Page 151 of Bottle Shock
INTERVENTION
I’m avoiding life by working.
I’m also avoiding my family, but since we all work together, that’s not really possible.
Which is why Ethan walking into the lab is really the last thing I want or need.
His gaze flicks past me, landing on the pallets of sparkling wine stacked in the corner. I don’t have to look to know what he’s thinking—why they’re sitting untouched instead of being moved to storage.
“Bad batch?” he asks.
“Bottle shock,” I say, scrolling through a data log. “Got bottled last week and they got all rattled. They just need a little time to settle before everything comes back together again.”
He’s quiet for a beat, watching me work.
“So,” he says, casually, which means it’s not casual at all, “you just let her go, huh?”
I really don’t fucking need this.
I flick my eyes at him and then back to my data log. “You’re givingme deja vu,” I mutter.
He shrugs, leaning against the door jam. “Maybe because you said the same thing to me after Marisa left.”
“Sounds like something I would say.” I continue looking through my readings, unsure of where he’s going with this, but also not interested enough to ask.
I’m not interested in much of anything these days. Ever since Scottie left, there’s just been this gaping hole in my life.
I know she’s coming back. I trust that she’s coming back.
But I miss her like crazy.
Even though we talk everyday, multiple times a day. It’s not enough. And because it’s right smack dab in the middle of busy season, I can’t go visit her.
I didn’t know it was possible to physically ache for someone, but every part of my body hurts, my muscles are wound tight, my head is foggy. I can’t think. I can’t eat. I’m wrecked.
If I didn’t have Lily, I don’t think I’d be making it out of bed in the mornings.
“Did you need something?”
Ethan huffs. “Yeah, for you to get your head out of your ass.”
My gaze cuts to him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He shakes his head, looking at me in disbelief. “Have you looked at yourself lately? You’re a goddamn mess. We’re getting worried, man.”
My eyes catch on my reflection on the monitor. My hair is ratty, my face is narrower because I’ve lost weight. Weight I wasn’t trying to lose.
I look like shit. I know I look like shit. What I don’t need is my brother coming in here, into my space, and calling me out on it.
“Is there a point to this? Because I’m kind of busy.”
“Unbelievable?” he mutters. “Elle!” he calls out. “It’s worse than we thought.”
Footsteps echo and a moment later Elyse appears, sunglasses perched on her head, cheeks flushed like she’s mad.
“What is this? An intervention?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Obviously. “You look like hell.” She points at my face like there’s something wrong with it.
