More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5)

by Jay McLean

  Shit. Now I have to sit in the fucking car with her.

  “Is that a bottle of liquor on your passenger seat, Miss?” the office asks, and my head whips to the side, my ears perked, waiting for her response.

  “Yes, Sir,” she says quietly.

  I push off the car and stand next to the cop, my forearm resting on the roof. I don’t look at her. I can’t.

  The officer sighs. “Hand it over.”

  It takes a long time before I see Riley’s hand out the window, holding the bottle of Boons Farm wine she used to inhale to survive.

  The officer lifts it higher, his flashlight shining on the screw cap. “This seal’s broken, Ms. Hudson. You are aware it’s an offense to drive with an open container of alcohol in a vehicle, aren’t you?”

  She sniffs once. “Yes, Sir.”

  The officer opens her door. “Please step out of the vehicle, Miss.”

  I keep my gaze lowered, and re-cross my arms, doing everything I can not to look at her. If I see her—see the plea in her eyes—her eyes the color of sadness, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’d probably cut the bullshit and reach out to her, hold her and tell her that it’ll be okay. But it won’t last long until I fuck up, until I hurt her, until Dave’s in my vision again—pushing me to the brink of insanity.

  “Have you consumed any alcohol tonight?” the officer asks her.

  She sobs again, the single sound causing the destruction inside me. I finally look at her, her cheeks stained with tears as she stands in front of the police officer, her hands shaking at her sides.

  “No, Sir. I mean yes, Sir. Just a sip. In the parking lot at the store where I got it. That’s all.”

  My stomach falls, my breath releasing as my head drops forward, Riley’s words completely ruining me.

  Her shoulders shake as she covers her eyes, releasing another round of sobs.

  The officer says, “I need to do a sobriety test, Ms. Hudson.”

  “Okay,” she says, her face contorting with another cry.

  The cop’s shoulders drop as he stands in front of the girl I love, his authoritative demeanor waning. “Miss. If you’ve only had a sip, you’ll be okay. You’ll get a fine and it will all be over, okay?”

  She drops her head in her hands, her shoulder lifting with each sob.

  “Riley,” I whisper, but she doesn’t hear me.

  “Go to her!” Dave’s voice rattles in my head. But I can’t. My feet are glued to the ground, my heart with it. Because I destroyed her. I caused this.

  She looks up, wiping her tears on her arm. She straightens her shoulders as she looks between the cop and I.

  “Miss?” the officer says again.

  Her words are muffled by her forearm—using it to hide her cries. “That’s not why I’m crying.”

  “Then why?” the officer asks gently.

  She stands taller, looking at me for a long time before going back to the cop. “Because I’m a recovering alcoholic, Sir. Fifteen months and I haven’t had a drop and tonight, I failed.” Every word is forced. Every sob is restrained. Every breath is a struggle. “I failed myself and I failed him.” She points to me. “I’m a disappointment, Sir.” She cries harder, attempting to hold in her breaths to keep them quiet, but it doesn’t work. “I’m a fucking disappointment.”

  “Riley,” I breathe out.

  She places her arms in front of her. “You can arrest me,” she whimpers. “I don’t mind.”

  The officer looks between us, not knowing what to do. After a while, he sighs, his focus on me. “Take your girl home,” he says. “Show her she’s loved.”

  Silently, I lead Riley to my truck, opening the passenger door for her. After making sure her car is secure, I get behind the wheel.

  She doesn’t sit in the middle like she always does, she sits with her side pressed against the door as far away from me as possible.

  I start the drive back to our house, my head spinning, my jaw tense.

  “Be nice,” Dave says and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block him out. The last fucking thing I need is his dead voice adding fuel to my guilt.

  Riley doesn’t stop crying. As hard as she tries to stop, I hear every single one, feel each one like a bullet straight through my heart. “I’m sorry, Dylan,” she says.

  “She’s fucking sorry, man.”

  I press my thumb to my temple, begging, pleading for the voices to stop.

