Restraint - Adriana Locke Page 0,53
from mine, but I hold it tight.
“I sat there that night with a piece of glass in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other and a letter from the university that said if I didn’t get my shit together, I was out. I probably cried enough in that one sitting to fill the bottle up with tears.”
She lowers her eyes from mine.
“And I thought about just ending it all.” She hiccups through her tears. “I figured I could drink enough and then just do it and never wake up or feel anything again. I was so tired of feeling like I was drowning and that no one fucking cared.”
I pull her to me. She resists at first, but then melts in my arms.
My hands clasp at the small of her back as I rest my chin on top of her head. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel the sting of her words in my chest.
Her body goes limp in my arms as she succumbs to the emotions she’s been holding in for God knows how long. Her cries are quiet—her fists balling my shirt up and holding it tight.
I try to imagine her pain. I attempt to piece together a life without my parents, without my work, without my brothers who are my best friends.
The thought alone is enough to make me want to lose my mind.
We stand in the middle of my office for a long time, swaying back and forth. I hold her tight until her cries soften and then stop. My body doesn’t separate from hers until her fists let go of my shirt and her body stops shaking. Only then do I look down.
She peers up at me with a timid look on her face.
“I’m sorry I spewed all of that out like that,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry you held it in for so long.”
She grins. “Thanks for listening.”
“Thanks for trusting me.”
She steps back.
I let her go because I have to, but I hate that I do. I miss her in my arms almost immediately.
We watch each other with a heavy dose of hesitation.
I want to tell her how strong she is and that I’m honored she shared all of that with me. I also want to tell her that I want to take her to bed and kiss her and show her how amazing she is until the sun comes up.
But none of that feels right.
I look over my shoulder at the work I still need to do. It only takes a second to realize it can wait—or it will wait, even if it can’t.
I’ll figure it out tomorrow.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand and tugging her behind me.
“Where are we going?”
“You said you like pizza, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I have some pizza in the freezer with our name on it.”
She laughs. “This one time in college, we ordered this pizza …”
As we round the corner into the hallway, I mentally check out. I don’t hear her words, just her voice and the way it’s less bogged down. It’s airier and freer … and music to my ears.
Nineteen
Blaire
“I feel like food is your love language,” I say, stretching my toes out in front of me.
Holt sits on a wicker chair across the little round table between us and smiles over the rim of his glass.
“There have been worse things said about me,” he says.
I close my eyes and listen to the crickets chirp all around us.
The screened-in porch off the kitchen feels like a cocoon. A fire burns in the large stone fireplace along the far wall. From our perch, you can see the pool and spa to the left and to the right, a vast field of green that I gazed at while eating my breakfast this morning.
Man, how that feels like more than almost a day ago.
I’m not sure if it was the bourbon or if opening up to Holt relaxed me so much, but something did. I could close my eyes and drift to a peaceful sleep. Instead, I let my eyelids fall, and I remember the safety of his arms as I cried.
It’s been a long time since I felt that—the support. And just that someone gives a damn.
“If you don’t want any more of this, I’m going to take it inside,” Holt says with a yawn.
I open my eyes. “I had two pieces. It’s two in the morning. If I eat any more, I’m going to be sick.”
He chuckles as he gets to his feet. “Then I’ll take