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“How about I let you know later.”
He moved to the door. “Sure thing. I’ll be downstairs, if you need anything. My cell is on the sheet there.”
New bed, new carpet, cleaned clothes, courteous super—I’d caught a break for once. All I needed was for the shower to work.
Then, my eyes landed on my suitcase and what it meant. The fairy tale was over. Worse, my entire life had been a lie, thanks to one Evan fucking McAllister. It had all started to unravel with after dance with the devil in his tux. If only I’d said no, I’d still have my pride.
Ignorance would have been bliss, at least by comparison.
* * *
Evan
“Alexa?” The yell woke me, and then the headache hit.
“Oh, Evan, Evan, Evan.” The voice was familiar, but my brain was foggy.
I raised a hand over my ear. “Stop fucking yelling,” I mumbled.
“Time to get up,” the voice said. Yup, the voice was Noah’s.
“Leave me alone,” I pleaded just before the blinding light assaulted me. “What the fuck?” I shielded my eyes.
Noah laughed and grinned maniacally, his finger on the button of my remote-control blinds. “You should be up and torturing yourself in the gym already.”
I closed my eyes again “Fuck you.” He smelled like barf.
“Alexa,” he yelled again. “We need a little help in here.” He jostled my shoulder. “What are you doing sleeping on the couch anyway? Did you tell her she needed to diet or some shit?”
I sat up and reached for the bottle of whiskey, but it wasn’t where it should have been.
“No more of this today.” He held up the bottle I wanted—no, needed.
“Give me that.” I reached out.
“No way,” he said, backing away. “I’m going to pour it down the drain.”
I rested my head in my hands. “You can’t. That’s expensive shit.”
“In your condition, it’s poison shit. I’ll take it home and drink it myself.”
“You can fucking leave now.” I pointed to the door.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Aspirin,” I said for two reasons. My head was killing me, and thinking about how I’d fucked up hurt even more.
My brother shrugged. “Sure. Then you’re telling me why you’re trying to kill yourself.” He went to the kitchen.
That’s when I looked at my shoes and caught the smell. I’d puked on myself.
“Yeah,” he said, handing me a mixing bowl. “I almost stepped in it.” He pointed to a large spot on the carpet. “Next time use the bowl.”
I shook my head, but regretted it when the movement made my skull want to split open.
“Here.” He handed me tablets and a glass of red shit with some floating yellow shit.
I downed the aspirin with a swallow from the glass. It burned like hell. “What the fuck is this?”
