Page 86 of Emmett

He sits there for a few moments longer, his eyes flicking between me and the bartender before he finally places his hand near his throat, shaking it to signal ‘no more’ to the old guy behind the bar. It isn’t until the guy gives him a nod that Logan finally claps me on the shoulder and steps off of his stool, heading for the door.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder before he exits.

No, we won’t.

Once he’s gone, I raise two fingers toward the old guy, silently ordering a refill of my drink.

“I think you’ve had enough, pal,” the bartender tells me, throwing a patronizing tone to his voice. “Let me call you a cab.”

“No,” I slur. I’ve seen this trick work for Davis a few times, so I pull a check from my wallet and reach forward to grab a pen from behind the bar, scribbling a few thousand bucks out onto it. “I think I just got here, and I need my first drink.” He takes the check, staring at it for a long while as he worries his lip. “I’m not an alcoholic,” I assure him, “I’m just a guy having areallyshitty night.”

His eyes flit between me and the check a few more times before he finally folds it, stuffing it into his breast pocket with a sigh. Grabbing the bottle in front of him, he turns it over into my glass, telling me, “If you throw up or you get belligerent, you’re out. Puke on my bar, you pay to have it cleaned.”

I nod my head to him in understanding as I pull the glass to my lips and take a drink, swaying a little in my seat as I tip the glass back.

While I sip on the drink that I can’t taste anymore, as my fingers and my nose start to go numb, I run through the same thoughts that have plagued me for the past three weeks.

It wasn’t just Anna who hated me; Nash couldn’t stand me, either. I was atoyto him. I was the weak little boy that let him walk all over me again and again – and if he asked me to right now, I’d probably still let it happen. Logan obviously didn’t give enough of a shit about me to tell me the truth that he’s known for years. And if I look back on my other failed relationships…

There’s only one common denominator here, and it isn’t them; it’s me.Iam the shared weak link among all of them. For my entire life, it’s beenme. There is somethingso fundamentally wrong with me that I repel the people I want closest to me.

I’m supposed to be a role model for my sisters, but all they’ll see when they look at me is a failure. Someone they never want to be like. I don’t want them to be like me, either. They’re both so bright and vibrant, and I’m…

I’m tired of being stuck in a vicious cycle of up and down, feeling like a normal person one day and being slammed into the ground the next. Seeing the look on my dad’s face every time he gets just alittlemore worried about me. Knowing that Anna isfinewith the fact that I’ve wondered about her for twenty-five goddamn years; she hasn’t lost any sleep at night over leaving me behind. Nothing has been missing from her life, but something irreplaceable has been missing from mine.

I know where this ends for me.

I throw back another drink.

Another.

Another.

Until I can’t keep my eyes open and I feel like I’m stuck on a Tilt-A-Whirl, with a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. Until I feel something inside of me slow and the peace that I had all week finally comes back home to me, forcing a smile across my face.

“Sorry, pal,” the bartender tells me, pointing toward the door. “I told you: you throw up, you’re out of here.”

Huh. I guess I did.

I slip off of the stool and onto the floor as I vomit again, using the bar top to pull myself back up, and I head out of the front door. Stumbling down the sidewalk, I try to force my eyes to open more, but they won’t budge; even after I smackinto the wall of the building and bounce off of it, falling backward over the edge of the sidewalk.

I hit the ground.

And then everything goes black.

THIRTY-FIVE

Nash

24 years old

The manor is all but silent as I step back through the front door and remove my overcoat, handing it to Orla. She drapes the coat over her arm with a bow of her head and follows close behind me as I step toward the imperial staircase which leads to the second level of the house.

My head whips behind me at the sound of a sniffle coming from her nose. “Don’t you dare cry,” I order her.

“I’m— of course, Mr. Montgomery. I apologize.”

“Go do something else,” I tell her. “Don’t follow me.”