“The hell I don’t,” I snapped. My chest was heaving now, years of swallowed down shit bubbling up. “I grew up in this. I lived every goddamn second of it. And I’m not doing it again.”
She looked small in the shadows, eyes glassy, lips trembling. “I’m trying.”
“You’re not trying hard enough,” I bit out. Then I forced a breath, trying to keep my voice steady, because yelling at her wasn’t going to fix it. “Listen to me. You either sober up, or you’re out of our lives. That’s it. I won’t speak for Trav, but as far as I’m concerned, you don’t come near me, Orla, or any kids we have one day unless you’re clean.”
Her face went pale. “Kids?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, throat tight. “One day. And I’m not letting them grow up with a drunk for a grandmother. I had one shot at a mother and look how that turned out. I’m not repeating history.”
For a second, she looked like I’d punched her in the gut. Tears welled, and she shook her head. “There’s no need to be so cruel, Tyler.”
“No,” I said firmly, every word hard as stone. “I’m done being the kid who had to take what he was given. I have a wife now. A family to protect. If you want to be part of that, you’ve got to earn it. Sober.”
Her tears spilled over. She turned away, wiping at her face with shaky hands. For the first time in years, she didn’t have a comeback.
“Get your bag. I’m taking you home.”
“Tyler, please…”
“I wasn’t asking.”
I stormed back into the house, waiting for her to follow. The table fell silent, every head turning as I grabbed my keys. “I’m taking Mom home.”
Eddie’s voice broke through, calm but edged with concern. “Ty, come on. It’s Christmas Day.”
I rounded on him, heat surging up my chest. “I don’t give a shit, Eddie. This is my home. I’m not doing it anymore.”
The words hung in the air like smoke, choking the room.
Nobody dared say a word, they could see the temper I was in. I hadn’t felt this red-hot in months. She couldn’t even hold it together for one day. To meet my wife properly. To show she was worth believing in. Why was I even surprised? My whole life she’d done nothing but let me down. She would never change.
I could hear her shuffling behind me, sheepish and ashamed, and it made me sick. Because of her, because of myself. I hated being this man. But I had to be. I had a wife now. One day, kids. I had to keep that sacred, had to give them a better life than the one I got, and I wasn’t letting her wreck that for me. Not again.
We drove the thirty minutes to her house in complete silence. She clutched her bag the whole way like it was oxygen. Maybe it was. Maybe that flask inside meant more to her than any of us ever did. If so, I couldn’t compete with that. I was done trying.
I pulled up at the curb, hands locked on the wheel, staring straight ahead. My chest was tight, like I was sixteen again, waiting for her to prove me wrong, already knowing she wouldn’t.
She reached for the door handle.
“The wedding’s in July,” I said, my voice rough. “You’re invited. But if you’re not sober don’t bother showing.”
Her hand froze. No excuses this time. No begging. Just a nod, her eyes stayed fixed on the ground, before she slipped out and hunched toward the porch light. Shoulders caved in, like the fight had finally drained out of her.
And I sat there gripping the wheel, hating the part of me that still wanted her to turn around.
I don’t even remember the drive back. My head was a storm. Everything inside me pulsing too loud, too hot. By the time I rolled into the drive, I just sat there, breathing like I’d gone five sets, my hands welded to the wheel. Ten minutes went by, maybe more, before I trusted myself to move.
None of the people inside deserved the version of me sitting out here in the car. They were the ones who stuck. The ones who showed up. The ones who actually gave a shit. So I sat there, staring at the house. Ourhomethat I’d somehow managed to carve out of the wreckage I was handed from an early age. Slowly the thunder in my chest retreated.
When I finally stepped inside, the house smelled like coffee and sugar. Completely warm and safe. Orla came straight to me, wrapping herself around my chest like she knew I’d fall apart without her. I buried my face in her hair, breathed her in becauseshefelt like home. A lump rose in my throat becausethis—thiswas all I’d ever needed all along.
“You okay?” she asked softly, palms cradling my face.
I nodded, my chest easing. “Yeah. Now I am.” And I kissed her, because if I didn’t, I might have broken all over again.
The kitchen was cleared, dishes gone. Eve was busy with the coffee pot, moving around like she was holding the room together. Trav strode over, his eyes searching mine.
“Was she…”
