Page 65 of A Little More Hope

Unbidden, tears filled my eyes. His words were meant to help, and I took them for what they were, but they only made me think about all other men who’d left me. Were they all assholes too?

“Doesn’t stop me hurting.”

A tighter squeeze. “The way you’re feeling at the moment, this comment might not help, but we’ve all been there, Ash.”

Sniffling, I wiped my nose with my hand. “Way to make me feel special,” I grumbled.

He waggled his eyebrows. “Can’t have you thinking it’s all about you now, can we?”

“Asshole.”

He stiffened. “Yep, ask anyone; they’ll all tell you the same.” His response held a note of bitterness I wasn't expecting and made me wonder what’d happened to him over the last few years to warrant that type of reaction. “This beer ain’t cutting it no more.” He released me and headed to a cupboard in the kitchen. “You wanna shot of bourbon with the next one?”

I eyed him warily, but agreed, not wanting to refuse and let both of us have a shitty night. Anyway, a drink or two might help me relax as I sure as hell needed something to release the tension in my neck and shoulders before the stress gave me a migraine.

The pizza arrived about twenty minutes later, helping to sober me up after having had three rapid shots in succession. Another hour and more beer and shots later, we were done, and I don’t remember the blanket being thrown over me or passing out on the couch.

*

Banging in the kitchen had me jerking awake, the loud noise like someone playing the drums right beside my head.

I mumbled my annoyance and got a snicker for my trouble.

I felt like crap on a stick.

This is why I never drank spirits. They always, always, gave me a crippling hangover.

Peeling open my eyelids, I squinted in the direction of the noise to find Sawyer dressed for work and making breakfast.

“What’s the time?” I griped, trying to dislodge my dry-as-a-desert tongue from the roof of my dumpster-tasting mouth.

“Six thirty.”

I groaned. Six thirty’s way too early for anyone to be up.

“I need to open the garage,” he carried on as if I was coherent enough to have any sort of conversation. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of sleeping in.”

An indignant grunt was all I managed in response.

“There’s cereal in the cupboard and eggs in the fridge if you want breakfast.”

I gagged, clamping my teeth down hard to keep from throwing up.

“Painkillers and water are on the coffee table and the bucket’s there if you need to puke.”

Peering down, sure enough, I spotted a blue plastic bucket on the floor with some water in the bottom.

He pointed his finger at me. “Make sure it all goes in there and not anywhere else.” Walking to the door, a bacon sandwich in his hand. Ooh, bacon. I gagged again. “I’ll be home by seven. Keys are there.” He motioned to a bowl on the countertop. “Not that I expect you’ll be getting off your ass anytime soon to use them.” He left a minute later, sandwich shoved in his mouth, closing the front door softly behind him and leaving me alone.

I dozed for a couple more hours, but the same as any other time I had a hangover, once awake, I never fully got back to sleep, no matter how much I needed to. Instead, I incessantly replayed every encounter I’d ever had with Mason in my head, from the moment I’d met him to the hideous argument yesterday afternoon, trying to find the exact moment when he’d made his choice about not trusting me. I couldn’t pinpoint any specific time at all, no matter how hard I tried, leaving me with only one depressing answer.

He’d never trusted me in the first place.

Throwing off the blanket and stumbling to my feet, I made my way to the bathroom. The painkillers and water had helped, and I didn’t feel anywhere near as bad, but my mouth tasted of garbage, so I needed to brush my teeth and shower the hangover away.

On the couch again a half hour later, I contemplated going to check on my house and maybe continue where I’d left off yesterday, but in the end I decided not to, nowhere near ready to risk inadvertently bumping into Mason, or Gabe for that matter.

That wasn't the real reason for stopping me, of course.

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