“Just having a drink before turning in. Travel was a nightmare. I was trying to get home earlier today to surprise your mom, but it didn’t happen.” He juts his chin toward the bottle. “You look like you could use some.”
I work my jaw back and forth. “Yeah. Maybe.” I run my hand through my hair. “It’s been a long day.” I turn around and open a cabinet, grabbing a glass and sliding it across the island. Sebastian pours a finger of whiskey into it and pushes it back in my direction.
I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. It’s going to take a lot more than this for what I’ve got going on, but I keep my mouth shut. I’ll snag something out of the liquor cabinet after he goes to bed, just like I always do.
I know he’s aware I do it, too, because he’s the one who lets June know when he’s running low so she can order more. I’ve always considered myself lucky that he hasn’t said anything to me—or worse, to my mom—about it.
“How’d the game go?”
I suck my lips into my mouth for a second. “Good. We killed them.”
“Did you score?”
“Two touchdown receptions.”
He grunts. “Good. Keep that up and the college scouts will be out for a look.”
I have no idea if I even want to play college ball, but I nod, bobbing my head as if considering it. I guess it couldn’t hurt to have them look. I’m good, but I don’t know if I’m that good.
Pushing off the stool he’s been sitting on, Sebastian taps his hand on the island. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Do you have to travel again soon?”
With a nod, he murmurs, “Yeah, Monday.”
Sebastian’s position in his family’s business takes him out of the country more often than not. He lifts a hand, waving goodnight, and walks out of the kitchen in the direction of the staircase closest to their bedroom at the front of the house.
Eyeing the bottle of whiskey left behind, I pick it up, unscrew the cap, and tip it directly up to my lips. I drink a full quarter of the bottle before I stop. I’ve got to drown this gnawing pain in my chest. Anything to make me forget.
I trudge up the back stairs to my room, bottle in hand, the remaining alcohol swishing around as the effects of what I’ve already consumed begin to kick in. I take another long swallow before I sprawl across my massive bed and close my eyes.
Eventually, my limbs loosen and I drift in and out of sleep, the scent of Scarlett on my sheets and pillows. My chest aches with every inhale. Every so often, the sheer panic that I might hold the key that will rip her away from me forever wakes me in a cold sweat. That can’t come to light, though. I’d rather she think I’m an asshole and leave because of it than drag certain things out into the open.