I hate what he did. But he’s my dad, and he’s still my hero. He always will be. He was only being loyal to his president, but God, what a fucking mess.
I can’t stand it anymore, and as I rush out of the kitchen I collide into Ava. It’s obvious by the look on her face she’s overheard at least some of the conversation, but I’m in no mood to discuss it right now.
“Go find your fake ID,” I tell her. “Tonight we’re getting pissed out of our heads.”
…
Gage
Whiskey bottle in hand, I step back into the center of the kitchen and admire my handiwork. Every fuck-ugly cabinet is ripped off the wall, the sink is in pieces, and the counter’s shredded. I take another swig of liquor, and the buzz in my mind blocks out the last memory of Amelia Davis Crane.
This is good shit. I stagger across the floor and reach the hall. I’ve always hated the old-fashioned tiles that surround the gas heater in the living room. About time they came out. It’s only two a.m., so I take another slug of whiskey before I grab my sledgehammer and advance. The satisfying smash and the flying shards of tile fill my head and the room, and it’s not long before there’s a ragged hole in the wall. I frown, pick up the bottle from the floor, and chug down some more whiskey as I contemplate my home improvements. Not bad for a first attempt.
“Hey, Gage.” Zach’s voice penetrates the comforting drone between my ears, and I swing around, almost losing my balance in the process. He’s standing at the door, a blank expression on his face, and Hawk and Ty are behind him.
“If you’re not here to help, you can fuck off.” I wave the nearly empty bottle at them.
“Sure, bro.” Zach advances. “Give me the sledgehammer.”
I grip it tighter. “I’m working.”
“We can finish up in the morning, bro.” Hawk reaches out, non-threatening, and after a couple of seconds, when I can’t think of any reason not to comply, I hand him the sledgehammer.
With that out of the way, the three of them stand in front of me, arms folded, as though they’re waiting for something. A sluggish thought crawls through my brain.
“What’re you doing here?”
Ty gives a twisted grin. “Tod was afraid to come upstairs. He called Zach.”
Without the benefit of the sledgehammer to lean on, I’m feeling weirdly unsteady. “Tod’s a fucking pussy.”
There’s no disagreement, and I stagger toward the couch. The room’s reeling around me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so smashed in my life.
…
I roll over, and vertigo hits me a split-second before I smash my face onto the floor. The smell of coffee hits me and my stomach rebels, but it’s too much effort to stand. I lie there on the floor next to the couch, and my head’s splitting open like someone drove an ax through it.
“You still alive?” Zach prods my ribs with his boot and I can’t even find the energy to retaliate. “You’re going to have one motherfucking hangover today.” He sounds way too cheerful, and it reminds me of Thanksgiving, when I was the one kicking him, after he’d gotten wasted over breaking up with Grace. I finally manage to heave myself up enough to sit on my ass and give him the finger.
“Yeah, he’ll live.” Ty’s voice is dry as he leans against the wall by the door. “Why couldn’t you just get some pussy last night instead of wrecking your place?”
My head hurts way too much to think, but not enough to stop the image of Amelia’s face flooding my mind. I don’t even have the strength to fight it. Instead I let it wash over me. The sick stench of betrayal.
“I’m meeting Grace in an hour.” Zach crouches down and frowns into my face. “You’re not gonna do anything stupid, are you? Keep away from Abbott. He’s the Wolves’ problem.”
I grunt in response, which appears to satisfy him. Ty follows Zach out, and Hawk sprawls in the chair opposite me, but doesn’t say a word. Finally, I can’t hold out any longer and stagger to the bathroom and heave my guts up. I close my eyes and press my sweaty forehead against the wall. I’ve gotten wasted more times than I can remember but never over a chick, and never this bad.
On my way back to the living room, I catch sight of the kitchen. JesusChrist. What the fuck was I thinking? It’s like a grenade went off in there. Guess I don’t have any choice but get a new kitchen now—once I’ve cleared all the shit out, and I can’t see that happening any time soon.
Hawk hasn’t moved, and I collapse onto the couch and glower at him. This goes on forever, since Hawk’s the only guy I know who can last an entire day without saying a word. I shove my fingers through my hair and break eye-contact.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Nah.”
It seems the handful of pills I swallowed in the bathroom are useless at battling my hangover, since I can still barely see, never mind anything else.
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” Even if I did have plans to pay Abbott a visit, I’m sure as hell in no fit state to confront him today.
