crisis for Victor—wasn’t going to do the same for her.
Then her phone buzzed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Victor eyed three empty shot glasses in front of him. One for each year of sobriety. And, as it so happened, one for every time Lacey had left a voice mail.
In his defense, he had (a) called his sponsor (who hadn’t answered) and (b) turned down offers of company from more than a couple of women whose gaze he’d accidentally caught across the bar.
He might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid.
Scratch that. He wasn’t even drunk. After three years of nothing stronger than apple juice, he’d expected to have a decent buzz on by now. That the look of undisguised loathing in his brother’s eyes might have blurred at the edges. But the picture was as crystal clear as it had been when he was in the room with Peter.
But he had to be a little drunk. After all, he’d called the woman who’d just walked through the door and was scanning the room.
More than a few men eyed her up in return. Victor didn’t have to be sober to see the exchanges across tables and attempts at casual glances over shoulders. Even in jeans and a shirt—granted, what looked like a very expensive designer shirt—Lacey was in a different league than the women in the bar in their tight dresses and well-displayed assets.
He knew the second she saw him because her eyes tightened at the edges. Some clown tried to intercept her, but she didn’t even give him a second glance as she headed toward Victor’s booth, pausing only to say a few words to one of the waitresses.
He had no chance with her. He’d known that the second he called Sabine out on her lie. His big romantic play was all in ashes. But even knowing their relationship was over before it had even begun, she was still the only person he wanted to talk to. To see.
“Was it worth it?” Lacey nodded at the empty shot glasses on the table. She looked irritated, like she’d somehow expected to find him nursing a glass of orange juice.
Just something else to add to the list of failures. He hadn’t been man enough—strong enough—to absorb Peter’s body blow. Instead, he’d driven here and proven he was exactly the person his brother knew he was.
He’d been arrogant enough to think he was beyond this. Don was right. He’d thought he’d had it in the bag. That he’d conquered his addiction.
Yet here he was. The three shots had wakened a raging thirst, and he’d known only an intervention would stop three shots from becoming a bottle.
That was why he’d called Lacey. Because even if he didn’t have enough strength to get up and walk out the door, he had too much pride to drink himself into the ground in front of her.
She slid into the bench on the other side of the booth. “You couldn’t have called five minutes earlier, could you?” She poured some water into a glass and took a gulp.
“Um …” There wasn’t really anything to say to that. He could have called five minutes earlier. That had been about ten minutes into the fifteen he’d spent trying to talk himself out of calling her before giving up.
“Now, Anna’s going to say you calling me was an answer to prayer. And I really don’t need that.” A drink landed in front of Lacey, and she took a sip while Victor tried to unravel what she was saying.
“And if I’d called five minutes earlier?”
“Then it would have been before I’d asked her to pray that I’d find you.” She didn’t quite end her sentence with a “duh,” but it was implied.
Warmth spread through Victor’s chest at her words, and it had nothing to do with the whisky filtering through his veins. “You were looking for me?”
“I was worried about you. I didn’t want you wrapping your car around a tree or putting yourself on an express back to rehab just because your brother’s a jerk.”
Victor stared at Lacey, at her flashing eyes and fierce gaze. But, apparently, not because she was peeved at him. “I got his girlfriend pregnant. We have a daughter. I’d say he’s allowed to be pretty mad.”
“Nope.”
“What do you mean, nope?” Had he entered an alternative universe? He looked at Lacey closely. “Have you been drinking?”
What other reason for this could there be? People didn’t find fault with Peter. Peter was the golden child. Victor was the damaged one.
“Not until now.” Lacey took