I exhale slowly as Uncle Mal squeezes my shoulder.
“You’re right.”
“I am.” He chuckles softly. “I know sisters.”
I turn to him and the deeply etched lines of grief pulling at his eyes make it hard to swallow. When I lost my mother, he lost his sister. The only sibling he had.
“You can’t deny your past, Sull. You can only do your best from this moment on. That’s all any of us can do.”
“What if my best isn’t good enough?”
“It will be. You’ll figure it out. And if you need help, you’ve got it right here.” He tips his head back and drains his glass. “We’ve been through hell as a family. But we stick together.”
He gives me a weighted look like he wants to say something else. But instead, he pulls me into a one-armed hug, slapping me on the back.
“You’ll be fine, boy. Just fine.”
He gives me a parting nod and deposits his empty glass on the table as he leaves.
I collapse into a seat and take my time finishing my glass of whiskey. I could drink the whole damn bottle and pass out on the bed. But with each passing second the walls of the room seem to close in on me, making it hard to breathe.
Pulling out my phone, I scroll to a number and lift it to my ear.
My empty glass falls from my hand and lands softly on the carpet. I pinch my nose and drag in a shuddery breath as I listen.
I end the call without saying anything and haul myself to my feet. Grabbing the trash can, I rip the nightstand drawer out and turn it upside down, shaking the contents into the trash. Then I walk into the bathroom and throw in my toothbrush and floss. I storm around, stripping the place of every last shred of me.
I drop the trash can on the floor and catch sight of myself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me.
“Sort yourself the fuck out,” I mutter.
I walk out of the room and let the door slam shut behind me.
The young woman on reception looks up with a bright smile as I exit the elevator and walk over.
“Mr. Beaufort. It’s good to see you again. Is everything okay with your suite?”
I press the keycard down on the counter, sliding it over to her.
“Cancel my contract, please.”
Her eyes pop wide. “You’ve been a valued guest for almost three years. We’ll be very sad to see you go.”
“Nothing lasts forever,” I grunt, the whiskey making my head too foggy for small talk.
She takes the keycard and taps into her computer. “You’re paid up until the end of next month, so it will remain yours until then, should you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” I clip, already turning away. “But thank you.”
41
TATE
ONE MONTH LATER
I dropmy toothbrush back into the glass beside the sink.
Another city. Another show.
