Page 67 of Trouble Me
After what seemed like an eternity, he walked out of the kitchen, the front door slamming a moment later. A sob escaped her chest and Emma slid to the floor. Rolling on her side, she curled up into a fetal position. She sobbed until the tears ran dry.
Dragging herself upstairs, she went to the door of her father’s office. A room she hadn’t set foot in since he passed away. Standing up on her toes, she reached for the key on the trim above the door. The key slid into the lock and turned easily. The room was old and dusty, drop cloths covering most of the furniture. She ignored it all and went straight to the bottom drawer of the large oak desk, pulling on the brass handle.
The drawer slid open and she lifted the brown leather photo album out of the bottom. At that moment, Emma missed her parents with a deep, gut-wrenching pain. She wanted to see their faces and go back to when things weren’t so complicated. Flipping through the family album, the photos captured the times before she knew what alcohol was, before the losses, and before she ever knew a man named Shane Kavanaugh. Sliding the pictures through her hands, she cried and laughed.
After a while, she closed the thick, heavy album and turned to put it back in the drawer. Emma pulled at a picture stuck between the side and bottom of the drawer, causing the bottom to shift.
What the hell? She pushed on the wood and it lifted, revealing a false bottom. Her heart lodged in her throat when she found a glass bottle lying there. She lifted it from the drawer and set it on the desk. Eyeing the bottle of Jack Daniels, she sat down in the large leather desk chair her father had occupied so many times, curling her legs beneath her.
Jack comforted her as well as any lover. The burn as it slid down her throat, the warmth that would pool and spread in her belly when it hit the bottom. The numbness would keep the pain that permeated every cell in her body at bay.
After hitting rock bottom two years before, Emma never wanted to feel that way again.
Never say never.
Chapter 23
The Surge
The sliding glass doorsof the Norcal Cancer Center whooshed open in time for Shane to barrel through them. He barely registered the warm air hitting his face, a stark contrast to the unusual early March cold snap that had set up camp in the Napa Valley. Dread and fear coursed through his veins as he moved across the hospital lobby.
At the bank of elevators, he pressed the button rapidly. “Damn it, what is taking so long?” He paced, waiting for the slowest elevator on planet Earth, glancing around the lobby. It looked more like the lobby of a high-end hotel than that of a hospital. Hardwoods gleamed and overstuffed chairs were arranged in sitting areas. It was beautiful, but cold and impersonal.
He spun around when the elevator dinged behind him. “Finafuckinglly,” he muttered.
On the ride up, Shane leaned against the wall of the elevator and pinched the bridge of his nose. Three days after Emma ended things, he was still angry and confused. Angry at himself for being such an ass, although he’d directed some of the anger at Emma for shutting him out after he'd given her the chance to explain why she lied to him about her addiction.
Somewhere over the cornfields of the Midwest, when the realization he may lose his father soon and the first person he wanted to talk to was Emma, Shane knew he was in love with her. Too little, too late. He’d tried to call a couple of times and she’d ignored him. Shane couldn’t blame her. He’d fucked up nice and proper with her.
When the elevator dinged on the fifth floor, he pushed off the back wall and did his best to push Emma out of his mind. He stalked up to the nearest nurse’s station. “Where’s Alan Kavanaugh’s room?”
“And you are?” The nurse in front of him peered over her glasses to give him a bland look.
Going to have your job if you mess with me. Instead he said, “His son, Shane.”
“You can come with me, Mr. Kavanaugh.”
