Thirty-Three

Austin

I stared at the half-empty bottles of liquor still in my house. I’d gotten rid of almost everything. Patrick had become the new owner of the whiskey and scotch that I was only able to get directly from the distributor. I hadn’t been able to throw those out. I’d cut back so much that I had nothing left in the cabinet in my house. I’d once had a fully stocked wet bar. I could have made a Bloody Mary any hour of the day.

God, I’d kill for a perfectly made Bloody Mary.

But I’d have to settle for this.

I took out all the bottles. A halfway-filled bottle of Maker’s Mark. A quarter of Johnnie Walker Blue. Some Grey Goose. A shot-sized bottle of Fireball that I hadn’t been able to part with. Basil Hayden’s and Four Roses were down to the last dregs.

I could work with this.

I popped two pain pills and chased them with a shot of Maker’s. Julia had left me. There was no coming back from that. None at all.

She’d been dead inside when she delivered the news. She wouldn’t take me back. We couldn’t fix this.

I couldn’t fix anything. That was Jensen’s forte. He was the family fixer. He would have been able to make this work. Even Landon had fucking figured his shit out with his crazy ex-wife to land Heidi. I was the only one who found it impossible to keep a girlfriend. Then, I’d put myself out on the line, and she’d walked.

And, fuck, how could I blame her? Would I want to deal with my train wreck?

I wondered how much I would have to drink to forget about Julia. Is there an amount of alcohol that’s capable of that? I didn’t know, but I figured I’d give it a try.

I spent a solid hour binge-watching whatever the hell was on TV at that time while taking shots. At some point, I stopped even recognizing the show. I stopped recognizing anything. There was just the alcohol and then the buzz that quickly converted into being full-out drunk.

Not that I planned to stop there. I was still thinking about Julia. Trying to figure out how the hell I had let this shit happen.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I screamed as anger ripped through me.

I stood, stumbling around the living room. I kicked the coffee table across the room and smashed the lamp off of the side table. I grabbed the bottle I’d been finishing and threw it hand over fist into my mounted seventy-inch TV. The screen splintered and looked as fucked up as I felt. The glass had exploded on impact and scattered across the room.

I wheezed and clutched my ribs. Even the alcohol couldn’t stop the pain there, it seemed. Motherfucker.

My ass crashed back down on the couch, and I clutched my head. I needed more. More alcohol. More everything. Something to make me forget.

No, not something.

Someone.

My phone was in as shitty shape as my TV was, but it still miraculously worked after I plugged it back in. I’d need to replace it, but right now, it did the trick.

“Austin?” Maggie said warily.

“Mags,” I breathed.

“This is a surprise.”

“Come over.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Not drunk enough.”

She laughed a low throaty thing. “I thought you were dating someone.”

“Do you want to get fucked or not, Maggie?”

“Has that ever been a question?”

“Then, get your ass over here.”

I hung up on her before she could respond.

She’d show. She always did.

The way I’d treated her at the Parade of Homes was the outlier in our relationship. She’d been shocked by my behavior because I’d never treated her poorly. Even though we didn’t have an official thing, we’d always had fun.

And, God, I could use some fun. Forgetting. Just fucking forgetting.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock at the door roused me from my melancholy. I yanked open the door.

“Maggie,” I slurred.

She looked like sin itself. Her dark hair wild. A blood-red dress. High heels.

“Austin,” she gasped. “What happened to you?”

She reached out and tentatively ran her manicured nail down my cheek and across my split lip. I’d almost forgotten that my face was a road map of bruises.

“Julia’s ex’s fist found my face.”

“Christ,” she whispered. “I hope you got in a few hits yourself.”

I laughed, which turned into a cough, which hurt like a bitch. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

She shrugged, as if to say, Suit yourself.

I stepped forward and ran a hand down her side, over the silky material of her dress. She leaned into the touch and seemed to be searching my face for something.

“I wasn’t sure I’d show,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I thought you’d gone soft, Wright.”

“Why don’t you find out?” I suggested.

She laughed, as soft as a purr. “There’ll be time for that. But maybe you should let me inside first.”

I shoved the door open, and she strode in.

Her feet stilled after only a few feet. “What the hell happened to your house? Did Julia’s ex do this to your house, too?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” she asked, whirling around on me. “This is fucked up. Tell me what happened.”

“I got pissed off.”

She arched an eyebrow at me. “You’ve lost it.”

“Don’t,” I ground out. “I didn’t call you here for therapy. I thought you were the only one left who wouldn’t lecture me.”

“Whatever,” she said, kicking the broken lamp and stepping over a piece of broken glass. “I wasn’t expecting a construction zone.”

“Bedroom is still clean,” I said with a smirk.

“I see the Maker’s is all over the floor. Anything else for me?”

“Got some Goose and a shot of Fireball.”

“What the hell?” she said as I followed her into the kitchen. “Where is the rest?”

“Gave it up.”

She snorted. “Sure looks like it, Wright.”

I leaned heavily against the counter as she popped open the Grey Goose and downed it straight, like a lady.

She smacked her lips together and shivered. “Yum,” she muttered.

“Want a chaser?”

“Do I look like a pussy?”

I grinned and swept my eyes down her.

She held her finger up and wagged it in my face. “Easy there.”

“No intention of going easy.”

I strode toward her, backing her into the counter. Her nails dug into my T-shirt, and she dragged me hard against her.

“I don’t have to know what’s going on with you, Austin.” Her hands slipped under my shirt, and her nails scraped across the waistband of my shorts. “But I know something is.”

“Does it matter?” I snapped.

She shrugged. “You didn’t call me for therapy, right?”

My hands gripped the back of her thighs and hoisted her onto the countertop. I gasped in pain as my ribs seized under the pressure. Holy fuck!

“Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Fine, Mags. Just…shut up.”

I grabbed her face between my hands and crushed our mouths together. She was still for only a second before returning the kiss. Her legs wrapped around my back, tugging me closer. And I tried to will all the anger I’d been drowning in into that kiss. Fuck everything else going on in my life.

I wanted to forget. I wanted someone to help me forget.

But I wasn’t forgetting.

Because that name still rattled around in my head. The brown hair wasn’t red. The blue eyes weren’t brown. Her lips didn’t taste like cherry. She wasn’t covered in ink. Her body didn’t match mine.

I tried to force it. I didn’t need feelings with Maggie. We never had. I just needed one night. Then, maybe I’d learn how to move on. Learn how to be as dead inside as Julia was.

Here’s to hoping.