“It was nothing.” Grabbing my clothes from the floor, I stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door open wide enough that Coop and I could talk.
“Didn’t sound like nothing.”
“He shipped my stuff to his house.”
Coop bit back a smile and set Levy’s backpack on the small dinette. The sitter was going to watch Levy and the puppies in our hotel room, with the intent on limiting the possible destruction to one space. “He finally told you?”
“You knew?” This should surprise me, why? “Of course you did.” Hence the clandestine headshake between Shane and Tate last week when discussing my living arrangements. “Everyone knew; why wouldn’t you.”
“Oh, come on, Em. You’re in love with the guy. You even turned down Garrison to be with him.”
Garrison. My stomach curled. I couldn’t even go there.
“Deny it all you want,” Coop said, mistaking my guilt for denial. “Won’t make it any less true.” She bent and kissed Levy on the forehead and dodged away from the puppies when they tried to get in on the action. “You love him as much as these dogs. It’s plain as day when you look at them.”
“Really,” I denied, “and how do I look at them?” Stepping out of the bathroom, I eyed the dastardly duo with doubt.
“Like you couldn’t care less if they just licked their own buttholes. You’d still let them kiss you on the face.”
Ew. “I really doubt I look at Shane that way.”
“Whatever.” Coop stared at me knowingly. “When you’re ready to talk about the real issue at hand, you let me know.”
The babysitter’s arrival saved me from further interrogation. I tugged open the door to find Taylor’s brother, Matthew, standing in the hall. He had worked as one of the band’s bodyguards in the past, but left their employment when he had his own child a few months back. Since we weren’t far from home, and he needed the extra cash, he had rejoined the tour for their last few gigs. After the fiasco with the last sitter, Matthew had stepped up for the job.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Coop asked, but she had a smile on her face. I wasn’t sure if it was Matthew’s impending career choice or his beard. I wasn’t a beard kind of girl, but he pulled it off. Evidently, Coop thought so too.
“Piece of cake,” Matthew dismissed. “The kid’s two.”
“Free!” Levy corrected. “I free!”
“Free,” Matthew amended with a wink. “Practically self-sufficient. I think I can manage.”
“Well, um, thanks!”
“Don’t mention it.” Coop and I stepped past him, and through the door. As he pushed it closed, he flashed a smile that had Coop and I giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.
“You two should be ashamed of yourselves.” Shaking his head, Marshall pushed off the wall opposite our room. “I know it’s a girls’ night out, but you didn’t even make it out of your room.”
“That’s not my room,” Coop pointed out, “technically, I did.”
“Technically, you’re married to the man of your dreams. You’re not supposed to be dreaming about other women’s men.”
“Technically, you’re not supposed to fraternize with the clients. It’s a distraction.”
“Because Quincy is the epitome of dangerous places.” As the elevator doors opened, we found it empty with the exception of one elderly bellhop with a pushcart filled with room service. “Look,” Marshall quipped, “my job is fraught with peril.”
The man looked at Marshall oddly, but he tipped his head toward Coop and I as he exited the elevator. “Ladies.”
“Sir,” droned Coop’s tablet, and the man looked at her oddly too. He shook his head as the doors began to glide closed.
“Young kids and those devices.”
“So you’ve been quiet,” Marshall said, throwing me into the spotlight before Coop could think too deeply about it.
“She doesn’t want to talk about it."
“Ah, so we're avoiding the issue of Shane going to the bar.”
“Shut up.” It was eloquent, I know. Shane was rubbing off on me
“Not gonna happen.”
“God forbid you don't get your two cents in,” I grumbled, though I didn't mean it. Marshall meant well, and I’d given him my two cents more times than I could count. He’d been waiting forever to return the favor.
“Well, that neither,” Marshall agreed, “but I meant Shane drinking. Not if he wants to sleep in your bed tonight.” He cupped his right fist in his left hand and cracked his knuckles for effect. A grim smile wormed its way across his face.
I actually took comfort in his words, and then I felt like a total asshole for it. What kind of relationship did Shane and I have if I couldn't trust him? None.
Like a light switch, I was back on the defensive. Shane might not come home drunk today, but someday, he would. He even said it himself. He might fall off the wagon on occasion. It was inevitable. What would I do, how would I handle it when he did?
I couldn’t lie awake and worry every time he went out with the band. I couldn’t pace the house awaiting his return. I’d spent enough sleepless nights in that scenario with Tommy. I just couldn’t go back to that lifestyle. No chance in hell.
“Hey,” said Marshall, gathering my attention. Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he crushed me against his side. “He’s a good guy, Em. He’s got his shit together. He’s not going to slip. Seriously, everything’s gonna be cool.”
“No, it’s not,” I disagreed. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved with him. How could I have thought we could just ignore it, like it would go away? Cazzo! I’m so stupid! I haven’t learned a thing!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Marshall backtracked. “I know you’re freaked out, but there’s no reason to do anything rash.”
“He’s right,” Coop said, dismissing the need for her tablet. “You’re panicking. He’s a deep guy, but that doesn’t mean that he’s violent. I’ve seen him drunk and high countless times, and he’s never gotten aggressive.”
