“Put the fucking bottle down.”
Seth cranked open one eye, glimpsed Dylan in the living room doorway, and promptly let his eyelid flutter closed. He’d been lying on the couch for the past hour, one cheek plastered on the cushion, one arm flung out, still holding the tequila bottle he’d been nursing all night.
“I’m serious. Drop the bottle.”
Seth did the opposite. He tucked the bottle to his side and held it with the protective grip you’d use on a baby.
Footsteps thudded against the hardwood.
“You’re really going to make me wrestle you for it? This is actually happening?”
“Fuck off,” he mumbled, his voice rusty from lack of use. He didn’t think he’d said a single word since he’d left Miranda’s house last night. Jesus. And his breath reeked of alcohol.
“Give me the bottle, asshole.”
“Go away, Dylan.”
The footsteps got closer. “Motherfucking fuck. I do not have time for this,” he heard Dylan mutter.
And then chaos erupted. The bottle was yanked out of Seth’s possession and suddenly he was no longer on the couch but sailing through the air. His ass landed on the floor with a heavy thump, head bouncing off the hardwood.
Pain shot through his temples, not just from the hit, but from the ridiculous amount of alcohol he’d been consuming since last night. His stomach roiled, nausea scampering up his throat, but he managed to choke it down before he hurled all over the place.
“That’s it,” Dylan said in disgust. “I’m calling Miranda. She can come and deal with this.”
Seth tried to sit up and groaned when the room started to spin. “You can’t call Miranda. I dumped her.”
Silence.
And then, “Are you insane?”
He continued to struggle, but eventually staggered to his feet. “It’s done. We’re done. So let me get drunk in peace, okay?”
“No, not okay. Why the hell did you break up with her? That woman is—”
“Amazing? A goddess? The best thing that ever happened to me? Yeah, I know.” He made it all the way to the door before his vision got all blurry again and he needed to regroup.
Dylan marched over, shaking his head in disbelief. “If you know all that, why would you end it?”
“Because I don’t deserve her.”
More silence.
“Did you cheat on her or something?” his roommate demanded.
“No.”
“Then I don’t get it. I mean, yeah, you’re a total dick sometimes, and your smart mouth has gotten us all into trouble, but you’re not a horrible ogre or anything.” Dylan shrugged. “Miranda’s lucky to have you.”
“Aw, isn’t that sweet of you to say,” Seth said snidely. He took a breath and made it out of the living room, then glanced over his shoulder at his roommate. “Leave me alone, man. I really don’t want company right now.”
He managed to walk in a straight line all the way to his bedroom. As he collapsed on his bed, he heard Dylan’s low murmur from the hallway and made out some of what his roommate was saying. “Can’t come over tonight…I know…fuck, yeah, me too. But things are…weird over here. Yeah, I’ll…later maybe…”
“Hey, Dylan! Don’t cancel your plans on my account!” Seth yelled at the closed door.
“Hey, Seth! Go fuck yourself!”
Footsteps receded, and then the house grew blessedly quiet. Unfortunately, the silence offered too many opportunities for thinking, and before he knew it, his thoughts were running rampant again and his doubts were resurfacing.
He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? Cutting Miranda loose. Ending things now, before they got even more serious, before the twins started looking to him as a father figure. He’d let Adam down all those years ago, but he refused to let Miranda and those kids down. Better to hurt them a tiny bit by walking away now than hurt them even worse in the future. Which he would. He’d eventually hurt them. He knew it.
Christ, he was such a screwup. It was a miracle his mom hadn’t disowned him years ago.
At the thought of his mother, his chest clenched. How could that woman even love him after what he’d done? She was a fucking saint. And he’d never even apologized to her, he realized. He’d never once told her he was sorry for what he did to Adam.
He fumbled for the cell phone on the bed table, fighting another wave of vertigo. He had to squint to find his mom’s number on his contact list, but eventually he managed to click on her name.
Missy answered on the fifth ring, sounding harried but delighted. “Hey, sugar pie! I was hoping you’d call.”
“You at the theater?” He made an effort not to slur his words.