door behind him, then fell back against it, as the barrage of emotions he’d been holding at bay collapsed down on him, an avalanche of agony.
He slid down the door until his ass hit the floor. He rested his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, trying to beat back the tears.
“Emmy,” he whispered miserably to the empty room.
He recalled the last time he’d been on his ass by this door, the memory provoking a shadow of a smile.
He’d gotten extremely inebriated at his family’s Halloween party the year before last. Baltimore had been submerged in darkness, thanks to a blackout, and Sunnie had proposed some silly game that involved tequila. A lot of tequila.
Padraig had over-imbibed, upset over nearly losing Seamus in the park earlier in the day and overwhelmed with loneliness. His depression over the past three years seemed to ebb and flow like the tide—sometimes nonexistent, other times overwhelming. The holidays the first year after Mia’s death had been brutal, Padraig lost in a downward spiral from Halloween to St. Patrick’s Day.
So when Halloween arrived again the next year, and he’d felt himself being swallowed by the void, he’d been helpless to climb out, resigning himself to months of exhaustion and misery. That night had been a bad one for him, and if he hadn’t agreed to a partner costume with Emmy, he probably would have sent his regrets and stayed home. Instead, he’d gone and actually had a good time.
After the party, Emmy had driven him home, helped him take Seamus out for a walk, and then gotten his staggering ass back up to his apartment.
“Whoa,” Padraig said, bumping his arm on the doorframe as Emmy led Seamus inside and took off his leash. The walk in the cool night air had helped sober him up a little bit. Mercifully. Then he realized he didn’t know how he’d gotten from the Collins Dorm to here. Or how the party had ended. Had it ended?
“Shit. Blackout.”
“I know, but the power’s back on now,” Emmy said.
“No. I think I blacked out.” He’d made the mistake of shaking his head as he spoke, the action making him dizzy.
She studied with an amused grin. “You okay there, big guy?”
“Yeah, but is the room swaying? Feels like we’re on a boat.”
Emmy reached out to take his hand, pulling him into his wobbly apartment. “Apartment is holding steady. You? Not so much.”
He closed the door behind him, throwing the lock. Leaning against it for support, he answered Emmy’s questioning gaze. “You’re not walking home alone. It’s dark as sin out there tonight.”
She glanced around. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Not sure I should leave you alone like this anyway.”
He shook his head. “Not couch. You can…have…my…bed…” As he spoke, he slowly slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor. He looked around. “I’ll sleep here.”
She laughed and reached down to him. “Nope. You’re sleeping in your own bed. It’s closer to the bathroom, which might be something you need later.”
He accepted her proffered hands, but rather than letting her pull him up, he tugged her down until she was sitting on the floor next to him. “It’s comfy down here, right? You’re a sexy strawberry.”
Emmy rolled her eyes. “And you’re a sweet, if sloppy, drunk farmer.”
Seamus came over, clearly confused but delighted to have them on his level for once. He licked Emmy’s face affectionately as she giggled.
“He loves you,” Padraig mused. “He loved Mia too.” The words came easily, without the typical flash of pain, which told Padraig exactly how wasted he was.
“Come on, Farmer Collins. Let’s pour you into bed.”
This time, he let her drag him to his feet. Wrapping an arm around his waist, she steadied him as they walked down the hall to his bedroom. Once there, he sank down on the edge of the mattress and fought with the buttons on his flannel shirt.
The blackout had ended a little while earlier, but neither of them sought to turn on any lights. He lived on a city street, so the streetlamps outside provided just enough light for them to see each other and the room through the gray dimness.
Emmy smacked his fingers away and efficiently unbuttoned his shirt. He shrugged it off, then pointed to his dresser. “Second drawer down,” he directed. “T-shirt.” She opened it, grabbed one, and held it out to him.
He shook his head as he gripped her hips and turned her away from him. Sliding