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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Travis
Pressing the bottle of bourbon to my lips, I tip it back and let the liquor pool in my mouth before swallowing it down with a wince as I slam the bottle back on the bar. The bourbon leaves a burn in its wake, blazing down my throat before settling into a comforting warmth in my stomach but no matter how many times I repeat the process, I don’t feel any of the relief I’m desperately searching for. If it was going to drown out my pain, it should have by now since I’m halfway through the fucker. I arch a brow and lift up the bottle, swishing the liquid around on the inside before setting it back down with a sigh. The image of that loser getting down on one knee in front of Rowan plays through my mind, the same way it has since the moment I walked away from them and my chest burns at the thought of his ring on her finger. It’s hard to imagine that she actually said yes to him but I didn’t stick around to find out and I spent most of the day in my room, avoiding everyone.
I picture her in a white dress, walking down the aisle to that asshole and grab the bottle, taking another swig of bourbon before shaking my head. She wouldn’t say yes…Then again, how in the hell did he know she was here in Baton Rouge? My mind flashes back to the morning we went to go see Tawny and our breakfast afterward. She told me that it was better to find out about his cheating now and that she hadn’t been that upset by finding him with another girl but she also admitted to putting on a brave face at the time. Could she have started talking to him again? Is that why there has been this distance between us lately? Is she going back to him?
But if that were the truth, why wouldn’t she just tell me?
We’ve always agreed that things between us were casual and had an expiration date so if she wanted to get back with this douche bag, she would have just said something. Right? Fuck, why does that bother me just as much, though? Sighing, I grab the bottle and take another swig of bourbon before slamming it back onto the bar. An image of her with that little shit pops into my head and I grit my teeth, remembering the way her skin felt beneath my fingertips and the way she moaned my name. It’s been four days since the last time I was with her and each one feels like an eternity. I’m losing my fucking mind over here and the one thing that can make me feel better, the one person I need can’t even stand to be in the same room as me.
What did I do?
My eyes burn and my chest aches as the morning the protestors showed up plays through my mind. We woke up in bed together and her smile was so damn bright and happy, making me believe that everything was going to work out, that we all stood a chance. I remember pressing my lips to her neck and inhaling her scent - hazelnut and something else that I can’t quite put my finger on but it always makes me think of warmth and comfort - and I slipped inside her, kissing her and making love to her until we were both shaking. And then everything fell apart. Pain splinters through me and I grab the bottle, flinging it at the wall and watching it shatter into a hundred pieces but even that doesn’t relieve the ache in my chest.
Fuck.
I miss her.
“Are you okay?”
I spin around and meet her eyes as she stands at the entrance of the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the wall in her sleep shorts and tank top, watching me with a cautious gaze.
I wish she would look at me the way she used to.
Every part of me wants to close the distance between us, pull her into my arms, and tell her we’re done with the bullshit but instead, I scoff and turn back to the bar. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Clearly,” she whispers and I peek back at her as she walks across the room. She goes to step behind the bar and I jump up.
“Stop!” I yell, making her jump as she looks up at me with wide eyes. “You don’t have shoes on and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She glances down at the broken glass on the floor before nodding and climbing onto one of the bar stools as I walk behind the bar and grab a broom. When I peek over at her again, she’s staring down at the bar top and picking at it, refusing to meet my eyes but I can’t look away from her and my mind wills her to glance up. Just one look from her – that’s all I need right now to know that there’s a little bit of hope for us but she refuses to meet my gaze and my throat feels tight as I turn and start sweeping up the glass.
“Did you say yes?” I hiss, clenching the broomstick as my stomach rolls at the thought.
Jesus Christ.
What the hell is wrong with me and what am I going to do with myself if she did agree to marry that fucker?
She sucks in a breath and I look up, unable to stop myself. Our eyes meet and the pain in her eyes shocks me to my core. I stumble back a few steps, glass crunching under my boots, but I still can’t pull my gaze from hers. God, I’ve missed those eyes and even when she looks like she’s about to cry, she’s still the prettiest girl I’ve ever fucking seen. Her brows furrow as she studies me before slowly shaking her head and glancing down at the bar top again.
“Do you even fucking care, Travis?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
She shakes her head and her breathing stutters, a sure sign that she is going to cry and I scowl as my grip on the broomstick tightens and it creaks under the strain.. “Nothing.”
None of this makes any goddamn sense and I have no idea what I can do to get her to open up to me but I know we can’t keep going like this. We’re both clearly miserable and one of us needs to put an end to it. She releases a heavy breath and slips off of the bar stool before turning and walking away from me. My heart jumps into my throat and I drop the broom, jumping over the bar before I even have time to register the move and closing the distance between us. She gets halfway across the room before I catch her, pulling her into my arms.
“What do you mean, Princess? Why would you ask me if I care?”
Silence descends over us but I wait, dead set on just holding her in my arms until she tells me what’s wrong or it fixes itself. Either way works for me and I’ll never say no when it comes to having her here, like this. She presses her hands and her forehead to my chest and I close my eyes as I pull her closer, feeling like myself again for the first time in four days.
“Come on, Row. Please talk to me,” I plead and she shakes her head, slipping out of my grasp before I can stop her.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I watch her for a second as she takes off for her room before going after her. This, whatever it is, ends now and we’re not leaving a bedroom until she and I are back to normal. She gets all the way into her room before I’m able to grab her hand and spin her back to face me. Closing the door behind me, we stumble back into the wall and I cup her cheek in my hand, forcing her gaze to mine.
