The Wright Mistake(81)

God, I’d kill for a perfectly made Bloody Mary.

But I’d have to settle for this.

I took out all the bottles. A halfway-filled bottle of Maker’s Mark. A quarter of Johnnie Walker Blue. Some Grey Goose. A shot-sized bottle of Fireball that I hadn’t been able to part with. Basil Hayden’s and Four Roses were down to the last dregs.

I could work with this.

I popped two pain pills and chased them with a shot of Maker’s. Julia had left me. There was no coming back from that. None at all.

She’d been dead inside when she delivered the news. She wouldn’t take me back. We couldn’t fix this.

I couldn’t fix anything. That was Jensen’s forte. He was the family fixer. He would have been able to make this work. Even Landon had fucking figured his shit out with his crazy ex-wife to land Heidi. I was the only one who found it impossible to keep a girlfriend. Then, I’d put myself out on the line, and she’d walked.

And, fuck, how could I blame her? Would I want to deal with my train wreck?

I wondered how much I would have to drink to forget about Julia. Is there an amount of alcohol that’s capable of that? I didn’t know, but I figured I’d give it a try.

I spent a solid hour binge-watching whatever the hell was on TV at that time while taking shots. At some point, I stopped even recognizing the show. I stopped recognizing anything. There was just the alcohol and then the buzz that quickly converted into being full-out drunk.

Not that I planned to stop there. I was still thinking about Julia. Trying to figure out how the hell I had let this shit happen.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I screamed as anger ripped through me.

I stood, stumbling around the living room. I kicked the coffee table across the room and smashed the lamp off of the side table. I grabbed the bottle I’d been finishing and threw it hand over fist into my mounted seventy-inch TV. The screen splintered and looked as fucked up as I felt. The glass had exploded on impact and scattered across the room.

I wheezed and clutched my ribs. Even the alcohol couldn’t stop the pain there, it seemed. Motherfucker.

My ass crashed back down on the couch, and I clutched my head. I needed more. More alcohol. More everything. Something to make me forget.

No, not something.

Someone.

My phone was in as shitty shape as my TV was, but it still miraculously worked after I plugged it back in. I’d need to replace it, but right now, it did the trick.

“Austin?” Maggie said warily.

“Mags,” I breathed.

“This is a surprise.”

“Come over.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Not drunk enough.”

She laughed a low throaty thing. “I thought you were dating someone.”

“Do you want to get fucked or not, Maggie?”

“Has that ever been a question?”

“Then, get your ass over here.”

I hung up on her before she could respond.

She’d show. She always did.

The way I’d treated her at the Parade of Homes was the outlier in our relationship. She’d been shocked by my behavior because I’d never treated her poorly. Even though we didn’t have an official thing, we’d always had fun.

And, God, I could use some fun. Forgetting. Just fucking forgetting.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock at the door roused me from my melancholy. I yanked open the door.

“Maggie,” I slurred.

She looked like sin itself. Her dark hair wild. A blood-red dress. High heels.

“Austin,” she gasped. “What happened to you?”

She reached out and tentatively ran her manicured nail down my cheek and across my split lip. I’d almost forgotten that my face was a road map of bruises.

“Julia’s ex’s fist found my face.”

“Christ,” she whispered. “I hope you got in a few hits yourself.”

I laughed, which turned into a cough, which hurt like a bitch. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

She shrugged, as if to say, Suit yourself.

I stepped forward and ran a hand down her side, over the silky material of her dress. She leaned into the touch and seemed to be searching my face for something.

“I wasn’t sure I’d show,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I thought you’d gone soft, Wright.”

“Why don’t you find out?” I suggested.

She laughed, as soft as a purr. “There’ll be time for that. But maybe you should let me inside first.”

I shoved the door open, and she strode in.

Her feet stilled after only a few feet. “What the hell happened to your house? Did Julia’s ex do this to your house, too?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” she asked, whirling around on me. “This is fucked up. Tell me what happened.”