Drake had no idea how he arrived in Bridgewater Lofts in one piece.

Hell, he wasn’t even so sure whether he drove himself home from Newcastle. But here he was, in the driver’s seat of his AMG, his fingers automatically switching off the ignition. He opened the door and tried to get out. He couldn’t. It was as though he’d been part of some random space mission and they had just landed where Earth’s gravity inserted itself into his limbs after a sojourn in a weightless space.

But he knew why. He had no more will to live. Had nothing left to give. Bethany had taken off his blinders and showed him the ugly world she had survived in.

Andrew Tabler had succeeded in destroying him by tainting the most precious thing in Drake’s life and spitting it out. Drake was back to picking up the pieces.

He froze after Bethany’s outburst. He watched her leave with her heart on her sleeve. The sorrow in her eyes shot shards of glass into his own heart that left him in reeling. Bleeding.

Dead.

He stayed out in the quay, numbed and mindless until the sun went down. He watched the waters, the people, the families laughing, without really seeing. He let the wind tousle his hair, flatten his clothes against his body until he shivered when the temperature dipped. But he remained where he was, standing stiffly against the railing that he could have been mistaken for an installation piece. It was only when Aiden Kane strode to him and shook him out of his hours-long stupor did Drake remember where he was and what had happened. Then the whole cycle of heartbreak started again. Aiden had to help him. Drake didn’t care if he looked like an invalid who was trying to learn how to walk again after a massive stroke. His legs felt like blocks of concrete and it took a lot of strength for him to put one foot after the other. Drake vaguely heard Aiden calling Oliver giving a report before he was placed inside his car with Aiden securing his seatbelt. Did he tell Aiden he wanted to drive? He wasn’t sure now.

Drake planted both legs on the parking lot’s floor. He placed his head on his hands, his elbows on his knees. He was dry eyed, a far cry from when he had begged Bethany to stay.

He couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think. He could do with drowning himself in alcohol until it pickled his liver.

His feet shuffled into the lift. The upward movement was making him heave. He punched the lift button several times while his other hand covered his mouth. The lift hadn’t completely opened when he bolted out of it. He barely entered his flat before the force of his retching made him hurtle towards the kitchen sink. Nothing came out. Then again, he hadn’t anything to eat prior to leaving for Newcastle. He left the water running, splashing the cool liquid on his face, dunked his head under the spout, around his neck. He felt like shit, smelled like shit, and his life turned to shit.

Drake stumbled back and his knees buckled. He fell on all fours finally pulling in the first lungful of real air in hours. The level of guilt swamping him was worse than the strongest hurricane on record. He felt as though his head was going to explode with Bethany’s words tumbling over like dried leaves torn from a tree’s branches by a vicious wind.

He closed his eyes and blinked unable to stop the wetness from dropping to the floor. His body crumpled and curled. He shook, silent sobs filling the loft as his heart fell apart. Anguish tore at him for the lost time, for his separation from Bethany, for the horrors he had to face alone. He mourned for the boy he had been, the loneliness he had to carry by himself, for having to be brave in the face of his parents’ rejection.

He cried for the love he had for Bethany which now extended to Amara, letting out an anguished howl for the heartache he had caused the woman he loved and the nightmare she had to endure. He cried for liking the young girl whose father was the very person responsible for destroying his life and Bethany’s. He could no longer take it, could no longer bottle it up inside. He rolled on to his back, the ceiling above him swimming through his agony.

And he bellowed. Shouted as loud as he could. Roared like an injured wild beast knowing it was the only way to ease the pain slicing him to shreds.

Then he curled back once more, sobbing.

Wishing that Bethany was beside him.

Drake no longer had any notion of the day and time hours later. Outside, the sky was still dark. He sat cross legged on the floor, trying to get his bearings before events flooded his mind once more. There was a knock on the door.

“Get the fuck away,” he growled and flicked the finger when the knocking didn’t abate.

He went to the bathroom, shed his clothes, and entered the shower. The cold water shot into his system and cleared his mind. He cleaned himself thrice and by the time he was done, he was shivering. Towel drying his hair before throwing the towel on the bed, he dressed only in a pair of Levi’s before leaving his bedroom.

And froze mid-step. He scowled.

