Page 53 of Natalie's Nighthawk

“Graham, talk to me, this is so unlike you.” She placed her hands on his knees and felt him tense.

“Go away,” he grumbled.

“I don’t understand, Graham. Where have you been all week? You haven’t returned any of my texts or messages. I was worried.”

He remained silent. But Natalie could sense the tension building in his body. Something was very wrong. She had to find a way to get him to open up to her.

“Please, talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

Suddenly he rocketed to his feet pushing her backward. “I said, go away!” he roared. She landed on her butt, her back crashing against the coffee table. Hard. The glass of water fell over, drenching the back of her already damp shirt. She winced and reached a hand around to rub the soreness on her back, her eyes watering. She stared up at him as he moved away, shocked. He’d never raised his voice to her like that.

She watched him stalk over to the fireplace; a tiny trickle of fear slithered through her. Erik had erupted at her like that too. She shook that thought out of her head. This was Graham. He’d never hurt her. She wanted to believe that. But try as she might, the residual fear from Erik leached in.

Graham was in hell. Again. The alcohol had managed to numb it somewhat over the last few days, but Natalie’s presence was exacerbating it. He grabbed the nearly empty whiskey bottle and staggered over to the fireplace. He took a swig and dropped his forehead to the arm that was resting on the mantel. Staring into the dying embers, he struggled to block the feelings raging through him.

He’d failed. Again. Involuntarily, his mind flashed back to Saturday’s rescue. Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well; and it brought on the feelings of failure and the need to drink till he forgot.

He’d lost two of the five family members. Their van had tumbled down an embankment by the river and was starting to sink. When the Nighthawks had arrived, three of the family members had managed to free themselves from the car and were standing on the bank of the river. The Nighthawks got immediately to work. Reaching the van, Graham could tell the driver was already gone. He concentrated his efforts on the passenger who was trapped by the crumpled dashboard – a young boy, around twelve years old.

Logan and Jude got to work cutting up the mangled mess with the jaws of life while Graham tried to reassure the kid. He’d climbed into the back of the van, trudging through knee-high water to reach the passenger. Falling back on his paramedic skills, he tended the boy’s wounds.

The boy steadily became paler and weaker the longer they took to cut him out. His lower lip quivered as his eyes filled with fear, and pain was etched into the lines of his face. The kid was old enough to know something was seriously wrong with him. His eyes pleaded with Graham, and the most he could do was hold the kid’s hand and reassure him that everything would be all right.

It was bullshit. Graham knew it. The kid knew it. The same helpless feeling he had while working in Indonesia inundated him, threatening to drown him in guilt and anger.

Despite all of Graham’s best efforts, the child ultimately closed his eyes and drifted away.

Remaining professional and detached, he’d pushed it all deep down. Blocked out the sound of the family member’s grief. Finished the job. Rescued the surviving victims. Helped the coroner retrieve the bodies. Even helped the wrecker crew salvage the van. All while drifting through a cloud of numbness.

The drinking began as soon as he’d gotten home in the early hours, deadening the emotions. In his mind, the faces of the two who died morphed into the bloated visages of the hundreds he’d been unable to help in the wake of the tsunami. Becoming one and the same. Finding the alcohol anesthetizing his brain, he drank until he could no longer see all the faces. When the beer was gone, he’d turned to the harder stuff.

The last thing he remembered was opening the second whiskey bottle until Natalie crouched in front of him. Then everything came flooding back. And all he felt now was impotent anger.

Logically, he knew there was nothing he could have done. Internal bleeding. Those words had been bandied around that night by everyone. especially by David, who could spot the tenuous grip he had on his anxiety.

Fuck them.What do they know?If he had been faster. Forgone that last goodbye kiss with Natalie. Driven faster. Grabbed his gear sooner. Climbed down quicker, sacrificed his own safety. Accelerated his actions. Been better and more focused. The outcome may have been different.

What a load of crock.His brother’s voice bellowed in his head. He winced and took another sip from the bottle. He knew …knew… it was a crock. But he’d lost himself so deeply in the darkness he couldn’t escape.

That’sjust the alcohol talking.This time his father voiced his two cents from inside his head. Whatever. Booze good. Emotions bad.

Don’tbe an idiot.Great. Now his mother had invaded his thoughts. Why wouldn’t they all just leave him alone?

A delicate touch on his back made him flinch. “Graham?” Her voice quivered. “What can I do to help you?”

He shook his head. Right now, the last thing he needed—the last thing he wanted—was Natalie to witness his failure. He didn’t want her here.

Anger fired through his veins. And in his drunken state, she was as good a target as any. If he hadn’t been so distracted by her—preoccupied by his need to be with her, to fuck her every chance he got—maybe that kid would still be alive.

Yup. Too stupid to live.All three of his immediate family screamed at him. But he couldn’t hear them over the roar of irrational resentment in his ears.

The whiskey bottle slipped from his fingertips as Natalie grabbed it away from him. She placed it out of reach on the mantel. He aimed a piercing glare at her.

“What’d you do that for?”

“We need to get you sober so we can talk.”

“No.” He stepped around her, grabbing up the bottle again and draining the rest of it. He tried to place the empty bottle back on the mantel but misjudged his aim. The bottle cracked off the wood and shattered. He watched as the glass shards dropped to the hearth and floor like shiny scraps of confetti.

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