“You haven’t answered my question,” Gage said, his voice less slurred after he’d eaten.

I ignored his question. “It’s your turn to answer me,” I told him. “I know about Dustin.”

At the mention of his brother, Gage stiffened as if I’d slapped him across the face. The iron curtain that I’d come to recognize as his protection mechanism slammed down hard. “You shouldn’t dig into business that isn’t your own.”

“Too late.”

Gage flung the towel off and strode naked from the room to the kitchen, searching for more liquor but I’d dumped everything out. “Where the fuck is my Circoc?” he demanded, shoving past weeks worth of garbage to come up empty. “Where’s my booze?”

“Down the drain. The last thing you need is more fucking alcohol. You need to sober up.”

“You’re not my fucking mother…you’re not fucking anything to me,” he snarled and I tried not to wince at the rip in my heart. Reece had warned me. I wasn’t so fragile that I couldn’t withstand a few hurled insults but if he kept it up, I’d shove that empty Ciroc bottle up his puckered ass.

“Have you come to save the day, baby?” he mocked, shaking his head with disgust. “Fucking unbelievable. How’d you even find me? Take a hint, get the fuck out of my business.”

“Ohh, big man, using his words to hurt because he’s so fucking broken inside that he can’t fucking man up and admit that he’s hurting inside. How old are you? Twelve?” I rounded the kitchen island to stand toe-to-toe, gesturing wildly to the disgusting mess he was living in. “And what the hell is this? You’re living like a fucking pig. This isn’t mourning, Gage, this is fucking wallowing. Your brother died and it was tragic but are you trying to climb in the fucking grave with him?”

Maybe I’d gone too far. Maybe I’d gone just far enough. Either way…I’d just crossed a line and found a vicious bear on the other end.

“You don’t know fucking shit about my life, you fucking cunt,” he snarled, reaching for the nearest object and hurled it across the room. Glass shattered in a million pieces but I held my ground. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, even as his eyes were blazing hot and his hands were clenched and ready. “You don’t know what it’s like to live with what’s in my fucking head so shut the fuck up.”

“No, you shut the fuck up. How long are you going to milk and nurture this pain? Grief doesn’t have a shelf-life — no one is saying you need to stop remembering your brother — but for God’s sake, do you have to keep punishing everyone who cares about you just so you can ensure that you’ll die miserable and alone? Yeah, that’s right…miserable and alone. That’s your future, buddy.”

“Maybe I want it that way.”

“Bullshit.”

“You don’t know me, Mari,” he returned hotly, his chest heaving with the bottled up rage that had no outlet. “Don’t fucking push buttons you don’t know are dangerous.”

“What are going to do, Gage? Hurt me? You’ve already done that — but I’m here now because you’re a fucking idiot but I think you’re my fucking idiot so you’d better pull yourself together.”

He barked an ugly laugh, his lip curling. “You’re delusional.”

“And you’re an asshole,” I returned. “Tell me about Dustin.”

“Drop it.”

“What happened that night?” I continued stubbornly.

“Fucking. Leave. It.”

“No.”

“Goddamn it, Mari!” he roared, a toxic mixture of panic and rage, anguish and guilt flooding his gaze as he exploded, scaring a yelp out of me as he started destroying anything he could get his hands on.

“Gage, no!” I tried stopping him but he was out of control. I jumped out of the way just as a lamp went whizzing past me to shatter against the wall. “Jesus, Gage! What are you doing?” I cried but Gage couldn’t hear me.

All I could do was huddle against the wall, seeking a safe spot from Hurricane Gage as he destroyed the suite like the Hulk on a rampage.

Wood splintered, walls were gutted, glass broke. It was heartbreaking and frightening as fuck to watch Gage completely devolve into a sobbing, angry caricature of the man I’d fallen in love with.

The raw wound of his brother’s death had festered to the point of poison seeping into his blood stream, ruining any chance at happiness.

I knew my future was tied to this man — but I also knew there was a good chance neither of us might make it out alive.

Not because he would purposefully hurt me but because I would never leave and let him hurt himself. If I became collateral damage, I was willing to take the risk.

I swallowed, tears streaming down my face. “Gage,” I cried, squeezing my eyes shut to whisper, “Please stop…”

It seemed an eternity before his rage was spent. We may have survived but the room certainly hadn’t. At this point, his security deposit was obliterated. Hell, he might even have to pay to remodel the entire suite.

Gage finally stumbled to a stop, tripping on a broken end table to crash to the floor. I scrambled to my feet when I heard him roar in pain.

A piece of jagged wood from the shattered table skewered his calf, spraying blood everywhere like something out of a slasher movie. So much blood, I wanted to puke but I didn’t have time to be squeamish.

I helped pull the wood free, pushing down the bubble of bile that threatened, and then pressed a towel to the wound. “I think you need to go to the hospital,” I said, feeling queasy. I covered my mouth as I threw up in my mouth a little. “No, I mean, seriously.”

“Fuck that,” he groaned and I wanted to knock some sense into him with the broken table leg.

I risked another look at the wound, relieved to see the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Maybe it wasn’t as bad I’d originally feared. “I could duct tape it together,” I suggested with a weak shrug. “It worked at home. Duct tape can fix anything. Still,” I said, rising on shaky legs to find my cell phone “you could have wood fragments in your leg, which could get infected.”

Gage’s hoarse voice stopped me. “Mari, I’m fine.”

Fine? Oh, hell no. I turned, wiping at the stubborn tears that kept falling. “You’re not fine. You’re the opposite of fine,” I told him, gesturing wildly toward the destruction he’d left behind. “This is not fine. I’m pretty sure you’re going to get sued for damages. Jesus, you’re killing yourself.”

Gage quieted before meeting my gaze, saying with a small, sad defeatist shrug, “It’s no less than I deserve.”

Passive aggressive self-pity made me want to vomit. “No.” I shot back, lifting my chin. “What you’re doing is willful self-destruction and it’s fucking maudlin as shit. You have the right to your pain but don’t shit on your brother’s memory by making it all about you. Dustin died but you’re still here. To quote Andy Fucking Dufresne…get busy living or get busy dying because this in-between crap is bullshit and a waste of time.”

A heartbeat passed between us, heavy as a lead blanket tossed on our heads until Gage broke the silence, to ask with a narrowed gaze, “Did you just quote Shawshank Redemption to me?”

My jaw firmed. “Fuck yes I did,” I replied, not sorry. “It’s a great movie and it seemed appropriate.”

“Christ,” he groaned, shaking his head, not sure if he wanted to laugh or fucking throw me out a window. Maybe he wanted to do both but neither seemed appropriate (or legal). Then, his shoulders began to shake and I realized he was crying. “Fuck Mari…” was all he could say but I heard a wealth of sadness and regret in that one muttered statement.

I dropped to my knees and crawled over to him where he immediately pulled me into his arms and held me hard.

I shuddered with relief as I clung to him nearly as tightly.

Now, we were getting somewhere…