Page 78 of Love Off Course

I stalk over to him and grab his biceps. He reeks of alcohol. “Tell me you didn’t drive.”

“I walked. I don’t know where I left the Tahoe.” He slumps toward me, but he’s too heavy. We both fall to the carpet hard. I yelp when my ass hits the floor. “Sher,” he croons. “I’m sorry.”

His lips find my neck as his body practically crushes mine. I’m seething with rage and now my ass hurts.

“You have got to pull yourself together,” I snap. “Right now. I get it. You’re devastated, but this is out of control. You can’t leave me like that. You can’t drink yourself stupid. You need to let me help you get through this.”

He trembles. “I’ll never get through this.”

“You will, Camilo. I did and you will too.” I shove him off of me and rise to my feet. “What happened?” I storm into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee because he desperately needs it. I also text Carson because I need help.

Camilo crawls into the kitchen and lays his cheek on the tile floor. “I had to go to the nursing home to collect his things. Then I had to go see him.”

“Where is he?”

“Laurel Waters Funeral Home.”

“And?”

“I saw him…” His face scrunches and a ragged sob escapes him. “He’s dead, baby.”

Baby.

My anger simmers a bit. I squat beside him and run my fingers through his messy hair. “I know,” I murmur. “You shouldn’t have done this alone, though. I should have been there to help you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I feel so angry and fucking sad all at once.”

“I know you do. It’s okay. We’ll get some coffee in you and then some food. Just let me take care of you.”

He nods and then falls asleep on the floor. I let out a heavy sigh as I stand. This is a lot to handle. I text Estefania, needing her support.

Me: He’s a mess. Drunk and upset.

Estefania: Are you okay?

Me: Yeah. Hanging in there. I want to help him but don’t know how.

Estefania: Maybe call his mother?

Me: I’d rather slay dragons, but you’re probably right.

Estefania: Camilo is a good man who is going through a bad time. He needs a good woman to help him through it. Even if it gets ugly. Love is not always pretty.

How is this girl so wise?

Me: Love you.

Estefania: Love you too, bestie.

As soon as we’re done texting, I fish out Camilo’s phone from his jeans pocket. There are seventeen missed calls from me, several from his mother, and a few from Carson. Bypassing the missed calls, I find his mother’s number.

She answers in a string of Spanish.

“Hi, uh, it’s Sheridan.”

Silence.

“I’m with Camilo.” I pause, taking a deep breath. “He’s doing terrible.”

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