“He doesn’t even trust himself.” We’d fought before he left. Maybe he’d decide I wasn’t worth the trouble and he’d push me away like he did with everyone else. A few drinks added to the mix…
“Do I need to bitch slap some sense into you?” Coop threatened. Her tone held a hint of gravity, despite her facetious expression. “Cause I will if I have to.”
Scowling, I collected myself. She was right. I was losing it.
“Good. That’s better.” Looping her arm through mine, she rescued me from Marshall’s brute attention. I loved the guy, but sometimes he didn’t know his own strength. “We can do one of two things,” she surmised. “One, we can go ahead and get a pedi while sipping wine and eating bonbons. Or, two, we can go to the bar, hide behind something wide enough to conceal my fat ass, and spy on your man to see if he fucks up and drinks.”
“I veto the second,” Marshall voiced, “in case anyone cares.”
The bell pinged and the doors slid open. Coop and I stepped off the elevator. Inquisitively, she angled her head in my direction. “So what do you want to do?”
“Eat bonbons,” Marshall pressed, “and get a pedi.”
“Spy,” I answered.
“Fuck,” Marshall sighed. He dragged a hand down his face. “Does no one listen to me?”
“But I’m not going to,” I added. I didn’t want to be one of those girls. If Shane and I somehow made it past this, I didn’t want it to be because I spied on him while he was out with his friends. I had to trust him, if not to stay sober, then at least that he wouldn’t become despondent or confrontational when he was drunk.
“Thank God,” Marshall exhaled. “I can keep my job.”
“Are you sure?” Coop asked. Merda, I was getting that question a lot tonight. I supposed I brought it on myself. I was acting bipolar with my mood swings.
“They have wine?” I needed a drink or six, badly. That edge I was balancing on was deathly sharp. I needed to take it off, dull it to a
navigable point.
“Tate said Shane had a bottle sent down when they booked the reservations yesterday.”
There it was. He was thinking of me, even when I was doubting him. What did that say about me? I felt like such an asshole. “Let’s go. I need it.”
Coop patted my shoulder as we headed toward the spa. “The guy cut his hair for you. He obviously loves you.”
I groaned internally. “Please, Coop, that’s not helping.” I already felt guilty about my lack of trust. I didn’t want to think about the haircut. While Shane maintained that he was cool with it, I could tell that it had been a major sacrifice.
“Just saying.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on voice rest?”
“That was low, Em,” Coop scoffed, “really low.” Letting go of my arm, she stepped away from me. Her chin lifted in the air in a disjointed jerk.
“Now you’ve done it,” Marshall said. “She’s going to give you the silent treatment.”
Coop turned her head, her eyes scathing.
“What? Me?” Marshall objected. His eyes bugged out, indignant. “What did I do?”
“When a pregnant girl says that her ass is fat, under all circumstances,” she explained, “you’re supposed to disagree.”
“Em didn’t say anything either!”
“Em’s head is elsewhere. She’s having issues,” Coop explained. “You, on the other hand, should be at the top of your game.”
“But you’re pregnant! Things are supposed to spread!” Coop and I both gasped, she in outrage, me in shock. Clueless, Marshall threw his hands up in the air. “What? What did I say?”
Staring at Marshall with pity, I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Marshall, but there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
Coop whirled and walked away. I followed, leaving Marshall behind, perplexed over what he could’ve said.
“Come on, Coop! Why you gotta be like that?” he whined, following after us. “Coop…come on, Coop!”
Chapter 22
I woke with a spinning head to the sound of pounding at the door. No, the wall. The console shook, the steel rim of the lamp vibrating on the glass surface. Another impact sounded a few feet down the hall. Voices erupted in the next room.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up in the bed. It was of little benefit. My head spun like a top. I’d had too much to drink at the spa, finished off nearly the entire bottle of merlot on my own. Neither Coop, nor Marshall could, or would, drink.
Carter’s laugh rang out, harsh and abrasive, followed by Marshall’s thick, meaty growl. Both caused me to tuck my head between my arms and wish I were dead. Why had I drank so much? I couldn’t seem to care, or think to care. I couldn’t rationalize around the pounding and spinning. Sleep, I needed to sleep. Or die.
“Emelia.”
Shut up. Go away. Let me sleep. Curling up on my side, I tightened my arms to block out the noise. But something niggled in the recess of my mind. Familiarity.
“Emelia.”
Hovering on the brink of sleep, I embraced the darkness, let myself sink further into obscurity. My head felt like a weight, dragging me further down. I sighed as the pain began to fade, sparing me the ill effects of the wine and truffles.
The peace I had desired wasn’t meant to be. The sour reek of alcohol pervaded my dreams, turning them into nightmares. I could taste it on my lips, feel it fan over my face like a thick fog of warning. Wake the fuck up, it said. Run.
“Emelia.”
The brush of fingers across my cheeks peeled back my exhaustion like a veil. My eyes snapped open. Thomas stared down at me, eyes tight, his mouth pulled down into an illicit frown. “There you are, beautiful. You awake now?”
