Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I glare at Braxton and throw back my shot, slamming it on the bar top. “What better way to honor him than to get lost in the only thing he ever truly loved?”
I expect Braxton to argue, but he doesn’t. I’m not sure what he’s doing here or how he found me, but I’m guessing someone told him about my dad.
“Did you need something?” I ask him as the bartender places another shot in front of me.
“Nope,” he says, then proceeds to order a Jack and Coke.
We sit next to each other for several minutes, drinking, neither of us saying a word. I don’t know what to think or what to say. I have so many thoughts running through my head, and I can’t make sense of any of them. Which is why I came out to drink. But now, with Braxton sitting next to me, I almost wish I were sober.
My phone buzzes in my pocket for the millionth time, and I pull it out, finding several missed calls and texts from Layla, my mom, and my aunt. All asking if I’m okay and to call them.
“Layla send you?” I finally ask, figuring she probably wanted to go after me herself, but Camden wouldn’t let her since she’s several months pregnant and Vegas isn’t the safest place at night.
“Draw the short straw?” I add with a humorless laugh. When Braxton doesn’t answer, I down another shot and glance over at him. He’s still in the same outfit he wore tonight—an all-black suit sans tie—and he looks so damn good, it almost hurts to look at him. “I don’t need you here. You can let Layla know I’m fine, and I’ll be on the bus, ready to go on time. I’m sure Adrianne is waiting for you.”
I slide off the stool, stopping for a second when the room spins, and then make my way onto the dance floor, where people are dancing to an upbeat song. I join in, getting lost in the music and making it a point not to look for Braxton. The alcohol runs through my system, numbing my body and mind, and I sway to the beat, letting myself go for the first time in a long time.
At least that’s what I think I’m doing. Only my head is running, and my thoughts are all over the place. I don’t realize I’m close to losing my shit until a pair of strong hands grips my hips and spins me around. My eyes meet Braxton’s for a quick beat before he pulls me against him. My head rests against his chest, and I inhale his comforting scent. And then I let go, sobbing into his shirt while he holds me tight as I mourn the father I lost a long time ago. The man I used to look up to and have spent years loving and hating and missing.
In my moment of weakness, Braxton becomes my strength, silently holding me together. At some point, my legs give out, and he lifts me into his arms, carrying me out of the bar and down the street while I continue to cry into his neck, holding him like he’s my only lifeline. I vaguely hear him talking to someone, and then we’re in the hotel room in his bed, and he’s still holding me.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs as he rubs circles on my back, trying to calm me. But I can’t stop crying. I’ve worked myself up, and I can’t control it—the sobs, the hiccups, the lack of breath. It’s all become too much to handle. Everything is a mess. Nothing is going right. I have no one, and I’ve never felt so alone in my life. And I only have myself to blame.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter into Braxton’s chest. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Now probably isn’t the best time to finally apologize, but I can’t help it. For years, my dad hurt me and never once apologized. He did whatever he wanted to do and hurt whoever he wanted to hurt without any remorse. And I don’t want to be him. I hurt Braxton, and I need him to know how sorry I am.
He places a kiss on my forehead, and I sigh into him, relaxing for the first time. My eyes flutter open, and I find him staring at me. After everything I’ve done, it’s him who’s here for me, holding me and making sure I’m okay. I don’t deserve him or his compassion, but I don’t have it in me to push him away. I’ve spent six years missing his touch, his love, wishing for a do-over. I know I’m not getting one, and come tomorrow, it’ll be as if this never happened. But tonight, I’m going to close my eyes and pretend that all is right in my world. I’ll deal with reality tomorrow.