Two days had passed since Nix came over and chewed me out—rightfully so. I’d known I’d fucked up at Tempest, but I hadn’t realized exactly how badly I’d fucked up, not until Nix had explained the danger I’d put the club in.
Brennan had called me to confirm that I was kicked off the job, leaving him high and dry and having to call in other ancillary members of his construction crew to pick up where I’d left off. Nix and Joker were going to have to pay whatever reparations Empire demanded, and I had no idea what those were going to be. And Joker being Brennan’s boyfriend just further complicated the situation. If I’d thought I was alienated before, I’d really gone and made it a hell of a lot worse.
And this wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it could’ve been. What if Empire had reacted the way Nix said they might—with violence?
What if people had gotten hurt because of me? People with families—with kids.
Nix was right. I was selfish. I’d been so wrapped up in my own misery that I’d lashed out thoughtlessly, and now everyone else was having to clean up my mess—as per usual.
Since Nix had stopped by, I’d been hiding out at home. I was too ashamed to go with my tail between my legs to Brennan’s—and he hadn’t reached out to me either, aside from the call about the job, and I didn’t know if he was giving me space, or if he was just as done with my bullshit as Nix was. Regardless, it shocked me that he hadn’t come to chew me out in person himself. That said a lot about his opinion on what I’d done.
The loneliness was like a weight on my chest.
Where else could I go? Not like I could show my face at the clubhouse ever again. That chapter of my life had closed, and so had my relationship with Nix. I’d deserved everything he’d said to me, and I didn’t expect him to waste any more time trying to get me to see what had been in front of my fucking face the whole time.
But during these two days hiding out in my home, I hadn’t had anything to drink. I’d dumped out most of the booze in the house—couldn’t bring myself to do it all, had to stash one or two just in case—but regardless, all that was left wasn’t enough to get me drunk.
I wouldn’t call myself an addict or an alcoholic, I wasn’t anywhere near as bad as my mother was, but it was finally undeniable that I had a less than healthy relationship with drinking. I was using booze to escape reality, and to boost my mood when I was sinking low, and that was a slippery slope.
And clearly, I’d thought it was helping me, when really, it was just a temporary high before I crashed again. And that brief high wasn’t worth the trouble I caused when I was drunk and depressed.
I didn’t know where to go from here, though.
I took a sip of my coffee. Lukewarm and bitter. My throat tightened. I was so fucking sick of being alone. I just needed someone to reach out and tell me where to go from here. I wasn’t sure if I could claw out of this hole by myself. A pathetic thought, maybe. But I was just so fucking tired.
A key sliding into the lock surprised me out of my self-pitying reverie.
The door creaked open.
A familiar head of red hair appeared first, then the rest of Brennan, glancing around tentatively. “Anyone home?”
“Hey,” I managed. My voice was scratchy, and I cleared my throat around the knot of tightness still there. My chest was tight, too, and behind my eyes was familiar shameful hot prickling. I set the coffee mug down on the counter and wrung my hands.
Brennan closed the door gently behind him and strode into the kitchen. He just stood there for a minute, looking at the state of my apartment (delivery boxes, coffee mugs, mess) and myself (exhausted, embarrassed, ashamed). His brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to meet Brennan’s eyes. Now that I’d said it, the tightness worsened, and I choked on an aborted sob caught in my throat. “Brennan, I’m”—my voice cracked hard, and I pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes—“I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” Brennan crossed the room like a shot, rushing into the kitchen and pulling me into a hard hug. “Hey, I got you.”
His grip on me broke the already-weakening dam I had holding back the pain. I tipped my head forward into his shoulder, and the tightness in my chest finally pulled hard and snapped, and I heaved with a single, wretched sob.
Brennan didn’t say anything, just held me as the tears that had been threatening for the past two days finally fell. He rubbed my back as I cried, and I didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed or ashamed—I was so overwhelmed by how badly I’d fucked up, how much I’d put the club in danger, ruined the job, ruined things with Nix. The only relief was that at least, despite any anger, Brennan was still here for me.
I lost track of time a little, lost in the catharsis of finally letting go of some of the pent-up hurt, and just leaned on Brennan until I had no tears left to spill.
Finally I took a deep, shuddering breath, then straightened up and rubbed hard at my eyes. “Sorry,” I muttered.
Brennan just placed a warm hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s sit down.” He guided me to the couch, then fixed us each a cup of hot tea, then cleared some of the detritus off the coffee table to make space. Then he sat down next to me, close enough that our knees were touching. “Talk to me.”
“You know what happened,” I said. I was too ashamed to narrate the events again.
“Yeah,” Brennan said with a nod. “Blade called me.”
“I figured.” I picked up the mug, wrapping my hands around it for the warmth, and so I could stare into the tea instead of at Brennan.
“So what’s going on?” Brennan asked.
“I…” I swallowed and took a deep breath.
The words were there, right on the tip of my tongue, and I’d thought them to myself plenty of times during these past two days. But I’d never said them out loud—and admitting it to Brennan was terrifying. If I wanted to get past this, though, and try to fix things with him, and with the club, I had to. I couldn’t hide from it anymore.
“I know I have a problem with drinking,” I said. “And I really fucked up.”
I wanted for the earth to open up and swallow me whole, or the ceiling to cave in, or at least for Brennan to make some snarky joke at my expense. But none of that happened. Brennan just nodded, his gaze soft and understanding. He reached out and placed a hand on my knee.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ve been worried for a while.” He sighed heavily, the removed his hand to run it through his own hair. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve stepped up and said something earlier. I knew it was getting worse, and I just let it happen.”
The guilt was clear in his pinched expression. I flicked his shoulder, and he started, looking a little surprised. But then he offered me a careful smile.
“It wouldn’t have worked,” I admitted. “I think—I had to realize it on my own. If you had tried to get me to stop, it would’ve just pissed me off.”
I sighed, thinking about the times Nix had brought it up, and how I’d reacted so viciously to what I’d thought was the unfair implication that I had a problem. And he’d turned out to be right. If Brennan had tried something similar, I really would’ve blown up. I hated to think what might’ve happened if I’d lashed out at him. Likely we wouldn’t be sitting here now.