Fuck.
My gaze was drawn to the mini bar.
No. Not going there.
I’d worked too fucking hard to quit drugs and alcohol to give in to temptation now.
One wouldn’t hurt, though. I could handle one drink.
Pushing to my feet, I crossed the room and opened the fridge. Miniature bottles of every possible alcoholic option werelined up like perfect tempting soldiers. The voice I’d spent years quietening roared to life.
Go on.
Do it.
You’ll sleep better.
You need something to take the edge off.
I snared a Macallan. Gotta hand it to the Kingcaid brand, even their mini bars had the best. I twisted the cap off and brought the tiny bottle to my lips. The familiar smell wound its way up my nostrils, and my taste buds cried out for one little drop.
“Fuck!”
I threw the bottle at the wall. It shattered, droplets of whiskey dripping down the plush wallpaper. Gathering every bottle from the fridge, I unscrewed each one and poured them down the sink.
Jesus Christ. So close. Too fucking close. I should call my sponsor, but it wasn’t him I wanted to talk to. It wasn’t him Ineededto talk to. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and called Aspen. It rang and rang, and I was about to hang up when she answered.
“Are you okay?”
My chest hurt. I’d readied myself for a volley of rage, and I could cope with that. But this soft, caring tone was my undoing.
“Can we talk?”
“On the phone or in person?”
“In person… if that’s not too much trouble.”
“Are you at the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“I can come to you if it’s easier.”
“No. Stay where you are. I’ll be there soon.”
She hung up, and I stared at the ‘Call Ended’ message on my phone screen for a few minutes. I had no idea what I planned to say when she arrived. I only knew that I yearned to see her, to apologize in person.
Sitting would give me too much time to ponder, so I paced the length of my suite and tried to organize my thoughts into some semblance of order. Thirty-five minutes later, a firm rap of knuckles on my door had me taking a deep breath.
I opened the door, and my stomach hollowed out. She was so fucking beautiful, so intelligent and kind and funny. And I… I was a screw up who, if I had a shred of morals left, would leave her alone.
“Come in.”
Nodding, she sidled past, careful, I noticed, not to touch me. Her gaze immediately went to the empty alcohol bottles lined up to the right of the sink, then shifted to the broken glass on the floor.
“It’s not what you think.”
