafting up to ghost her knuckles. After a moment, she walked over and pressed it into my hands.

“You finish that, and I’ll be back to take your order, okay?” Her smile seemed genuine and kind.

For a second, it reminded me of the way my mom and my sister, Leona, smiled. That helped me feel a little more comfortable, so I thanked her before taking a tentative sip of my drink.

My stomach flipped the second the coffee hit my tongue, but I forced myself to swallow. I needed this.

I focused on the warmth of the mug in my hand as I flipped through the laminated menu, trying to find something that Mason would enjoy that wouldn’t overtly sayI’m using food to make you forgive me. Did it work?

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