“I don’t want company, Cray.” He sauntered to the mini bar to pour himself a quadruple shot of Macallan. The light from the bedroom was the only illumination in the flat. “If I don’t answer the fucking door, that should be enough reason to not to piss me off.”

“That’s when the secret corridor comes in handy.” Oliver propped both his legs on the coffee table. “Pour me one of whatever you’re having.”

Drake bristled. He really wanted to be alone but complied.

“Lissie know you’re here?”

“She was the one who asked me to check on you when you were howling your guts out.” Oliver’s eyebrow rose when Drake handed him a full glass of scotch.

“Bottoms up,” Drake said with a sardonic smile.

One gulp, two and his throat burned. Three…four…By the time he was done he was heating up and the room was lopsided again.

“Easy, Rosen.” Oliver placed his glass hard on the table making it slosh. He stood and helped Drake sit.

Silence reigned between them. Drake leaned forward with his head in his hands.

“How are you holding up?” Oliver asked quietly.

“What do you think?” Drake expelled a breath. “Sorry, man. I’m not good company right now.”

“Aiden was worried about you.”

“Yeah?” Drake snorted before leaning back on the couch. “He didn’t have to. Thank him for me for getting me into my car.”

“He tailed you until you got back here safely.”

“I don’t remember a bloody thing.” Drake rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. The pain on his face and his knuckles was nothing compared to what he felt inside.

“He said you drove very sedately. More like a Sunday driver in a flashy car.” Oliver smirked.

Drake snorted. “Yeah well…at least I didn’t thrash the car.”

“At least you didn’t die.” Oliver flattened his lips. “Newcastle is a big place. You could have checked into a hotel and drive back tomorrow.”

“No man. Bethany was there. I had to get away.” Pain lanced through him like he was one big infected pus. He rubbed his chest. “The things she told me. Bloody fuck, Oliver. I can’t get my head around it. What she went through and I was a fucking dick around her again. Told her she was a cock teaser.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Drake closed his eyes and leaned back as he drowned in his guilt and shame. “I don’t deserve her.”

“I agree.”

Drake cracked an eyelid. “You’re supposed to take my side.”

“I don’t take the side of fucktards.”

Drake’s face hardened. “No…You’re right. I deserved that.”

“You definitely did.” Oliver snapped.

“What’s with the antagonism, Cray.” Drake scowled. “I already know I made a mistake.”

Oliver stood and walked around. He blew out a breath. “Yeah. Don’t need to rub it in, I know. It’s just that, I feel sorry for her, mate. Those choices she made were beyond her control.”

Drake’s frown deepened. “Wait, how do you know that? Were you spying on her?”

“No.” Oliver shook his head. “At least not intentionally. When you asked me to dig up some dirt on Tabler the intel also touched on one Bethany Brooke.”

Oliver took a folder from his back and let it fall softly on the coffee table.

Drake sat upright. Did Oliver find out something more? If there was more to what Bethany had told him, he’d have a one-way ticket to the asylum.

“Inside is a copy of Bethany’s court case naming Tabler as the perp. And Amara’s birth certificate.”

Drake dry rubbed his face. “Take it back Oliver. I don’t need to see that.”

“Sometimes it’s all about choice, Drake. Breaking away from the thing that can drag you down should be something that mitigates the wrong you’ve done.”

“Whoa,” Drake fixed his gaze on his friend. He couldn’t help the snorting laugh that came out of him. “Speaking from experience?”

Oliver nodded. “And because I helped someone escape the sordid life she was forced to live. She’s okay now.”

“She?”

“Yeah and this shouldn’t reach Luke. I’ll know if you snitched and I don’t take kindly to snitches.” Oliver warned.

Drake raised his palms. “Yeah sure. I know you will. I don’t want to die just yet.”

Oliver nodded. “I’ll leave the folder.”

“You don’t need to.”

“When you’re done reading that, you’ll understand Bethany and maybe you guys can work it out.” Oliver pointed to the folder as though Drake didn’t object. “Amara also has nothing to do with what happened.”

Drake’s mouth lifted in a sad smile. “You don’t think I know that either?”

Oliver nudged his chin. “Just be glad the fruit fell very far from the tree. As in maybe the next county. If you really love Bethany, you’re going to find a way to get her back.”

Drake’s mouth quirked.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Why? Because you don’t want it to happen?”

“No, because I think Bethany no longer wants to be with me.”