Page 96 of Close Match
Fifty-Five
Montague
All she asked me was what alcohol tasted like, and I flipped like she was playing judge and jury. When her soft voice whispered, “It’s been a really shitty day. I was just…I just wanted to know what it tasted like to make all these people use it to obliterate their pain,” I realized she was looking for comfort.
Of course, that’s not what she took that kiss as.
I realized that the minute she walked out of the room and I heard the lock of the bathroom snick behind her. I downed two glasses of bourbon before having enough courage to go downstairs and explain her absence.
At dinner, Ev looked haggard over the events of the day. “It’s too much for her. We don’t have to do this.”
“Ev, I don’t think you can stop her now.” The force of my words caused him to blanch. “Let me worry about Linnie.”
Maybe he sees how much I’m in love with his daughter, but I don’t care. After tonight, she’ll have no doubt how I feel. But when I walked back into my suite after dinner, it was to find her huddled on the side of the bed, her long hair undone, fast asleep.
It wasn’t until I pushed her hair off her face that I saw the dried tear tracks on her face and took them like a kick in the chest.God, help me say the right words to her to heal whatever part of this pain I caused.Shifting from my knees to my full height, all I feel is the need to drop back down to them to wake her to beg her for forgiveness.
My woman cried herself to sleep tonight. Unlike me, she doesn’t hold in her pain. Instead, her face is painted by her heartbreak. Every overwhelming emotion she’s been put through has scored her cheeks with wetness.
Her father.
Her sister.
Me.
I can smell the very thing that caused me to flip at her earlier. Like a siren, the bourbon’s seductive scent calls to me, whispering at me to come to have another taste since I’ve already had her once today. Like a body driven by primitive instincts, I move away from the woman I know I need to care for in favor of the thing I yearn for.
A burn that wrenches my gut so painfully it obliterates the ones in my heart.
Not bothering with a glass, I tip the bottle to my lips and swallow again and again, until I gasp for breath. The heat hits and suffocates the ache. My eyes dart over to the bed.
Linnie’s rolled over to her back. Her hand’s reached over to my side, seeking me in her dreams. Thank God I didn’t fuck this up, I think woozily. Stripping out of my clothes, I leave a trail of them as I stumble across the room. Lifting the covers, I slide her hand out of the way. I crawl in beside her and gather her close. Her brows scrunch close together, but she doesn’t wake.
The bubble I’m wrapped in doesn’t allow for a filter. “I love you.” My words seem to echo off the walls of the room, but I know I just whispered them for the first time to a sleeping woman who’s carrying so much on her delicate shoulders, she doesn’t need more.
As I pass out, it never crosses my mind I might have bellowed them in my drunken state to the woman I do love, who startles awake at my declaration.
Fifty-Six
Evangeline
Did that just happen?
Monty’s naked in bed beside me having just shouted his love before passing out. He smells like a distillery. The smell reminds me of the nights Mom would come in to tuck me in when I was a child. But Monty’s been through so much; he’s under such a strain with trying to be the strength we all need him to be. I don’t want him to come to bed with alcohol on his breath for the rest of our lives, but tonight? I almost understand.
Before I can travel too far down a path sure to bring back bitter memories, the words that bounced off the walls, yanking me from my sleep, bring me fully awake.
Did he just yell to anyone in hearing distance that he loves me?
Snuggling against his chest, I disregard his fuzzy alcohol breath as he snores deeply. Brushing a kiss across his cheek that desperately needs a shave, I wrinkle my nose at the smell of alcohol, which is so different when combined with sweat and odor. Laying my head against his heart, I murmur, “I love you too.”
I came to some conclusions earlier that made my heart hurt. Life is all about the choices we make. And in this case, it’s about my decision to give someone life. It hurts—God, does it hurt—but I can’t stop agonizing over the what-ifs.
“Oh, Mom. If you only you had just told me,” I whisper sadly in the dark. “How much of this would be different?” As if he can hear me, Monty’s arms tighten on me to pull me closer to his already warm body. Shifting to get more comfortable, I lay my head down on the pillow and close my eyes thinking of promises, declarations, and hopes.
Sometimes people have to come in and out of your life to become better versions of themselves. Sometimes it isn’t to hurt you, though it does. No matter what you do, you can’t make them better on your own.
I just don’t want the latest person to be my father.
