Nash Brothers Box Set - Carrie Aarons Page 0,308

toward the ceiling. Falling to my knees on the cold tile floor, I heave the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl before wiping my mouth and reaching a hand up to flush.

“You okay?” Fletcher says from the doorway of the bathroom, and I nod weakly.

Fuck, what did I drink last night? “Sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t apologize for not feeling well.” His tone holds a gentle soothing, but there is an edge to it.

“I can when I did it to myself,” I argue, standing on wobbly legs.

“Come sit, I’ll make you some toast. Best hangover cure I know. That and tomato juice.”

Just the thought of the acidic drink makes my stomach roll. “Please don’t mention V8 again.”

He nods, and I slip into the bedroom to pull one of his oversized T-shirts over my naked body. I feel like someone slammed a two-by-four into the side of my head, and by the way Fletcher is acting, I know I said some stupid shit last night.

Passing the couch, I see the blankets folded on top of a pillow. A memory comes back to me, in hazy hues, but it’s there. Fletcher telling me I was drunk, him pushing me away, and then going to sleep on the couch.

Fuck, I really messed up. I’m pretty sure I yelled at him, when I should have been understanding. Of course, he wouldn’t want to taste alcohol on my tongue. It would be a trigger for him to sleep next to me all night, smelling the tequila wafting off of me.

And here I’d gone, cutting him down because of it.

No, not because of him. Because the minute he told me that I was drunk, that he couldn’t be around me …

He reminded me of a life he’d never been a part of. One where my mother would push me away, because she loved the high more than she loved me. In my warped brain, in my drunken state of mind … that’s what I’d thought Fletcher was doing. His addiction was causing him to push me away, and I snapped at him as if he was my deadbeat biological parent.

I lower myself into a chair, rubbing my arms that are now peppered with goose bumps. He’s in there making me toast right now, and I don’t deserve the kindness.

“The reason I got so angry …” I trail off, not sure I’m ready to have this conversation.

Everything has been going so well. We’ve been shacked up for months, I’m a solid part of his life, and he is in mine. I’ve established myself here, and we’re … happy. Every so often, I have to ignore the whispers from the back of my mind that tell me I’m doing exactly what I did with Yanis. But other than that, life is amazing.

But life can’t be amazing without putting all your cards on the table. And I’ve left my biggest ace off of it. Fletcher still doesn’t know about my past, and it’s about time I told him about it.

Fletcher walks out of the tiny galley kitchen, holding the plate with my toast, his eyes a stormy, clouded blue today.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

My eyes study his, looking from one blue orb to the next. I’m not sure where to start, so I pick a point and run with it.

“I went to Greece on a project that my boss put me up for. Honestly, I didn’t even want to go. That sounds so selfish now, who doesn’t want to go to Greece? But I’d just gotten back from a long-term project in Norway and was looking forward to the summer in New York. But, I’d flown out reluctantly, and my boss had promised to pay for a fabulous Airbnb to start my trip off right. I met Yanis three days in and fell completely head over heels. He was a local artist whose paintings had begun to gain traction all over Europe. He was charismatic, devilishly sexy, and complimented me so much, that at times I thought he was forcing it a bit. But … he looked like a soldier from the movie 300, and I was alone in a new place. One date blended into three, and by the second month of my project, we were living together. Looking back, I barely knew the guy. It was all so exotic and romantic, which tends to be my downfall. And life was just one big romantic comedy. Come on … living