But when we get upstairs to the front door, it’s already unlocked.
“Hello?” I ask, pushing it open slightly. I expect the dogs to come running but they don’t. Brigs steps in front of me just in case we’re ambushed by a robber or something.
“Lachlan?” he says and we hear movement from the kitchen.
The both of us go in through the dining room and peer around the corner. Lachlan is sitting at the kitchen table, head down, eyes closed, his fist around a bottle of Scotch. At his feet, under the table, are Lionel and Emily, staring up at us with big eyes. Lionel gives one soft thump of his tail.
“Hey,” Brigs says quietly, walking in beside him and pulling out a chair. He leans forward, trying to get into his face, to get his attention. “We were looking for you.”
Lachlan grunts something and his fist around the bottle tightens. He still doesn’t open his eyes.
Brigs looks to me, a questioning look on his face. I’m not sure he knows what to do, what’s next. I’m not sure either but as he’s shooting me these looks, Lachlan raises his chin, just an inch, and looks right at me.
His eyes are frightening. Bloodshot and so fucking hard and flinty, they might as well be made of iron.
I try and soften my features, to let him know I’m worried about him, to tell him everything is okay, even though it isn’t.
It doesn’t seem to work. He fixes his hard glare on Brigs for a moment and I swear he’s going to break the bottle in two. Then he looks back down, nostrils flaring, and closes his eyes.
Eventually Brigs gets up and comes over to me, leaning in close to my ear. Lachlan is staring at us again. I don’t recognize him as my boyfriend. It’s the beast from the other night, but far, far worse.
“Do you want me to stay?” Brigs whispers to me.
I’m not afraid of Lachlan. I refuse to be. I can handle him when it’s the two of us. I have a feeling that maybe it’s the presence of Brigs that’s making Lachlan tense up and go to the dark side.
“I’m fine,” I tell Brigs. I quickly add, “thank you.”
He nods and pats me on the shoulder before leaving the room.
“Take care of her Lachlan,” he says and the longest, heaviest moments pass until I hear that front door shut.
I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. Now it’s just me and him. I’m standing near the kitchen door, he’s sitting at the table. His knuckles are still white from where he’s gripping the bottle so damn hard. I can’t tell if he’s a lot drunk or a little drunk. He seems to be completely lucid and if it weren’t for the half empty bottle, I wouldn’t think he’s drinking at all. His eyes, as hard as they are, seem to take everything in with a frightening amount of clarity.
I walk to the table and sit down across from him, placing my hand palm up, desperate for his touch, for a kind kiss from his lips.
“Talk to me,” I tell him.
He holds my eyes and I can’t read anything in them.
“Please,” I plead. “Lachlan. Brigs told me what happened at practice. I’m so sorry, it wasn’t your –”
“Brigs told you,” he says thickly and that’s when I can hear the alcohol in his voice.
“Yes. He explained. He’s worried.”
He nods, a cruel twist to his lips. “I see.”
“And we were worried about you when you just took off like that.”
He raises his brows, one eye lazy. “Oh really. Why?”
Oh god, how to say this delicately. “Remember the other night at the bar? I didn’t want that to happen again.”
He glares at me so hard I shrink back. “You don’t understand a fucking thing, do you?”
A fist squeezes my heart. “I’m trying,” I say quietly.