Page 28 of Blackout

“Why would I tell him? Weren’t you the one who told me, he had his own shit to deal with? That his meds weren’t working? The last thing he needs is to worry about me.”

“Something triggered you, Blackie,” she says softly. “I know you’ve got a lot of things going on and me pressuring you to start a family probably doesn’t help matters much—”

“Stop, right there,” I growl, narrowing my eyes at her. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I told you last night, this has nothing to do with us. You can’t trigger me. I’m fucking damaged goods, Lace, end of story,”

“That’s not true,” she argues. “You’ve been clean for years, Blackie.”

“And as far as I’m concerned, I’m still clean. I didn’t fucking shoot up or snort a line. I had a drink,” I sneer.

“You had a couple of drinks.”

“Alcohol isn’t my vice, Lace, drugs are and until I had a problem with drugs, I handled my liquor just fine.”

“Listen to yourself,” she demands. “They go hand in hand.”

“What happened to everything you said last night, huh? What happened to loving myself a little more than everyone else?”

“I still want you to do that,” she defends. Her voice cracks and tears fill her eyes making it hard to believe just minutes ago we were riding the edge of bliss. Dropping the sheet from her body, she climbs out of bed and turns to me. The hurt in her eyes disappears and as she glares at me it’s replaced by anger. “Forgive me for worrying about you,” she spats. “I thought if you told my father the truth, he’d lessen the load he’s sure to drop on your shoulders the second we sit down for dinner.”

“It’s not on him to lessen shit, Lace, that’s what you don’t understand. The way it’s not your fault I’m fucked, it’s not his either. I signed up for this life. No one dragged me to Satan’s altar against my will.”

“Right,” she says, placing her hands on her hips. “Forget I said anything.”

Her back goes rigid as she drops her hands to her side. Tearing her eyes away from me, she bites the inside of her cheek and turns around.

“Lacey,” I call as she heads for the bathroom. She pauses at the door and glances over her shoulder.

“No, Blackie. You’ve got this, right? You don’t need me interfering with you and your club. Go be my dad’s hero, just don’t come home and be the martyr too.” Turning around, she disappears into the bathroom and slams the door behind her.

I let her have the last word.

Sometimes, it’s better to stand back and call the time of death than force life into something that isn’t meant to survive.

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