The first gulp of whiskey burns like a motherfucker.
I splutter like I’ve never had alcohol before, already tearing up, and stare blankly at the silver shimmer of the ripples across the water, the bottle dangling from my fingertips.
The showdown with Adam…was not what I expected. He should’ve looked guilty. Ashamed.
But he didn’t.
Blanca insisted that the person who saw him at the bar with a blonde intern from his office was reliable. And I had no reasonnot to trust her. My angerwasjustified. I shake my head and take another swig to drown the thought.
Otherwise, it would mean I got it wrong, and that’s impossible. Jackie Rawlings doesn’t make mistakes.
I had two choices back then.
Stay, and believe him when he would’ve denied everything. Because I’m sure that’s what would’ve happened. Risk ruining my reputation if it got out.
Or break my own heart, and protect myself and everything I was working so hard for.
I didn’t even have my own father’s trust. How could I have taken on the world and made them take me seriously?
So I left.
Did the work in London. Pretended it was enough. Pretended I hadn’t left my heart in New York.
Another scorching sip numbs my tongue.
I breathe in the smell of wildflowers growing along the shore, but serenity eludes me.
“Having a little pity party?” Adam’s icy voice slices through the darkness.
My body jolts, and I nearly drop the bottle. He’s standing in the side doorway, arms crossed and rigid. Even in the shadows, the deep scowl directed at me is unmistakable.
He’s got some nerve popping out of nowhere. He’s been gone for days. In the meantime, after the fight, I walked around putting on an act for everybody, while I was tail spinning all alone.
“You came back to yell at me some more?” I can’t help the snarl. “Tell me I’m the absolute worst?”
Adam slides his tongue over his teeth. “Are you drunk?”
“Not yet.” I raise the bottle in a mock toast. “Give me another half hour.”
“I promise you, alcohol won’t fix your problems.”
I blow out a breath, unamused. “Thanks. Are you a therapist now?” I stare at the pink laces of my sneakers, too tired to fight. “You’re the last person who should lecture me about drinking responsibly.” It’s a low blow, but I’m not feeling charitable right now.
For a long moment, I think he’s gone. There’s no other sound but the rhythmic lapping of the water against the boat and the soft rustling of leaves from the surrounding forest.
“I was self-medicating,” he says quietly.
“That’s bullshit,” I sneer. “You don’t get to hide behind that excuse.”
Propped against the door frame, he casually delivers his next blow. “Anything to snuff you out. But you’re buried so deep, I can’t cut you off without hurting myself more.”
The tip of his boot scuffs against the floor, shoulders rising with each breath. “I have to live with this ache. I can’t escape it. You’re my prison, Jackie…”
My hackles are raised in an instant. “Don’t you dare blame me for this.”
“No,” he sneers. “I blame myself for thinking you were anything more than a self-absorbed daddy’s little princess.”
His words feel like blades running down my skin.