Frightened, I scrambled away, using the sheets as a rope to pull myself from the bed. I slid from the mattress on my hands and knees. Quickly, I scrabbled to my feet and grabbed the nearest thing in arm’s reach, the table lamp.
“Get the fuck away from me!” I warned. I aimed the lamp his way. The light funneled through the lampshade like a beam, blinding him with a ray of yellow light.
“Emelia!” Shane hissed. “What the fuck!”
“Shane?” Confusion struck me like a whip. As my eyes began to adapt to the light, and the dregs of sleep peeled away, I found Shane standing in the wash of light, shielding his eyes with the palm of his hand.
“It’s me, beautiful. Can you put that thing down?”
Glancing at the lamp in my hands, I frowned. I might as well have wielded a fly swatter for all the good it would have done. Hands trembling, I placed it back onto the table. The shade balanced precariously, sending light rebounding across the walls like a demented disco ball.
“Merda.” I smoothed the hair from my face, using the wall to brace myself. My legs felt like jelly, my knees rubber.
“Are you all right?” Shane asked. He kept his distance, watching me from across the room. The bed stretched out between us, a weak, recumbent barrier.
No. “Yeah, I think so.” My chin quivered. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes. I refused to let them fall.
“I never saw you move so fast.”
“It’s not your fault. I had too much to drink, and I was having a nightmare. You just…you scared me standing above me like that. I wasn’t expecting it.”
My breath hitched in my throat as the memories of my past came flooding back, drowning me with bleak images of bruises and broken bones. I covered my mouth, stifling a sob. Tears blurred my vision.
I could barely make Shane out as he stumbled across the room. He knocked over the lamp as he caught himself on the console. He motioned to pick it up, but then abandoned the effort with a wave of his hand when he lost his balance.
“You were drinking.”
“I’m not going to lie. I had a few.” His breath rolled across my face, thick with alcohol. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I messed up, Emelia. I fucked up.” I flinched, recoiled from his touch as he lifted his hand toward my face. “Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.”
“I’m sorry.” It was a habit, uncontrolled. I drew a deep breath, feeling his fingers draw down my face and trace my jaw.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Then fuckin’ look at me.” I turned my head and let my eyes rove over his face. He was a fucking mess. His skin was pale. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, which were glassy and dilated.
“What else did you take?”
Like the moron he was, he smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know. Lots. Fuckin’ lots. I shouldn’t have. I feel like shit.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I love you, Emelia Cipollini.”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. Not right now.” He was drunk. He wouldn’t remember a thing. And I didn’t want the memory to be marred with alcohol and fear.
“I haven’t said it before because I’m a pussy.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. I didn’t want to put myself out there, then have you walk out on me. But I don’t care anymore—”
“Because you’re drunk and high.”
“Because I wanted you to know. If you don’t say it back, then it’s on you. The ball’s in your court. Just know that I was man enough to say it.”
“Are you calling me out?”
“I am.”
“I’m still here,” I pointed out. “I’m not running.”
“Then say it.”
My eyes narrowed, the enamel of my teeth ground together. “I hate you for this.” Not now. Not like this. Fucker.
“If you love me, you’ll forgive me later.” Dropping his head, his lips hovered above mine, begging for a kiss.
“Your breath is awful.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Maybe.”
“It won’t matter. I won’t get physical with you, and I won’t call you names. Not my style.”
“What is your style, Richardson?”
<
br /> “Just disappear.” Digging in his pocket, he dropped a handful of pills on the console. “Won’t take much more. I’ve taken too many already.”
“That’s not funny.”
“That upset you, beautiful?”
“Of course,” I clipped. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Why?”
“Because I fuckin’ love you, ok?” I spewed it like a curse, my brows pinched in anger over his timing. “Are you happy?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m fuckin’’ happy!” Closing the distance, he pressed his lips to mine, traced my bottom lip with the edge of his tongue. Saying the hell with it, I parted my lips, granting him access. My breath couldn’t have been much better.
Shane swept inside with a hungry kiss. It wasn’t playful or light. It was voracious and possessive. One hand left my face to tug my hair, angling my head back, while the other travelled to my thigh and hitched my leg over his hip.
His hips ground against mine, pressing himself between my thighs. “Fuck, Emelia. I want you. I wanna make love to you.”
Answering him, I kissed him back, while reaching down to unbutton his jeans. Only, his hand wrapped my wrist, stopping me. Pulling back, I stared in confusion.
“I can’t.” He smiled ruefully, leaning his forehead against mine. “I want to, but I’m really fucked up. I think I might just pass out on you in the middle.”
“I hate you just a little bit more.” He woke me up at an ungodly hour of the morning, forced a declaration of love from me, and then denied me sex because he was too drunk to perform. Fucker.
Laughing, Shane lowered his head for another kiss, but I turned my head. “That’s no way to be.”
“It’s not my fault you have whiskey dick!” Tommy had it more times than I could count. Alcohol affected you in adverse ways. Sometimes he couldn’t come. Sometimes he couldn’t get it up at all.
“I do not have whiskey dick!” With my wrist still grasped in his hand, he lowered it to his groin and ran my palm down the length of his cock. “Does that fuckin’ feel like whiskey dick to you?”
Breaking the Habit Page 24
