“There’s a lot of whiskey in my apartment. It’s been like having a roommate. When I look at the bottles, it makes me think someone else brought them inside. It makes me think I’m not alone, but I am, and it makes me want to cry. When I drink the whiskey, there are no more tears.”
“It’s not whiskey that’s going to fix you, August.”
“I don’t know what’s going to help anymore. I didn’t even love Keegan like that. I don’t understand why my heart hurts so much.”
“Even if you weren’t in love with him, that doesn’t mean that after spending all those years with him, you didn’t love him at all. There’s a hole left where he was.”
“I just can’t stand being alone, I guess.”
“I understand that,” I tell her. Boy, oh boy, do I understand.
We finish our ice creams and stand to throw our paper goods away. August is out the glass door first, glancing up and down the street. “Chance?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Mind if I sleep on your couch tonight?”
Her question shocks the hell out of me, but I’d never tell her no. “Of course you can.”
“Thanks,” she says.
I take her back to my house, wishing I had cleaned up a bit more beforehand, but I certainly didn’t see the night going like this.
“Here we are,” I tell her as I open the front door.
“Your house is charming,” she says. “I love it.” Charming is an excellent way to say it’s old and needs a million renovations.
She walks through the kitchen, covered in yellowed linoleum, and heads right through the dining room, past the table that has remained vacant of any guests in God knows how long.
When she locates the living room, she takes a seat on my worn gray couch, kicks her flat shoes to the ground, and pulls her feet beneath her bottom. “Thanks for letting me stay.”
“You know what, let me go put some fresh sheets on my bed for you, and you can have my bed for the night. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, I’m not putting you out like that. I appreciate you letting me stay as it is.”
“I insist,” I tell her.
She smiles, a look of wonder and surprise passes through her eyes. “Honestly, I didn’t know gentleman still existed.”
“We’re a rare breed, I guess,” I chuckle.
“You are.”
I tend to the sheets, fixing up my room for her, so she’s comfortable, but when I come back out into the living room, she’s curled into a ball, asleep.
I sigh, feeling sorry for this beautiful, innocent woman standing in front of me. I lift her into my arms and carry her into the bedroom, settling her down under the sheets.
I’d do about anything to hold her all night. I wouldn’t let go.
“Chance?” she whispers.
“I thought you were asleep?” I respond in the same calm tone.
“Will you stay with me?” I know she isn’t asking for more. I know what she’s feeling. I’ve felt it many times before—the need for a hug, the need for someone to hold my hand.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” It’s been hours since her last drink.
“I’m sober, Chance. I just don’t want to be alone.”
