Page 55 of Twist of Fate
It’s cowardly—especially since I was the one who insisted she take the flat—but it’s the only way I can survive. Seeing her like this, in my life, every day, all the time—it feels like something I could get used to. But I can’t. She deserves more than a man who can’t give her everything, who can’t devote one hundred percent of himself—and I’m not that guy. I thought I could be. Once. But not anymore. It’s why I let her go in the first place.
It’s nearly midnight on a Friday, and I’ve been staring at the same spreadsheet for what feels like hours. As I walk back to the sofa, I shut my laptop and finish the last sip of single malt before placing the glass on the side table. Just as I’m about to carry the computer and files back to my office, I hear a knock at the door.
Well, it’s not so much a knock as it is a thud, followed by a groan.
“Shit,” I hear someone mumble. “Stupid door.”
Is that…?
Walking over to the entryway, I flip the lock and twist the knob just in time to find a very inebriated Aisling standing in front of me. She’s wearing black high-waisted leggings, a cropped T-shirt, and a long cardigan. I’m pretty sure I’ve never cared for leggings until this moment. Now that I am seeing them wrapped around Aisling’s round, perky ass, I’m definitely a fan.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, a mixture of concern and amusement spreading across my face. I’ve never seen a drunk Aisling before. I didn’t even know she existed.
“Did you know Damien lost his virginity at fourteen? Fourteen!” Her eyes widen, and she sways. I reach out to grab her, but she steadies herself before I get the chance.
“I don’t think I even liked boys at that age. Or did I? I can’t remember. Wait—how old were you?”
“Fifteen, maybe?”
“Maybe?” She gapes.
I shrug because, like much of my teenage years, there was a fair amount of alcohol involved. “It wasn’t very memorable.”
“I didn’t even get my first kiss until I was sixteen.”
An irrational pang of jealousy twists my gut, and I try to ignore it and instead try to focus on the situation at hand. “And exactly why did you decide to come to my flat at nearly midnight to tell me all this?”
If my words seem rude, she doesn’t appear to notice. “We played truth or dare at my housewarming party. Sorry I didn’t invite you,” she says with a sloppy swish of her hand.
I wouldn’t have come if she had, but I don’t say that. “And was your dare to drink all the alcohol in Ireland?”
Her gaze narrows on me. “No.” Her words slur. “That was my own choice. I wanted to have a little fun, so I had a few drinks—” This is her after just a few? “—I never have fun ’cause RA takes the fun out of everything.”
My brows knit together. “What does RA have to do with this?” She drank while she was on the bus tour. Was she not supposed to? And who says she isn’t fun?
“I’m on a new med,” she explains, breezing past me toward my sofa. I guess she’s coming in, then. “And it sucks all the fun out of life.”
I can’t tell if she’s not making any sense because of the alcohol or if I’m just having trouble following…
“When my mom got sick—” She pauses, sounding much more sober than she did a moment ago. “I’m just realizing I don’t know if I actually told you?—”
“You didn’t, but I know.”
“Oh.” She presses her lips together and nods. “Okay.”
She doesn’t ask for any explanation and just continues with her explanation. I gather she doesn’t want to linger on the specifics of her death for too long, which I can understand. “Anyway, I didn’t take care of myself the way I should have throughout everything. I often forgot to take my meds because of all I was dealing with. The missed meds and the stress caused my RA to flare. Badly. And then the drug I’d been on for several years failed.”
“Failed?”
“Stopped working.” She throws a flippant hand in the air.
“They do that?” I had no idea.
“Yeah.” She flops onto the sofa, kicking off her shoes so she can tuck her feet underneath her. I should feel annoyed by how she just waltzed in here and made herself at home, but I’m not. Not even a little.
I like seeing her in my space far too much.
“You can be on a medication for a long time, and then, for whatever reason, your body just stops responding to it. Anyway, that’s what happened a few months ago, and the med they put me on is doing decent, but I’ve just moved halfway across the world, so the stress isn’t helping things.”
