Page 49 of The Hanging Dolls
He flicked it open and took a whiff. The smell alone was usually enough to help his nerves. But tonight his stomach was full of those nerves.
The smell wasn’t enough. He needed to lose himself.
When the cab reached his destination, he tossed some bills at the driver, telling him to keep the change, and climbed out of the car. He waited for his numbing thoughts to revive with force and tell him to go back home.
But he couldn’t. Not tonight. Because nothing mattered. Because if there was one thing that could stop him from drinking again, it washer.
He swayed slightly, the memory of Tara coursing through his veins, the biting emptiness amplifying inside him.
He paused at her door, his hand hovering over the worn wood, hesitating. But the memory of Lily’s and Tara’s pale faces, and the loneliness that seemed to stretch endlessly before him drove him forward. Before he could change his mind, Scott knocked on the door, the sound sharp and urgent in the stillness.
A moment later he heard the soft shuffling of footsteps on the other side. The door creaked open, and Carly stood there, her expression shifting from surprise to concern as she took in the sight of him—disheveled, eyes glassy, the scent of whiskey hanging heavy in the air.
“Scott?” she said softly, clearly concerned. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on her. He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t articulate the mess inside him. All he knew was that he needed her—needed something to make the pain stop, even if just for a moment.
Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped forward, closing the space between them. His hands reached out, cupping her face as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was desperate, almost frantic.
Carly tensed, her hands coming up to his chest to push him away, her breath hitching in surprise. “Scott, wait—” she began, her voice muffled against his lips.
But he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He should. What the hell was he doing? His restraint had been stripped away, leaving only the raw need and the pain he’d been drowning in for far too long. He deepened the kiss, his fingers threading through her hair as he pressed her against the doorframe.
Carly sighed. Her body molded into his and she returned the kiss. He pushed her to the bedroom that he used to frequent too often and began unbuttoning her blouse.
“What happened?” Carly, letting him undress her.
He didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to forget. “She’s dead. They’re all dead.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Regina poured herself a drink. It was never too early to drink. Not when you were running a campaign. She took a deep sip, letting the burn slide down her throat, steadying the tremor in her hands.
She leaned against the kitchen counter, staring out the window at the overcast sky. The world outside seemed bleak. The waves crashed against the rocky shore, sending up sprays of mist. The sound of her phone buzzing on the counter snapped her out of her thoughts. Regina ignored it, taking another long drink instead.
She was aware of the risks when she announced her candidacy. There wasoneglaring, black spot on her otherwise clean life, and it was that bloody school for kids with special needs. Opening her life up for Hicks to slice and dice, there was a chance that what she did would be unearthed. Connor had been the one to plant the seed in her mind. He’d always been so good at making her see the bigger picture, at pushing her toward decisions that were… less than ethical but necessary, as he would say. It only felt like yesterday when she made the worst decision of her life that helped her public image the most.
“Regina,” he had said, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly calm demeanor of his. “This school could be your legacy. Think about it—building a place where blind children can learn, can thrive. It’s a PR dream. The votes will come pouring in.”
“But the soil,” she had argued, her voice tight. “The reports say it’s unstable. There’s a reason that land’s been vacant for so long.”
Connor had dismissed her concern, his smile sly. “So we get a different report. One that says what we need it to say. You’re not going to let a little dirt stand in the way of something this big, are you?”
“Connor.” She leaned forward across the table. “This is aschool. Forchildren. The report clearly states that it’s inadvisable to build something big on it.”
“And all I’m saying is that scientists and geologists are wrongallthe time!” He raised his hands. “We’ll get another opinion?—”
“This was our second opinion. I think we know our answer.”
“Are you seriously going to let this stop you? You and your entire team—including myself—have slogged their asses off formonths. Imagine the number of jobs this would create. Architects, contractors, teachers, accessibility consultants. We’ve involved lawyers, secured sponsorships?—”
“I know all that!” she snapped, jumping up. “I know a lot of work has already been done.”
“No, you don’t. You just sign the paperwork, Regina,” he said with an intensity she didn’t recognize. Connor was usually flippant and dismissive. Not that he didn’t care or didn’t work day and night, but he wasn’t one to display his passion. “It wasn’t you who was working late hours, not going home, skipping their kids’ birthdays to make this project work. We poured our blood and sweat into this?—”
“I understand.” She massaged her eyelids. “But there are some things we just cannot compromise. Safety is one of them.”
“Nothing will happen, Regina. The reports say that the risk is medium to low. Not even medium. But this opportunity willnevercome again. It’s too late for us to back out and not piss off a bunch of people who would not want to work with us ever again. Not to mention, it will take us years to start from scratch and get all the approvals.” He was almost begging her now. A rare sight. “Regina, my future is also on the line. If I thought this was going to blow up in our face, then I would have backed out. But I’m in this. Because Iknownothing will happen.”
