I couldn’t wait to get it off as soon as I’d put it on.
Plucking out a soft gray shirt that’d fall to my thighs, I began to slide the drawer shut when something rolled to the front.
With my stomach turning, I picked up the bottle. Brown liquid sloshed around as I inspected the contents. Not even a third remained.
He’d had a drink or two since we’d been together, but nothing as hard as this. Usually just a beer with dinner if we’d eat out.
But this… this was expensive. Though I supposed having a large sum of money in the bank and little time to spend it meant splurging on a decent bottle of whiskey wasn’t exactly hard.
It hit me then. The nights I didn’t see him, the clean scent of mint on his breath when I did. I dropped the bottle back in the drawer and closed it. Then, even if it felt like I was crossing a lot of lines, I searched the wardrobe where he kept one or two good shirts, and a pair of Vans and work boots—his combat boots always glued to his feet.
Nothing.
Lowering to the floor, I peered beneath the bed, but only spied a few dust bunnies and one lone sock.
Falling to my butt, I was about to give up, and told myself to get over it, when my head fell back. My hands raked through my hair as I pulled in three deep, measuring breaths.
The air vent.
Grabbing the only chair in the room, reserved for his guitar, I dragged it over, checking its stability before carefully standing and pulling the vent open. I stuck my hand inside, knocking something over. Clanging sounded as I reached for it, and I winced as a bottle rolled out, smacking me in the head before I caught it in time to stop it from crashing to the floor.
Another bottle of Jameson, this one almost full.
Not needing to check whatever else laid inside, I put the bottle back, then closed the vent and hopped down.
After tucking his T-shirt away, I rubbed my throbbing head and locked the door on my way out.
Uncertainty plagued me. Unsure what to say to him, seeing as he never said he’d stopped drinking entirely, just that he wasn’t doing it all the time anymore, I couldn’t find a way to reason with what I’d found, or if I should bring it up with him.
There was a good chance he’d be upset I’d gone snooping.
There was also a good chance he’d only been drinking on the odd occasion when he needed to.
There was a good chance of anything when it came to Everett Taylor.
Yet I could still feel the weight of the almost empty bottle of Jameson in my palm, long after I finally fell asleep.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of my phone ringing.
Sunlight exploded through the open blinds, spraying rays of light over the shadows in the corners of the room.
“Clover?” He sounded tired. “I’m so fucking sorry. I fell asleep at the studio; we lost track of time.”
I smacked my lips together. My eyes closed, sleep lingering on the fringes of my mind as what I’d found last night in his apartment tried to wake me up. “It’s okay. I figured as much when I came over and didn’t hear from you.”
“You’re at my place?”
“No.” I cleared my throat, then turned onto my side, yawning. “I came home.”
Quiet hovered over the line. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Would’ve been better if you were here.”
A sigh left him. “Tonight. I promise.”
“Whatever you say, rock star.”
He chuckled, then paused, coughing. “Sorry. Fuck me, I feel like I’ve been on a ten-week bender without the partying to show for it.”
There might’ve been no party, but he was clearly hungover.
I tried to laugh, but it wasn’t going to happen. “I need to get ready for work. You should get some breakfast. Drink some water.”
He hummed. “We’re starting, but I’ll grab something in a bit. Don’t forget the vitamins.”
I smiled, picturing the stern look on his face when he’d bought them for me. “Okay. Oh, and I need to go bra shopping.”
“Yeah?” He sounded more alert.
“Uh-huh. Mine are getting too tight. I think I need maternity ones.” It was times like this I’d wished I’d told Mom already, but Everett was great about making sure I had everything I needed. Still, I made a mental note to call her once we’d had the first scan done. Once I had even more confirmation that this wasn’t some