“I think she’ll be fine once she gets all this alcohol out of her system. How’s Anna?” Colt asks while he squats next to me.
“Out cold. They’ll have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.” Johnny chuckles, shutting the ensuite door.
“Dee, baby, are you with me?” Colt asks as I slump over the toilet bowl, feeling slightly sorry for myself. He’s never around, but the one time he is, I’m a drunken mess, puking my guts up and too plastered to string a coherent sentence together.
“Mmm…” I groan as he takes some toilet paper and wipes my mouth.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I know this is my fault.” He kisses my head and pulls me into him while we sit on the floor.
“Why don’t you love me anymore? What did I do?” I blurt out before I can stop my verbal diarrhea.
He shuts his eyes and slowly opens them with a pained expression. “Is that what you think?” His voice is barely a whisper.
“No, it’swhat I know,” I reply with some emphasis, trying to wriggle from his grip.
Colt holds onto me tightly, and those persistent tears creep up on me again.
“Dee, you know that’snottrue.”
I struggle against him on the ensuite floor, but I am too weak. He ends up holding me and rocking us back and forth. I don’t know when it started, but my tears are flowing freely, and I don’t know how I feel. I know I’m still nauseous, and it’s like a part of me is dying right here in his arms.
“No, Colt, I don’t know.” My voice shakes as the tears stream down my face. “You’re never here. You barely touch me anymore. I can’t even remember the last time you kissed me. And you still can’t tell me you love me.” I swallow hard, the weight of my own words crushing me. “Maybe that’s because you don’t. Maybe you never have. Maybe you never will.”
He exhales slowly, his fingers threading gently through my hair. “Dee… I won’t say it now. Not like this. You’re drunk, and that’s on me.” His voice is quiet but firm, full of something unreadable. “I never want you to feel the way you do right now. I’m sorry, baby.” His lips press against my head, and I break, sobbing softly into his chest.
Time blurs. My body feels heavy, exhaustion dragging me under. When my tears finally dry, Colt shifts, loosening his hold on me. He stands, then bends down, slipping his arms beneath me.
I don’t fight it. I just cling to his neck as he lifts me, my head lolling back. I know he’s walking, carrying me somewhere, but the world tilts, and I drift in and out, lost somewhere between sleep, sorrow, and not caring anymore.
When I wake, I find I’m back in our private suite, and Colt isn’t next to me,as usual.
I lift my head and immediately regret it, gasping as a sharp, pounding pain sends stars bursting behind my eyes. Groaning, I roll onto my side, my body sluggish and heavy.
Colt is sitting in a chair, watching me intently. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, laced with something that looks an awful lot like anguish.
I exhale slowly, trying to piece together the night before. The memories are hazy—drinking with Anna until we passed out, laughter that turned messy, and then…
… the bathroom.
The vague sensation of cold tile against my skin, the burn of alcohol coming back up.
Yeah. That checks out.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
Colt exhales. “How are you feeling?” His tone is distant.
I push myself up, but the moment I do, my head spins. Gripping the bed for balance, I take a steadying breath before swinging my legs over the side.
Colt sits there, unmoving, his expression unreadable—butserious. Too serious.
A horrible feeling knots in my gut. Whatever he’s about to say, I already know I won’t like it. There’s anger in his eyes, barely restrained.
“Um… I’m okay. A little foggy, but I think I’ll live,” I murmur, my voice hoarse.
Colt stands abruptly. “I have to take care of a few things before we board the jet for France, but… I’ll see you there?”
It’s a question.
