Page 21 of Whiskey Shivers

“Which one?” he asked and I knew what he was asking.

The boyfriend or the brute.

“That’s up to her,” I said.

He nodded. “Just like my Alina with me. She points, I slay.”

I nodded slowly. “Only seems right. My Fable is the aggrieved party in all this.”

“If she’s a soft touch?”

“Then I’ll handle it myself, my way, quietly,” I said, and that put a smile on La Croix’s face.

“We will,” he said. “I have a feeling one or the both of ‘em will need some special handling.”

I took another drink of my beer.

“That remains yet to be seen,” I answered him truthfully.

“In any case,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’ll be handled.”

“Yes. Yes, it will,” I agreed. We toasted on it, clicking the necks of our bottles, and taking a drink a piece before settling into comfortable silence.

When we took up talkin’ again, it was about my classic bike and the restoration I was doin’ on it. It was a good way to end my night despite the restlessness I had goin’ on in my soul. I wanted to be by her side, but she’d chased me out gently at the end of the half-hour-long show. I hadn’t argued, no matter how much I’d wanted to. I could see the emotional and mental exhaustion in her face and the way she looked so small in that hospital bed. She looked fragile, like the thinnest glass, and I wasn’t about to be the thing to make her shatter.

She reminded me of when you dripped a drop of molten glass into a tank of cold water. It simultaneously made one of the strongest fuckin’ things but at the same time, something so fundamentally flawed that you nicked it, or hit it just right? The thing would explode back into a powder like substance much like the sand it’d been created from in the first place.

Like that drop of molten glass, she was beautiful in her resilience, but she wasn’t immune to the pressures. She could withstand a lot, but if something struck her just right… I didn’t want to see that happen, although I was certain she would rise again, stronger than before. Even more resilient. But I would love to see that happen without the benefit of her having to break completely. I would love to see her forged in this fire. into something equally as beautiful as that glass but infinitely harder and more flexible like steel.

By all accounts thus far, my Fable was the stuff of legends anyhow. She’d certainly gone way above and beyond surviving a bunch of shit circumstances. By all accounts, she’dthrived,and I aimed to make sure this wouldn’t be any different.

Still, I had to tread carefully. Part of what appealed to me about the woman was her strength and the fact that for the first time, I felt like I’d encountered the perfect dream. A true match for me in not only determination but brains and tenacity.

She seemed the other half of my coin, the light to my dark, soft to my hard, and I wanted to see how we could grow entangled if circumstances would let us.

I went home that night and when I pulled out my phone, I noticed some new messages I’d missed.

Unknown Number: Now you have my number, too. The nurses charged my phone for me so I could text you; although, texting one-handed is hard and is taking me forever. Thank you for bringing my things to the hospital for me. I’m going to read some more of my book and get some more sleep. Goodnight.

I saved the number asFablein my phone and sighed. I’d missed her message by an hour or more. The other one was just a cat setting off my front door camera several times – which was annoying but alright. At least it let me know my cameras were still working.

I took a hot shower and took myself to bed, sending a quick couple words back to her.

Me:Goodnight, Fable.

Still, I couldn’t help it. I lay awake a long time, staring at the ceiling and dreaming up random acts of violence to befall her soon-to-be ex who couldn’t appreciate what he had right in front of him.

Fucking idiot.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Corliss…

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” I said when the nurse came back into my room. I was dressed, my hair pulled up into a ponytail by the lovely woman charged with taking care of me today, to disguise how greasy and oily it was until I could get home and take a shower.

I’d spoken to Mark only yesterday to tell him they were letting me go today and when he could come and get me… but he’d acted distracted and now? Well, he was encroaching on more than an hour late and I could feel my face burn with embarrassment.

I was in a wheelchair, all of my bags neatly packed and sitting on the bed. The books and things that Hex had brought me stowed carefully in the bag that Mark had brought my clothes in. My briefcase and my purse leaned against it.

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