“And what’s going on?”
He shakes his head and leans over the table, pouring himself another glass of wine. I watch as he downs it. When he’s done, he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “What isn’t going on?” he says. But there’s so much despair and bitterness in his voice that I feel like I’ve been backhanded.
I get out of my seat and grab his hand, tugging him to me. “Okay, the wine is gone. It’s time to go.”
He shrugs out of my grasp. “Go back alone then. I’m still smoking my cigar.”
He’s slurring a bit, so he’s obviously a bit drunk. He’s turning a bit Mr. Hyde on me.
I cross my arms. “No. I’m not going back without you.”
“Your loss,” he says, then laughs to himself as if he’s said something hilarious.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “It isn’t my loss.” I sit back down and stare at him imploringly. Ages pass. Finally, he puts out his cigar.
“Fine,” he says, none too happy about it. “We can go now.”
He gets up, a bit unsteady on his feet, and reaches down for Emily, but the dog is perceptive and growls at him, shying away.
He stares at her for a moment, frowning, like he can’t believe it. Then he rubs his lips together, his eyes beady and hard, and nods his head to some imaginary question.
“All right,” he says quietly. “All right.” He looks to me and seems to understand. “Do you want to take her? I don’t think I should.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say quickly, and grab Emily’s leash. She’s still staring up at Lachlan in confusion and he’s matching her stare. She knows that something has changed in him, and now he knows it, too.
Dogs with behavioral problems shouldn’t learn from people with behavioral problems. Now I understand it. Another piece of the puzzle that is Lachlan, carefully fitting into place. Funny enough that it has to be a dog to knock some damn sense into him and not me.
I grab hold of Lachlan’s arm but he doesn’t pull away. His gait is a bit awkward, but I manage to lead him around the hotel and all the way back to our room.
He goes straight for the bed, flopping over facedown.
I lock the door, turn on the lights, and let Emily off the leash before I go over to him and tap him on the shoulder.
“You can’t sleep with your clothes on,” I tell him.
He grunts. “Undress me then.”
“You weigh a literal ton,” I tell him, trying to reach underneath him to pull off his shirt.
“Hyperbole,” he mutters.
I smack him on the ass. “Just sit up, please.”
With a heavy sigh he somehow rights himself. I quickly manage to pull off his shirt, his chin dipped against his chest, before he falls back to the bed, creating a minor earthquake on the mattress. I roll him on his side and take off his pants, for once something entirely unsexy.
“How did you even manage to get this drunk?” I ask, even though I’m not sure he’s listening.
He swallows a few times, eyes still closed, and says, “I don’t drink much.”
“Right. The rugby,” I say.
“No,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “I just shouldn’t. I like it too much. I need it too much. Like I need a lot of things. Bad things. And then I’m useless. It’s ruined me before, you know.”
I pause at this information so casually coming out of his mouth, then I pull his pant legs off before untying his boots. “I see,” I eventually say.
“You want the truth, that’s the truth. I have many truths. That is one of them.”
I toss his boots to the ground and place my hand on his shoulder. “Well, thank you for telling me your truth,” I say earnestly.
But he doesn’t respond, and a loud snore escapes his mouth instead. Strange after everything he just did and said, I can still find him and his lips so damn kissable.
I sigh, getting into my t-shirt, and crawl into bed next to him, my back pressed against his back. “Goodnight,” I tell him, pulling the covers over both of us.
He’s fast asleep.
There’s one more day left.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lachlan