  “Dylan?” she whispers.

  “She needs you, man.”

  “Not now!” I yell, punching the steering wheel.

  “I’m sorry,” Riley shouts, cowering against the door again.

  I face her quickly. “Not you!” And when I focus on the road again, Dave’s standing in front of the car, his head blown off, his voice loud in my ears. “Stop fucking yelling at her!”

  I slam on the brakes to avoid hitting him, my hands gripping the wheel as the tires spin, burning rubber against the concrete. I lose control, just for a moment, the car fishtailing across the narrow road before finally coming to a stop. Smoke surrounds the car, fog rises through the headlights.

  I turn to Riley, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the door. She’s breathing heavily, just like me.

  Fear.

  It’s all I see.

  All I feel.

  In her.

  In me.

  “Fuck!” I hit the steering wheel again. Feeling the rage build. “Get out, Riley!”

  “I’m not leaving!”

  I reach out and open the door, forcefully pushing her out of the car. “Get out!”

  “I’m sorry, Dylan!” she shouts through her sobs, standing next to the car.

  “Go home!”

  She shakes her head, her hands in her hair. Then her face turns white. “Dylan!”

  Forty-Seven

  Dylan

  My breaths are weak. My body weaker. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. I can hear her voice. She’s screaming my name. Over and over. I can feel her with me, but she sounds far away. So far.

  My lips part, her name barely a whisper.

  She’s crying. She screaming and she’s crying.

  White light flashes behind my eyes. More distant voices. But none louder than Dave’s. “What the hell did you do, man?” I follow his voice because I have no choice. My breath leaves me. It doesn’t return. It’s dark. So damn dark.

  Forty-Eight

  Dylan

  There’s a beeping sound, something pressing down on my fingers, faint voices, and the familiar smell of hospitals. I know where I am before I open my eyes.

  I try to remember what happened, about as much as I try to forget.

  I remember Riley’s face—the white caused by the headlights behind me. Then the sound of crashing metal right before the car spun and spun and spun some more. I tried to control the steering wheel but I couldn’t.

  “Riley,” I breathe out, my eyes snapping open. I search frantically for her, but she isn’t here. No one’s here. “Riley!” I shout, starting to get up. There’s weight on my chest, keeping me down, and pain in my right leg that shoots up to my hip.

  Dad steps into the room, his eyes wide when he sees me half out of bed. He starts to speak, but I cut him off. “Where’s Riley?”

  He places a gentle hand on my chest, keeping me down.

  “Where is she!” I demand.

  “She’s here. She stepped out for a minute, but she’s here. She’ll be back. She hasn’t left your side for two days.”

  “Two days?” I whisper.

  He nods.

  I ignore the beeps from the monitor next to me, the sounds fast and frantic. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s okay. Do you remember anything that happened?”

  I shake my head. “Yes. No. Some.”

  “The other car hit yours on enough of an angle that it barely clipped her. She’s got a bruised hip. That’s all. A few cuts and bruises from trying to get you out. But she’s okay.”

  I rip the monitor off my fingers a
nd try to get up again.

  “Son, please,” he begs. “I know it’s hard. You need to stay down.”

  Tears build in my eyes, my heart aching more than the physical pain I’m in. I try to take his advice, try to breathe through the guilt.

  Dad inhales a breath, his hands slowly rising when he knows I’m not going anywhere. “I contacted your First Sergeant. They approved your leave until your leg heals. I think it’s best you stay close. You have a concussion and a punctured lung. Broken leg—”

  “I don’t care. I want to see Riley. Where is she?”

  “She’s just—”

  “You’re up!” It should be physically and emotionally impossible to feel so much from the sound of one person’s voice, but hearing her, seeing her smile as she walks toward me, coffee in her hand… I feel everything. I feel the air fill my lungs, feel the pain leave my body.

  “Baby,” I whisper, my hand out, reaching for her.

  She glances at Dad quickly before looking over at me.

