Page 76 of Whiskey Throttle
I’ve seen too many of my friends’ parents break up. Only to move on to second, third, and fourth marriages in search of what, I don’t know. My parents are still together. Whether they are happy or not is their business, but other than my father riding my ass about law school next semester and thinking my sketching is a childish hobby, we all get along.
“I feel guilty. But I want this. I do deserve something for myself. Something that’s not for everyone else.”
I reach for her hand beneath the blanket, threading my fingers through hers.
“And I’m happy that something is me.”
Her head tilts to my shoulder, completely melted into me. I bury my face in her hair, kissing the top of her head again. Breathing her in.
The silence between us is still heavy. Although we share many worries, we are in this together now. So much has transpired in the last twenty-four hours since arriving here. I know I’m forever changed. I think she is too.
She releases my hand, wrapping the blanket tighter over both of us. The temperature in the room is still cool against our backs. My fingers trace along the outside of her arm, wondering if she feels the same pull in her chest that I do. I don’t know how to protect this. How to protect her. How to protect Dom. How do I keep myself from unraveling when I lose one to keep the other?
For a second, I imagine this is what my life could feel like with her. Law school in Boston. Weekends here in the Hamptons or at our house in the Cape. Maybe a month in Europe. Eating, drinking, and having sex in every country. Before the fantasy can root itself into travel plans and places I want to show her, a sound cuts through the silence.
A knock, soft but insistent. We freeze. The door creaks open an inch.
“Forgive the interruption, Mr. Harrington.”
Sterling’s voice carries through, gentle and apologetic. He doesn’t step in fully. Just hovers near the edge, eyes respectfully lowered. I sit up a little, but don’t move to cover myself. It’s not like he hasn’t seen worse.
“Your phone’s been ringing nonstop. I held off, but the most recent message appeared urgent.”
He steps inside, places my phone on the low table beside the telescope, then turns without waiting for a reply. I catch the way his eyes flick toward Babs, then away. A gentleman, always. Which makes me feel all the more like a bastard.
The door closes softly behind him. I stare at the phone like it’s a bomb about to go off. My hidden world collapses.
Reality slices through the fantasy of her and me staying locked away where no one can get to us. I reach for it with fingers that already know something’s wrong. My gut tightens when I see the message Sterling said was on the screen.
Ems been in a motorcycle accident
My stomach drops. The floor tilts. The air thins. I’m free falling into a nightmare.
This is every biker’s worst fear.
My worst fear.
Em is a maniac on a bike.
Everyone knows that. Everyone has warned him about it. However, I never expected to receive this message. My heart thunders against my ribs, echoing in my throat. I don’t speak. I can’t. Tears surge into my eyes and drip down my cheeks.
I wipe them away and start moving. The blanket falls from my body as I stand. Heat cools quickly on my skin, but I barely feel it. My hand closes around the phone as another buzz lights the screen. More texts flood in. I don’t read them. I’m already freaking the fuck out.
My mind wants to go places it shouldn’t.
Irrationally and stupidly wondering if Em still had the bell on his bike. That little gremlin-repeller he swore by. Did he lose it? Forget it? Did it fall off like some goddamn fucking omen?
Behind me, Babs asks, “What is it?”
I turn to look at her, still curled up on the couch where we made love for the millionth time today. Her eyes narrow, studying every line of my face for an answer. There’s a lump in my throat the size of a fist, and it’s choking the life out of me.
What happened? Did he sober up and then head back out? How did Massimo let this happen? How bad is it? Super fucking bad for the urgency of the texts and the lack of information at the same time.
“I have to go.”
I hold my hand out, shaking it impatiently, almost insultingly, but I really have to get out of here. Fast.
“I need to get back to Boston ASAP.”
