Chapter 5
Lachlan
Iwas officially fake-dating the same woman who’d tried to kill me. And now she held all my bloody secrets in her palm. Wonderful. Just another charming bullet point on the résumé of disasters that was my life. You’d think that kind of chaos would make me want to lie down in traffic—but no. Apparently, I was into it. Or maybe I was just intoher.Hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
I trudged back to the kitchen, Logan’s departure still rattling around in my head. Her figure lingered behind my eyes, the sway of her hips taunting me like she’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d walked away from me. I told myself to stop looking, to stopthinking—but my brain had apparently checked out for the day and left my hormones in charge.
I scratched at the stubble on my chin, trying to scrub away the thought of her. Beautiful, dangerous, completely impractical—like a fire you knew would burn you but leaned closer to anyway.She was temporary. That was the deal. A short-term solution to a long-term problem. I dealt with similar situations all the time.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself. I hadn’t pushed her about her husband. I’d wait for her to open up to me about that on her own terms.
My hand found the bottle, fingertips grazing cold glass. I hoisted it up and unscrewed the cap before tipping the neck to my lips. It scorched a trail down my throat. I welcomed the burn, the heat that spread through my chest, igniting something akin to relief, which was all I wanted right now. A fucking break. Another swig and then another, until the room wobbled slightly.
“Fuck,” I exhaled into the empty space. Alcohol clouded my senses, dulled the edges of reality, and I liked it. The shelves blurred and the burdens I carried felt less oppressive.
Time slipped by, and when the sun started to go down, the bottle was empty. My head spun like a really bad carousel ride, the whole room too. I needed sleep. I staggered toward the couch from the kitchen, limbs heavy, when a knock came from the front door. After shuffling toward the window, I peered through the curtains to see two officers standing on my porch.You have got to be fucking kidding me.
A laugh bubbled up. I pressed a palm to my mouth, trying to smother it. Laughing while a serious situation was unfolding was not the appropriate thing to do, but it was happening whether I wanted it to or not. The liquor had rendered me fucking useless because I didn’t give a fuck about anything right now. As this shit storm of a day kept unfolding, it was getting more comical by the minute. How could so much shit happen in such a short period of time?
I made my way to the door and opened it, but leaned my weight on the frame because if I didn’t, I’d be eating the wooden planks of my porch.
"Evening, gentlemen," I managed, the picture of sobriety, maybe, if you squinted hard enough from the other side of a room, but these men were three feet from me and I was sure I reeked of liquor.
Their brows arched. "Mr. MacGregor?" one asked. “Damn, what happened to your face?”
"Yeah, that's me," I confirmed. "I don’t think that’s a nice way to greet someone, but I had a tumble at work if you must know. What can I help you with?" I asked, changing the subject quickly while trying my damndest not to throw up on their shiny black shoes.
"Mr. MacGregor, we're here to talk to you about Mrs. Hanes."
Now, that name didn’t click. Mrs. Hanes? Who the hell was Mrs. Hanes? A dull throb pulsed behind my eyes, my mind sifting through the fog for a face, a memory, anything. I found nothing but the haze of alcohol.
"Who’s Mrs. Hanes?" My words slurred a little. I clung tighter to the door, knuckles white, trying to keep myself upright.
The officers exchanged a glance of confusion. One of them, the taller one with a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once, cleared his throat.
"Uhh . . . your girlfriend . . . supposedly?" His tone had that edge, the one that said he thought I was full of shit. And I was, but I had to fucking sell this if it was going to work.
"Right, right," I blurted, fighting to keep my story straight. "Yes, yes, you mean Logan." Confidence. That was what I needed.Sell it, MacGregor."Her last name isn't Hanes, though. It's MacGregor."
I practically puffed out my chest, trying to make the lie legit along with it. But then reality bit me in the ass as I replayed my words. My face must've been a giveaway because I could feel heat creeping up my neck. That wasn’t the right name either.
"Wait." A frown tugged at my lips. "No, wait, MacGregor is me. I'm MacGregor." The room seemed to spin around me, my stomach threatening to betray me.
"Of course you are, sir," the shorter cop said, poorly hiding his amusement behind a professional demeanor.
The other officer's eyebrow arched. He looked at me, confused. "We weren't aware you guys were getting married. Or are you engaged?"
I blinked hard, my vision blurry and doubled. It was like now that I was standing upright in the face of danger, the alcohol was going straight to my brain and I was a deer in headlights. Married? No. That was wrong. My tongue felt thick, words a jumbled mess waiting to tumble out.
"I'm MacGregor," I slurred, an attempt to try and fix what I had previously said, but I was only making things worse for myself. "Logan is Fork."
The pen stopped. His partner's lips twitched. A muscle in my jaw clenched as I realized the absurdity that had just left my mouth.Logan is Fork. The fuck.A bitter laugh gurgled up my throat, but I swallowed it down with the rising bile. I vowed to never get this drunk ever again.
"What—" The officer tilted his head.
"I meant, Roark." I coughed. "Her last name is Roark, but she's with me, so it will be MacGregor."
The ground felt like it was tilting beneath me, and at this point I wanted it to open and swallow me whole. I could see the doubt in their eyes. I was digging this hole deeper and deeper.
