Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,10
I feel like I have to struggle to breathe. Every year I nearly suffocate on the memory of killing my ex-boyfriend, Charlie. It may be the reason why I had three too many Long Island iced teas tonight. I hate being alone when Charlie is haunting me so strongly.
“Let me in.” He takes another step forward.
So tempting . . . I shake my head. “No, I’m going to bed. Alone. Go away.” My grip on the door tightens. I should just shut it. I should just walk away.
He takes another step, his foot rocking on my threshold. “I want to come in, though. I want to talk to you.” He sounds serious, which gives me pause.
I cock a hip and rest the length of my arm to my elbow on the edge of the door. “Talk about what?”
Lucky doesn’t open up very often, but I know I’m not the only one dealing with a bad anniversary; his sister died almost two years ago. I frown as I try to remember the exact date, but then I have to blink a few times trying to make the alcohol-induced dizziness go away. I want to be able to look into his eyes when he tells me whatever it is he wants to talk to me about. It’ll calm me down and give me the patience to hear him out.
There’s something about Lucky—I don’t know how to explain it; he’s steadiness to me. He’s this presence, almost like a mystical thing—a guardian angel who I know would be there if I really needed him to be, no matter what the cost and no matter where I am. Thing is, though, I don’t like being weak. I hate depending on anybody for anything. So I’ve never called on this guardian angel before, and tonight is not going to be the day I start. I wait for him to answer my question, but at the same time I’m almost certain this will end with me shutting the door in his face.
“I don’t want to talk about it out here. I need to come inside.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks down at the ground.
My curiosity is piqued. This is the first time all night, the first time in a really long time, that I’ve seen Lucky appear unsure of himself.
“Is it about Sunny?” Lucky has this goldfish he really cares about. To anyone else it might sound crazy, but I get it. Kind of. It belonged to his sister Maribelle. Maybe he wants to reminisce about her. Jenny told everybody on the team that Lucky needs to talk about his sister’s death to help him work through his grief over her suicide, which means I’m going to feel guilty as hell if I shut the door on him now.
I step back and pull the door open wider. “Come on in. I’m going to go mix up a batch of Thibault’s hangover special.”
Lucky walks inside and shuts the door behind him. “Before you do that, just wait one second. I need to do something.”
I pause in the hallway that leads to my kitchen, confused. He walks toward me, but I don’t flinch. I don’t move a muscle. The spinning that was threatening to overwhelm me disappears in an instant as he gets close enough for me to touch.
I look up at him, at the fire smoldering in his eyes, and ask the question dancing around in my brain. “What are you doing?” I don’t know for sure what his answer will be, but that doesn’t stop my pulse from pounding like a war drum.
“Something I’ve been thinking about doing for a really long time. I decided I needed to stop thinking about it and just do it.”
“Why?” I’m stalling, trying to figure out his angle.
“A friend recently told me I should do something each day I’d regret not doing in the future, so here I am.” He keeps walking, which forces me to go backward. He’s crowding me, taking my personal space, making my heart race as my mind tries to make sense of what he’s doing. I was prepared to listen with a compassionate ear, to be gentle when I normally can’t be that person. What he’s doing now is throwing me for a loop. It doesn’t compute.
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand . . .” I run into the wall. There’s no more going backward for me, but Lucky is still coming.