Page 4 of Together We Burn
I’d forgotten my pride and joy after being fucking kidnapped. Alex swiftly returned with a mug of coffee and pushed down on my shoulder, keeping me on the sofa as I fumbled to get up.
"What about your car?" he asked, holding the steaming hot mug of coffee out for me. It always amused me how he’d grip the scalding cup directly in his hand, allowing me to take the handle and not even flinch at the heat. Too exhausted to fight, I scowled as I nestled against the sofa cushions and accepted my drink, grateful but annoyed for the tattoo-covered man standing before me.
I inhaled the rich aroma of hazelnuts. "It's still in Jake's underground car park, or at least it better be," I mumbled, bringing the hot liquid to my lips and taking a sip. "I need you or Mac to go collect it."
Alex rubbed the spot at the back of his neck again. I raised my newly imperfect brow in question.
"What? I can't very well strut in there and drive it home now, can I?" I stated, gesturing down my chest. My ribs, whilst they ached when I stood or sat, didn’t stop me from moving my legs. And since the McLaren was an automatic, it’s not like I needed to shift gears, so technically, I could drive it home myself. But the risk of running into Jake and putting a bullet through his skull before planning my revenge didn’t seem worth it.
Also, a small broken part of me didn’t think I could face seeing him. At least not until I was ready to kick his ass and show him just who the fuck he messed with.
"It's not that, Stevie," Alex said, his eyes darting toward the front door. "Your car is already outside."
"What? When?"
"We noticed it the day we got you home. Parked in your spot like always."
Reaching out for his hand, I let him pull me from the sofa, and I rushed to the console table Alex had since fixed following his meltdown. Not that I’d seen it, but Mac loved to tell the story of how his cool, calm, and usually collected baby brother lost his shit, much to Alex’s embarrassment.
I dug frantically in a drawer, locating the spare key, and whipped open the front door. The bitterness of outside slammed into my face, my thick dressing gown doing nothing to fight the wind, but I was too numb to feel it.
Nearly throwing myself down the few stairs to the gravel, I darted across the driveway, each crunch of the stones squelching under my feet from last night’s downpour.
And right enough, there sat my orange baby in her usual spot.
My steps slowed as I reached the driver’s side and unlocked the car. Breath caught in my lungs as I looked down at a bottle of Michter’s 20-year-old Bourbon resting on the seat with a white card slipped beneath a red bow tied around the neck.
That bastard. The fucking audacity of him.
I leaned down and took the bottle, noticing my keys hanging from the indicator. Yanking them off, I pocketed them and the spare and slammed the door harder than necessary.
Anger seethed in my veins, igniting hatred in my blood as I stormed back to the house where Alex was waiting on the porch. He straightened and wearily eyed the bottle of Bourbon I had clutched against me with white knuckles.
"What's that?"
Without replying, I shoved it into his chest with a growl. Alex twisted the bottle to read the label as I plucked the small card from the ribbon and turned it over. A single "J" in neat black ink was written in the middle. My eyes lingered on his handwriting for longer than they should have before crushing the note in my palm.
"It's nothing," I whispered, pushing the scrunched-up card into Alex’s hand as I walked past him and back into the warmth of our home, kicking off my wet slippers and walking barefooted to the sofa.
"This doesn't seem like nothing. Isn't this like one thousand–"
"One thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars? Yes," I finished, pulling my blanket over my knees and starting to flick aimlessly through the shit shows currently up for bingeing, settling onSchitt’s Creekfor the thousandth time. Catherine O’Hara as Moria Rose was perfect. Plus, a female character with the same name as me? Even better.
"Stevie, you don’t give someone an expensive bottle of Bourbon fornothing." Alex walked further into the room and placed the bottle on the coffee table. I stared at the amber liquid taunting me from its glass prison, biting down on my nail.
Dragging my eyes away from the drink that would always remind me of Jake, I shrugged. "You can have it if you like."
I snuggled down, clicking on an episode I had no intention of watching, waiting for Alex to get the hint this conversation was over.
"Stevie," Alex said in a soft voice, the one he used whenever he felt I was upset. But I wasn’t upset; I was mad.
He sat on the coffee table next to Jake’s gift, blocking my view of the screen. I looked straight at his grey Henley that hugged his biceps so tight it was a wonder how he managed to put the damn thing on.
"We need to talk about—"
I put a hand up and stopped him. "There's nothing to talk about, Alex. I fucked up. I didn't listen to you, and that was a mistake." I paused, finally meeting his brown gaze filled with anguish and regret, so much so that it almost hurt to look at them. "I will never make that same mistake again. As soon as I get back to training, I can begin planning to take him and my mother down."
Alex bowed his head and took off his glasses. I watched as he rubbed at his eyes, the ink on his fingers flexing before he returned his Ray-Bans in place and sighed. He lifted his head and looked at me. Guilt flooded me as I saw the sadness and exhaustion behind his beautiful, dark eyes. I leaned forward to take his hand in mine.