  And her touch—her touch doubles everything I felt when I heard her voice, when I saw her face. She reaches up, one hand on mine, the other still holding the coffee when she uses the back of her fingers to glide across my forehead. I gaze into her eyes, looking for the calm. It isn’t there. Neither is the smile anymore. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore,” I croak, my throat dry.

  Both her hands leave me, returning a second later with a cup of water and a straw. She lifts my head gently until my mouth surrounds the straw and I drink slowly, my throat aching when I swallow.

  Dad steps back from the bed, taking a seat in the corner of the room.

  “You’ve been out a while,” Riley says.

  Where did her smile go?

  Where is the calm?

  My head spins, my breaths ragged as I try to remember.

  I don’t remember anything. Just the headlights shining on her face and the spinning of the car.

  And Dave.

  I remember Dave.

  Slowly, it all comes back to me. I remember why we were there in the first place.

  I ruined her.

  Destroyed every ounce of strength she had.

  I wanted her to hate me.

  I wanted her to leave me.

  I took away her smile.

  I stole the calm in her eyes.

  And I replaced them both with fear.

  I rest my head back on the pillow and look her in the eye. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  “It’s okay,” she whispers, her lips warm and wet as she leans forward, taking my hand and kissing it. “We’ll get through it, Dylan. Always.”

  “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  * * *

  A few weeks ago, if you’d asked me what moment in my life caused me the greatest shame, it would’ve involved a flash bang, a picture of Riley and Dave behind the camera. Now, it’s the presence of my family, Riley plus two cops as they proceed to tell me that my license has been revoked for thirty days—not that it matters with my broken leg. What matters is why. I keep my eyes on Riley as they go through the standard process, her eyebrows bunched in confusion. They’d tested my blood alcohol level once I arrived in the ER. I was 0.09. One point above the legal alcohol limit. I lied to the officer that night—the same one standing silently next to his partner who’s doing all the talking. He probably feels guilty—that it’s his fault it happened. That, maybe, he should’ve given me the sobriety test instead of letting me walk away. I’ll keep his secret—I’ve ruined enough lives. None more so than the girl standing by my side, her grip on my hand loosening with each word spoken.

  Eric shouts, moving closer to the cops. “My brother earned a Purple Heart serving this goddamn country and you’re going to …” I tune out the rest when Riley turns to me, the tears in her eyes clouding but not at all hiding her disappointment. I don’t look away. I won’t. I want her to see me. To know that I’m sorry. That I regret it. That I love her. That I need her.

  Every one leaves. Everyone but Riley.

  She doesn’t talk to me. Doesn’t look at me. But she stays by my side, my hand in hers.

  And in my mind, in my heart, I can feel it. She’s slipping away from me.

  Hours pass. Dad returns.

  He won’t look at me either.

  I sit up when Holly walks in, her smile tight when she sees me. “How you doin’ there, Marine?” She smiles sadly as she stands by the bed. “He’s okay,” Riley answers for me.

  Dad gets up from his seat and moves the chair next to Riley’s offering it to Holly. She takes it, her eyes on mine and Riley’s joined hands.

  Then she sighs, scooting her chair closer to the edge of the bed. “Guys.” She pauses, her mouth opening and closing a few times. Dropping her head, she heaves in a breath. “I know this is bad timing. But we need to talk. Well, I need to. To both you. And I’m just going to say what I need to say and I’d like for you to only interrupt if anything I say is incorrect and if it is, I apologize. Okay?”

  I look at Riley, whose eyes are lowered and I nod, my heart racing, making the beeping of the monitor more frantic.

  “Maybe now isn’t a good time, Holly,” Dad says.

  Holly glances up at Dad, and then at the monitor, and then back to me. Riley stays quiet, as if she knows what’s about to happen. She squeezes my hand, trying to comfort me. It doesn’t work. Her eyes… I need her eyes. She won’t look at me.

  “I’m sorry, Mal,” Holly says, “but I think it has to happen now.”

