I couldn't help but smile. Damn, I loved them.
I closed the door most of the way, leaving it cracked so the hall light shone into their cavernous space. Making my way down the stairs, I headed directly to the kitchen, and straight to the cabinet. I needed a drink. I reached for the bottle of whisky and unscrewed the cap, taking a swallow directly from the bottle.
"Shit." I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and slammed the bottle onto the counter.
The amber liquid burned like fire down my throat and into my belly, soothing the pain which lay there. I leaned back against the counter letting my head fall back, and hit the kitchen cabinet behind me, still wallowing in my thoughts of the day. My eyes flicked over to the bottle and back again. I picked up the liquor and chugged another bit down. "Ugh." Still hot, but getting better. Each swallow was less intense than the last. My body started to loosen, the numbness from the alcohol clouding my conflicting thoughts of Haven, Mace…and that fucking douchebag.
Fight for her.
"Goddammit!"
Making light work of the whisky, I emptied the bottle and threw it as hard as I could across the kitchen. It shattered against the wall with a loud crash. My mind completely oblivious to the fact I could've woken the kids upstairs. I wasn’t thinking straight, and the alcohol was no consolation prize to what I’d truly lost.
Heat consumed me, a rage inside me I couldn't contain. I wanted nothing more than to fight for Haven. She was the reason I did anything; she was everything.
She was mine. And I lost her.
I left the mess in the kitchen and stomped back up to my room. I knew I’d have a hell of a hangover and a shit-ton of glass to clean, but at that moment, I couldn’t care less. My mind was in a whisky-induced haze of jealousy, anger, and hurt. I had to let go.
Back in my bedroom, I walked to the nightstand and snatched up my cell phone. I typed out a quick message to Scarlett:
Jude: Let it be, Scar. She wants him. She can have him. I gave Mace my word and now I’m done. Let her be happy if that’s what she is.
I threw the phone onto the bed, dropped face down onto the pillow, and passed straight the fuck out.
Haven
My hands shook. I couldn't decipher if it was from the sight before me, the fact that Dylan lied about something so monumentally huge, or the temptation to take one of those needles and jab it into my arm.
I could still hear Dylan on the other side of the door, but I couldn't concentrate on what he was actually saying. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. I needed to know why I was staring at an arsenal of an addict's deepest fantasy or worst nightmare.
I needed to get out of there and fast. I couldn’t breathe in the tiny space. The walls were closing in on me and the ceiling felt as if it were coming down atop of me faster than the floor felt to be dropping out from under my feet.
I grabbed the handle and yanked the door open, the breeze it created blew my hair into my face. Dylan was standing on the other side, his arm against the doorframe, his head bowed down.
He looked up. Desolate eyes met mine, his features masked by apology and pain.
"Haven, please."
"Don't," I interrupted him, holding my hand up to his face. I couldn't bear to look at him. "You're a junkie?" It came out as a whisper. "Do you have any idea what this does to me?" I took a deep breath and tried to step to the side only to have him thwart my efforts. "I can't be around you, Dylan." I started to push him back so I could get my things and leave. This time he stepped aside, but grabbed my arm.
"NO! God, Haven. Please let me explain—" His face crumbled more by the second. “It’s not what you think. It’s not what it looks like, sugar.”
A rage like I had never felt before overtook me. “I know exactly what it is, Dylan!” I yelled at him, furious I’d found myself in the same situation I’d been in before. I blew out a rough breath and gritted through my teeth, “I know what it is because I’ve been there!” My anger took over and tears began to well in my eyes.
His confusion was evident at my statement. I proceeded to gather my things, the urge to lock myself back in his bathroom growing by the second.
He rubbed the scar on his chest. "Wait? What do you mean, you know what—?" His voice took on a tone I wasn't sure I wanted to examine too closely.
"I am an addict, you asshole! How the fuck else do you think I would know about that stuff?" I screamed, spinning around so I was inches away from his face. Dylan gripped onto the doorframe and I watched as he paled, all color draining away from his pained features.