Page 70 of Princess and Country

I raised the whiskey bottle to the sky, and with a mouthful of alcohol, I shouted, “Cheers to family and trust. All of you, go to hell—”

I brought the bottle back to my lips and downed half of it.

“Screw you all—”

My screams blended into sobs. My head swam into a booze bliss. A laugh, foreign and mimicking a growl, bubbled out. I zoomed in on the truck, keys still in my hand, my eyes out of focus. A brief spark of sanity made it through the fogginess of my brain. I was too intoxicated to drive. Before I numbed more brain cells, I spun on my heels and threw my keys as far as I could. They landed somewhere near the rosebush Dahlia planted when I first bought the house. Because she said it looked homier this way.

Big joke.

I looked around. Nothing around me felt like home anymore. Another wicked laugh rolled from my mouth. My eyes shot up, and I stared at the sky, gray and menacing. For a moment, I wished the rain would pour on me and drown my sorrows.

Hoping for a storm, and with a hand stuffed in my pocket and the other holding the bottle, I stumbled away, distancing myself from my life or everything I thought was mine. For two hours, maybe four—I didn’t care—I waddled around, thoughts swirling chaotically in my head. I was mad at the world. At Dahlia. At Carter. And at myself. For a long while, I’d been awful to Dahlia. And I couldn’t blame her for seeking some comfort away from me. But why did it have to be with my brother? My own blood? Irony. Karma was a nasty bitch. I was the one who begged Carter to look after her. He didn’t need to look out for her that way. Nice job, Jeff. Damn it. I kicked the ground, a cloud of pebbles and dust soaring before me.

With one last gulp, I sucked the last drop of my whiskey and kept going, nursing the empty bottle like a newborn. I passed a local bar and hesitated to go in. The urge to enter the shady place and go on a killing spree passed through my mind. But I laughed it out. Yeah, like I was that guy. Killing somebody wouldn’t resolve anything. I’d seen death. And it broke me. Never again.

I moved forward. I was so intoxicated I could barely lift my feet from the ground. I looked around. Tall trees, dirty country roads. Where was I? I shrugged. Who cared? I wasn’t missed anywhere. By anybody.

Miles later, I spotted a familiar fence. The entrance of Milwaukee Park. A shitload of memories flashed before my eyes, settling on the day I loitered there, gathering some courage to ask Dahlia to prom. It seemed like a lifetime away. So much had happened since that day. On a bench, my legs wide and my arms spread at my sides, I watched two guys about my age throwing a football on the green grassy patch. Hours passed. The gray sky darkened into the night. The rain never came. Some anger had left me. I breathed in. And out.

On weak legs, I resumed my walk. I passed my parents’ house but didn’t stop. Behind a bush, I took a leak, my bladder about to explode. As I zipped myself up, I hiccupped, and my stomach churned from the aftertaste of alcohol on my tongue.

When I made it back home, somehow calmer, I found Dahlia curled up in a ball on the couch, a pink fluffy blanket thrown over her body and her copper hair spread all over the pillow, looking like a halo around her head. With my back resting on the doorframe and my arms crossed over my chest, I stared at her. Her tears had carved trenches on her porcelain skin. She looked so young and vulnerable.

Why did I run away instead of talking it through with her earlier?

I put her through hell for over a year, and she stuck by me. No matter what.

I blinked the tears burning the back of my eyes away.

How could I ever hold anything against her?

Dahlia Ellis owned my heart. No matter what she did, I’d always come back to her. That was how bad I had it for her.

My legs grew steadier. I blew out a breath and neared her, lifting her in my arms, the steady sound of her breathing diffusing the remnants of my anger. With Dahlia nestled against my chest, I brought her limp body to our bed, and once I’d stripped down to only my black boxer briefs, I curled my body behind her, molding myself to every inch of her. “I love you, Princess.” My lips brushed the back of her shoulder before sleep claimed me.

The early sunrays blinded me through the bedroom window. Squinting, I scanned the room and saw Dahlia sound asleep in my arms, her hair bright in the morning light. My head pounded. My stomach grumbled. My mouth tasted funny. Bracing myself for one hell of a hangover, I half-closed my eyes, cursing at myself for not closing the blinds last night when we went to bed.

My hand circled her waist and landed on her belly as I pulled her body closer. Our baby was growing in there. Cold sweat pearled on my nape. Was it even my baby? My throat closed. My lungs idled. Fuck.

As if she read my mind, Dahlia’s low voice, rough from all the crying, broke the silence. “For all I know, it’s yours.” She placed her hand over mine, both of us cradling her tummy. “And it’ll always be. I already told him that. No matter what, this baby is ours.”

My body froze. My stomach turned to steel.

“But it’s unfair. What if it’s his? Will you ever be able to live without knowing?”

Dahlia shifted in my arms, and our gazes collided.

“I know it in my heart. Trust me. I’m not even worried.” She squeezed my hand, still blanketed in hers, and offered me a peaceful and hopeful smile. “We made this little human in there. You and me. No one else.”

I nodded, my emotions boiling in the depths of me, and for a moment, I feared I’d lash out at her again. I took a cleansing breath.

“Are we okay?” my girl asked in a low voice. “Or are we over?”

I cleared my throat, trying to push away the new wave of pain and anger simmering inside me.

“We’ll be okay. Gimme some time to get over this. I’ve always feared this would happen someday. I’m hurt. So bad. And I might be for a while. But I guess it’s better if you both got it out of your system. The what-if won’t linger over us anymore.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

Bile rose at the back of my throat.