Restraint - Adriana Locke Page 0,87
my spirits fall. Even though I’ve thought about that a hundred times since then, it still stings.
Sienna smiles sadly. “I know that wasn’t a good feeling.”
I shake my head.
She shifts in her seat as she sips her wine. Her eyes stay trained on me over the rim of her glass. Finally, she sets the glass back down.
“I’ll never forget the night when Walker’s truth hit me in the face. I was surrounded by his family—your family. Do you remember that?”
I nod.
“It was terrible. Humiliating. And I had to sit there and absorb this … bullshit and try to act like my world wasn’t crashing down.”
“I remember Machlan calling me that night,” I tell her. “I was so pissed at Walker.”
“That makes two of us.” She smiles. “But the reason I bring this up now is because it took Walker a hot minute to realize how he felt about me. And then it took another hot minute for him to work through his shit. Sometimes, it’s not as easy for guys who are used to being independent to realize they need a woman in their lives.”
“I guess. But you know what? That used to be me too. It’s not easy for anyone. It’s not a good excuse.”
She places her hand on top of mine and gives it a squeeze. “If Holt doesn’t come around, you’re gonna be fine. You’ll find a stud in a suit in Chicago, and we’ll be so glad that Holt screwed up. And if you want me to get plane tickets to Savannah for the morning, we can fly down and put a can of clams in his car.”
I laugh. “Why would we do that?”
“Ha. You’ve never met a can of clams in the hot Southern sun, have you?”
I can only imagine what she’s getting at. And even though it sounds utterly disgusting and juvenile and something I’d never do, I’m happy she said it. It just feels good to have someone on my side.
Sienna stands up. “I’m gonna pop this popcorn, and then we’re gonna watch a romantic comedy and go through all the emotions.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because it’s cathartic. You can feel your pain or whatever your snappy little mantra is.”
I cock my head to the side. “I’m not sure you’re right about this methodology.”
“And how many times have you been in this position?” She winks. “Trust me, girl. I got you.”
As she walks into the kitchen with the popcorn in her hand, I lay back and close my eyes.
And I trust her.
Because what do I have to lose?
Thirty-One
Holt
“You look like shit.”
I ignore Wade’s remark and go back to the papers on my desk. He makes himself at home across from me, casually propping one ankle on the opposite knee.
If I look like shit, then I feel like hell.
I should’ve gotten some sleep last night. I should’ve tried, at least. But just going into my room makes me think of Blaire, and that wasn’t going to bring sweet dreams.
So I worked instead. All. Night. Long. I switched my shirt at four this morning and drove to the office. Rosie brought me coffee and a donut at six.
“You could’ve at least combed your hair,” Wade says. “Fuck, Holt. We have this under control, you know. You don’t have to turn into a troll.”
“You know what?” I say, looking up. “Fuck off.”
“Wow. Okay.”
I let my hands fall to my desktop. The sound echoes around the room.
My body sags, and I feel my energy plummet. I’ve been running on fumes for hours. I was afraid that if I stopped, I’d never gear back up.
“Good morning, boys,” Oliver booms as he walks into my office. But one look at Wade quells his spunk. “Well, fuck.”
“Same thing I said,” Wade chimes in.
“No. You said I look like shit.”
Oliver sits down next to Wade. “Well, he was right. Damn, man. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Let me rephrase—are you going to be okay? I’m asking in a totally serious way,” Oliver says.
My brothers watch me with total seriousness. Gone are their jokes and jabs, and in their place is a concern for my well-being.
It’s not misplaced.
Nothing feels right today. My house feels too big and my office too quiet. My shirt is too tight, and my stomach, despite being empty except for Rosie’s donut, threatens to spill its contents all over the floor.
I keep telling myself this will get easier. I just need to get absorbed back into this project and forget all about Blaire.
My head hangs in front of me.
“Of course,