first glass of the second bottle. It hasn’t relaxed me like I had hoped it would. Instead, I think it’s made the anxiousness I feel even more intense.
How many times did I swear I wouldn’t do this to myself again? How many times did I promise myself that my days of worrying about Jace Matthews were behind me? How many times? A hundred? A thousand? And yet here I am, doing everything I swore to myself I was done with.
It took one horrible turn of events to bring me full circle, and now I feel like I’m standing exactly where I was four years ago. Determined to help a man I couldn’t help. Putting my life as second priority to save him.
What am I doing?
Better question. Why am I doing it?
Deep down I already know the answer to that question, even if I don’t want to admit it to myself. And I can say it’s for Ellie until I’m blue in the face, and in part it is, but even I know that’s not all there is to it.
I lift the wine glass to my lips and take another long pull, my gaze drifting to the back door where I have the perfect view of the only window in the garage apartment.
My stomach twists when I realize the light is finally on inside. Drinking down the remainder of the wine in my glass, I set it on the island and quickly slip on my flip flops before slipping out of the back door.
My heart is beating a million miles a minute as I cross the small patch of grass to the garage. The alcohol swimming in my veins fuels my determination.
If he’s drunk, or worse high, I’m going to find out right now. I meant what I said earlier, one slip and he’s gone. Even though it would kill me to turn him away, I won’t hesitate to do it if he gives me no other choice.
I lift my fist, preparing to knock, when the door opens in front of me.
I sway to the left, not sure if it’s the wine or the sight of Jace that has me feeling uneasy on my feet.
He looks tired, unsettled, yet so incredibly handsome. Just looking at him makes it difficult to breathe without putting forth great effort.
He doesn’t seem high or drunk, though I think I’ve proven in the past that I’m not the best judge of those kinds of things. Or at least I wasn’t in the beginning. After a while I started to learn his telltales. And I don’t see any of those indicators at this moment. At least none that are obvious.
He looks like he’s had a day from hell, which in all honesty he kind of has. And the fact that he’s wearing it as such, makes me almost certain that he’s sober.
His hair is messy, his black dress shirt unbuttoned, revealing the white tee he’s wearing underneath. Dark circles line both of his eyes and there’s a small bruise on his left cheek where Preston got a hit on him earlier.
It reminds me of all the other bruises I’ve seen on him over the course of our relationship. The thought only further deepens the anger I have toward the man that hurt him over and over again, for nothing more than sport.
Maybe I shouldn’t have intervened earlier. Maybe I should have stopped Mike and Devin from pulling the two men apart. Maybe we should have let Jace rip Preston apart. It’s not like he’s undeserving. But if I put my vengeful anger away, I know stopping him from doing more damage than he did was the right thing.
If he had been given free reign, he likely would have killed his father. And what good would that have done other than land him in jail for the rest of his life.
At least then I’d know for sure he’d be clean…
I hate that the thought even crosses my mind.
When we were younger, before I left, I used to wish he’d get arrested. That they’d throw him in jail and force him to dry out. And he did end up behind bars a couple of times, but it never amounted to more than a day or two of time served before he was back on the streets.
I try to push beyond my thoughts of the past and try to focus on the here and now. After all these years, the two of us find ourselves together again. Not together, together,