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“I need to go,” he repeated before turning and hurrying out of the room.

He’d hoped silence,and the bottle of rum he’d found in the cabinet at Dakota house, would have been enough to help. While it had certainly taken the edge off his growing panic, it hadn’t done anything to dull the knowledge of what Matt finally knew.

He snorted, pouring another glass and drinking it smoothly. It had stopped making him cringe and shiver after the first few drinks. It was probably a good thing he’d eaten before diving mouth-first into the bottle, otherwise, he had no idea what state he might have ended up in. As he eyed the bottle, realizing there were only a few drinks left, he considered maybe he should’ve gone without eating. At least then, he could have guaranteed a little more oblivion.

Sighing, he set the bottle aside as he sat in front of the couch, determining that he should probably wait to finish the bottle. He wanted to make sure the alcohol lasted in his system, and draining the bottle just meant a strong buzz, but a short-term one. At least, that was the logic he was working off.

And with that course set in his head, it took no time for his mind to flit back to his problem. This time, he groaned, wondering what the hell he was going to do when he had to faceMatt again. The whole day, Matt had known Nick’s most closely guarded secret, and he’d been none the wiser.

“Jesus, Dad,” he muttered, wondering what the hell the man had been thinking.

A shadow fell over him, followed by a voice he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. “He’s back in the main house, still drinking. Like father like son, apparently.”

Nick winced, letting his head flop back onto the couch cushion and looking up into Matt’s face. His friend’s features were pinched, which could have shown worry, but there was a curl to his lips that told Nick he also wasn’t very happy.

“Hi,” Nick murmured.

Matt arched a brow. “Hi.”

“I’m a little drunk,” Nick told him unnecessarily.

Matt hummed. “Yes, I can see that...and smell it.”

Nick let his head flop to the side, looking sidelong at the mostly empty bottle beside him. “Yeah, sorry about that. Rum.”

“You hate rum.”

“Yeah.”

Matt rounded the couch, getting a better view of the bottle. “Uh, how full was that when you found it?”

“Uh,” Nick said thoughtfully. “A swig?”

“A swig,” Matt repeated. “A swig gone, you mean. Jesus, Nick.”

“Merry Christmas,” Nick proclaimed, trying to be cheerful.

Matt frowned. “You’ve got another hour or so before you can say that. What are you doing?”

“Drinking.”

“Right. Other than drinking.”

“Sitting.”

“Nick.”

“I’m also thinking.”

Matt sighed, sitting on the arm of the couch and glaring at him. Nick gave him what he was sure was a sloppy grin, even as he tried to ignore the slight twist in his gut. He loved it when Matt got grumpy, though he could never explain exactly why. Much like when he was excited about something, it lit his eyes, though in this case, it was an annoyed, almost angry fire.

“Right,” Matt said. “Thinking. Is that the problem? And is your dad diving into a bottle again somehow connected to this?”

Nick scowled. “Shouldn’t be drinking. Bad for him. Gets a big mouth.”

“He gets a big…” Matt stopped, eyes widening. “He told you.”

Nick snorted, letting his head flop back. He couldn’t look at Matt now he’d opened his big mouth too. “More like he toldyou. Told me he told you, which is, quite frankly, a lot of telling. The kinda telling that shouldn’t be happening.”