Page 63 of A Love That Broke Us
And it broke me.
I blink away the memory, moisture pooling, blurring my vision as I swallow the lump rising in my throat. Staring down at my coffee, I close my eyes, willing the tears to stay put, but the heaviness lingers, sitting low and tight in my chest.
Guilt gnaws at me, that familiar whisper creeping in—telling me I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve helped him.
But I didn’t.
I forgot about the wig. I saw my dad, heard him call for my mother, and turned, cool and collected, right out the door. Straight to my car. I didn’t even look back. Didn’t clean him up. Didn’t help him. Didn’t cry.Dammit, I didn’t even say goodbye.I just left.
And I haven’t been back.
He texted me a few times, even tried calling, at first. But over time, the messages stopped. The calls stopped.
I let him go.
And he let me.
A tear slides down my cheek as a door closes in the distance. I wipe my eyes and glance at my phone. It’s still early, only eight. Turning my head, I catch sight of Jensen making his way down the hall, looking like death himself.
His eyes are half-closed, one hand pressed against his forehead, probably nursing a raging headache. His joggers hang low on his hips—like pulling them up took too much effort. And even from here, I can see the way his morning erection tents the front of his pants.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth,dammit,I can’t help myself. He’s still sexy as hell, even when he’s half alive. I’m still pissed at him, though.
“Morning,” he croaks as he shuffles past, heading straight for the kitchen medicine cabinet.
I watch the muscles in his back shift as he sorts through a cluster of bottles. Finally finding the Advil, he pops the lid, dumps a few into his hand, then fills a glass of water and knocks them back like they’re his savior.
He’s onto coffee next, using the Keurig instead of the espresso machine. Less work, I guess. He leans forward, folding his arms and letting his head rest against them on the counter. A groan slips from his lips, and I catch a low “God” as he waits for it to finish.
A few minutes later, he’s standing in front of me, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips.
“Hey, babe.” He lingers for a second, then straightens. “Don’t worry, I brushed the hell out of my teeth when I woke up. Pretty sure I drank half the mouthwash under the sink.” He flashes a weak smile and flops onto the couch, taking a long sip of coffee. “God, that’s good. Bring me back to life.”
I manage a soft, barely-there smile but say nothing, gathering my thoughts.
He groans again, running a hand down his face. “I feel like hell.” His eyes meet mine. “How was your night? Did you guys have fun?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It was a lot of fun.”
“Yeah?” he chuckles, cocking his head. “Why you being so quiet? Something wrong?”
My brows knit together. Does he seriously have no idea what happened last night?
“Do you not remember?” I ask, working to keep my voice neutral, steady. I don’t want to come at him defensive or upset, that’s not how we do things. Jensen’s always been great at communicating, and he deserves a chance to explain.
His brow furrows, and he glances down like he’s searching for an answer. “What do you mean?” His voice dips lower. “Ah, shit.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Did we have sex?”
I let out a slow sigh. So he really doesn’t remember.
“Well, you came home wasted,” I say, the words soft but heavy. “And puked all over the floor… and yourself… and my feet.” His face twists as I go on. “Then, I practically dragged you into the bathroom, and you puked some more before passing out next to the toilet.”
His face crumples with something close to horror. “God, babe. I’m sorry.” He blows out a long breath, rubbing his hand down his face. “I knew I threw up, but… fuck, I barely even remember leaving the bar.” He shakes his head, softly chuckling, gripping his neck, sheepish. “I don’t even know the last time I got that drunk.”
Silence settles between us. My eyes fix on my lap, but I can feel his gaze on me.
I finally lift my face, locking eyes with him. “Look, I’m not trying to pick a fight, and maybe this isn’t fair, but I need to say it… Last night really freaked me out. I’ve seen you drunk before, but not like that. I felt like I was right back in my childhood—watching you, not knowing what to do, not knowing if I should clean you up or just walk away.”
I swallow, blinking back the tears that threaten. “Like my mom did for my dad.”