  Dad nods.

  My heart races faster—so painfully I find it impossible to breathe.

  She says, her hand on my arm, “I went by your house to collect some things for Riley because she refuses to leave your side.” She swallows loudly, her eyes on mine. So much like Riley’s, but not at all the same. “I went to your bathroom and I saw the shattered mirror. It looks like direct contact with something, most likely a fist. I’m going to assume that you caused it, and again, interrupt me if I’m wrong…”

  She waits for me to say something.

  I don’t.

  I can’t.

  “Dylan?” Dad says, and my entire body goes slack. My head falls back on the pillow and I gaze up at the ceiling because there’s only so much shame a person can handle before it becomes too much.

  I’m filled with it.

  Holly says, “I’m going to be honest with you. It scared me, Dylan. It made me afraid to think that my daughter was living in a home with someone who would do that—but not just that—it made me afraid to think that she’d be in that situation and not tell me about it.”

  “Mom, stop,” Riley cries.

  Holly doesn’t. “I know she loves you. I know we all love you. And I know you saw her suffering from the aftermath of a death and that you were able to help her get through it just by being there, so it worries me that you didn’t think it okay to come to us—any of us—if you felt like you were struggling. I’m not afraid to admit that that fear caused me to snoop around your house, Dylan. I saw the bottles of beer in your fridge, which doesn’t make sense because you know my daughter and you allowed that in a home you share with her.”

  Her words crush every ounce of hope I’d wished for. Every ounce of dignity I had left.

  “And then I went out to the garage and saw a jar on the floor, like the ones she used when she wrote those letters to Jeremy.”

  Riley’s chair scrapes against the floor as she stands quickly. “No!” I look over at her, her eyes frantic.

  Holly continues, “I didn’t think anything of it at first, but I’m a mother and I care about her. So I picked it up and I read it. I won’t apologize for doing it.”

  “Mom,” Riley cries, her hands covering her face. “Please don’t!”

  Dad’s on the other side of the bed, his hand on my chest to stop me from moving.

  I won’t move.

  I can’t.

  Holly reaches into her purse, pulling out a folded piece of
paper before handing it to me.

  My fingers shake as I unfold it, unaware of the devastation it’s about to cause.

  To me.

  To her.

  To everyone around us.

  To the lives we’d built and the promises we’d created.

  Riley’s watching me, tears flowing fast and free. She’s shaking her head and I don’t know why. Not until I read her words—words written from the hate I created.

  Dylan.

  I love you.

  I miss you.

  You left me last night. I checked your online bank statement and there was a payment listed for a hotel ten minutes away. I called the hotel. They said it was charged for two nights. It’s strange—when you’re not with me, I feel the longing swelling in my chest, but when you are with me… I can feel your presence crushing my heart.

  I figured you booked a hotel because you hate me and you couldn’t stand to be around me.

  That, or you’re cheating on me.

  And right now, I don’t know which is worse.

  I read the letter over and over, focusing on each and every word until Riley’s loud sob pulls my focus away from the letter and up at her. “I didn’t mean it,” she cries, her hand back on mine. “Please, baby, you have to believe me.”

  “Dylan,” Dad says, and I don’t need to see him to feel his disappointment.

  “So,” Holly says, standing up. She looks between Riley and I. “Is any of it a lie?”

  I drop my gaze, folding the letter before placing it under my pillow. “I’m not cheating on her, Holly. I would never do that.”

  “See?” Riley shouts.

  Her mom ignores her. “But you hate her?”

  “No.” I shake my head, my eyes drifting shut. “I wanted her to hate me.”

  “Why?”

  The force of my tears cause my eyes to open. I don’t look at Riley. I look at her. “Because I was hurting your daughter. And I wanted her to leave me.”

  Holly’s brow furrows in concentration, or maybe confusion. “Can you give us a minute, Riley?”

  “No!” Riley shouts, her hand holding mine so tight it begins to hurt.