In Between the Lines

Chapter 20: If You Can't Fix It, Then Mix It

This time his voice was softer, pained. "I told myself not to rush you, that it's okay that you're taking your time to open up to me. Because I understand what that's like to be in that place . . . and I didn't want you to be in that place alone. I told myself that eventually, I might earn your trust—but if this is how it's always going to be between us, then have it your way."

I didn't care how pathetically small my voice sounded, how my words came out breathlessly. Near silently. "It's not that simple."

He shook his head walking away from me as he said, "I'm done with this."

I reached for his arm. "Dez, please—"

He stiffened under my grip before turning around and glaring at the spot where my hand met his arm. Slowly, he dragged that icy gaze to me and said, "I'm done."

He yanked his arm out from under my grip, storming back into Gina's house without looking back.

***

Dinner with my parents went about as well as expected.

I didn't look at my father's face as that witch had uttered her news, but I felt the tangible shift in the air—heard the slight hitch in his breath and felt him freeze in his seat beside me. I could have sworn I even heard the violent crack his heart made as my mother once again cleaved it in two.

I wished I'd had the strength to do something then. To take the wine that bitch continued to sip on like juice and dump it over her face. To tell her how much I truly hated her and wished her far, far away from us. To tell her to go—be with David and leave us the hell alone.

But I was tired, more tired than I had been in a long while. And there was close to nothing left in me at that moment.

So I did nothing at all.

My father was silent for the entire car-ride home. Before he excused himself to bed, the only thing he said to me before he turned away was, "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

And as his voice cracked and I glanced the exhaustion tearing away at his face, I was left too stunned to say anything back.

I couldn't sleep. As I laid in bed and each minute dripped by, I only grew more and more restless. Those dark thoughts threatened to consume me once again, the same thoughts I'd told Dez about just a few days ago.

But now when I thought of him, it didn't make me feel any better.

It hurt.

And all I could think about was the way that I'd hurt him, the way I'd lost him. The person who had defended me over his own team. Who had done nothing but give me patience I didn't deserve. Who had distracted me—who'd made me laugh despite everything going on at home with my mother.

Desmond Warren.

When the fuck did he get under my skin?

And why didn't I want to let him back out?

I decided to answer these questions by heading down to my father's study and shuffling through his collection of amber liquids.

I didn't know how it was possible for so many things to go wrong in one day—and I didn't know where or how I would begin to fix it.

So for the night, I decided to mix it. With whiskey.

A lot of it.

I snatched a half-empty crystal decanter from one of my father's shelves and took it into the living room. It had been a year since I'd last had any alcohol. The last time I had a drink in my hand, it had been spiked.