Page 173 of Breaking Point
It’s Grayson, fumbling around on the floor.
Wasted.
“What the fuck?” I snap.
His head rises at the sound of my shrill voice. The bleary blue eyes that stare back at me are red-rimmed, the bags under them deep and puffy, and his nose is bright red like Rudolph’s.
I know it’s cold. I can feel the icy wind slicing into my skin despite my layers, but the red around his eyes is different.
Grayson’s been crying.
The revelation saps any anger I had pulsing through my veins.
I approach him as if he were a startled animal in the middle of the highway, my steps slow and cautious as he tries to watch me through his heavy-lidded gaze.
Pain slices through my heart. He was doingwell. He was about to hit two months sober.
Kneeling beside him, he gives me this sad, crooked, watery smile. “I know you. You’reminee.”
I shake my head at how belligerent he is. “Why?” I ask softly. “Why did you do this to yourself, Grayson?”
I don’t expect much of a response considering the state he’s in, so I’m startled when he slurs, “The date. The very,veryyyimportant date.”
My brows furrow so deep I swear I can see them. “What date?”
He hiccups. “I forgot—” Hiccup. “My brother’s birthday.”
My heart stutters to a stop.
He lifts a finger between us. “My dead brother, by the way.” Another hiccup. “I never wanted”—he pokes my nose with his finger—“that look on your face. I wanted to keep your beautiful glances all to myself, without the pity.”
Little does he know, I found out about his brother weeks ago at the hockey game.
“Grayson, I don’t pity you,” I whisper, running my fingers through his disheveled hair. “My heart is breaking for you, but that’s not pity.”
He frowns at that. “Why is it breaking?”
Figuring he’s too drunk to remember this in the morning, I whisper, “Because it hurts me to seeyouhurt.”
He scoffs, saying the words that crack my heart further. “But I hurt all the time.”
Bambi lets out a pitiful whine, reminding me where we are. Pushing all my feelings away, I step into the role of the person he needs right now. Not the assistant with a crush who’s shattering at the pain behind his eyes.
“Did anyone see you drinking?” I whisper.
He purses his lips, eyes squinting. “I didn’t drink with puck bunnies if that’s what you’re asking.” He sighs. “I don’t like anyone but you, Blaze.”
I realize just how hard this is going to be with him drunk, all the while simultaneously trying not to have butterflies. He said it as if he’s accepted he’ll never like anyone else so long as he lives.
I can do my own digging on the internet to see if he got caught drinking or if he licked his wounds in solitude, which I hope is the latter considering that his spot on the team is at stake. I slide my hands under his shoulders and grunt as I try to heavehim up. “Come on, big guy. Bambi is inside stressing out and you need to show her you’re okay.”
He smirks. “You think I’m big?”
“Sonot what’s important right now, Grayson.”
He blows a raspberry. “Itfeelsssimportant.”
“You think your dick size is more important than Bambi?”
