Page 37 of Final Temptation (Alpine Peak #2)

Blinking through heavy lids, the neon light was back. Glowing so bright in the night sky, it was bound to draw the attention of people like me. I was a moth, and the temptation behind that flashing red sign was the flame.

I didn’t give a fuck where I went, as long as it made me feel better.

Right now, the slow and steady approach of attending AA meetings fucking killed me.

I needed a quick fix. The craving to black out and forget it all, even if for just one night, took over—talking to my sponsor or Sophie be damned.

Before I decided to get sober last year, I admitted every detail that I knew of that terrible night to Declan. Everything I thought I knew.

Logan telling me I did it.

Logan telling me I was the one behind the wheel.

Logan feeding me lies to blackmail me and protect himself.

Paige overheard every single word. I’d never been more hurt in my life than when I saw the look of disappointment and pain in her eyes.

Until now.

Until this very moment.

I replayed every moment of that night; the thoughts flooding in at one hundred miles per hour. Now with a clearer mind, I’d never felt lower than I did in this very fucking moment.

I was hurt that I was there in the first place.

I was hurt that it was Paige’s father.

I was fucking devastated that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help Anthony.

I gripped the steering wheel hard enough that I could tear it right off with the rage brewing inside me. The rage boiled up; a scream so loud it even scared me escaped my mouth.

My hands flew from the wheel to my hair, ripping and pulling at the sweat-soaked strands, inflicting the pain I felt I deserved.

My eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, catching on the roughed-up, pathetic excuse of a man that stared back at me.

The old Myles is back.

It was time to forget. It was time to give in to temptation.

My old mentality returned—I’d deal with the consequences later.

My cheeks were stained pink, the strands of my hair in a disarray, my gym clothes stained with sweat—I’d definitely seen better days.

Walking into the liquor store, I didn’t give a fuck what I looked like.

They saw everything under the sun in a place like this.

I was just another alcoholic waltzing in after midnight before the store closed to get my fix.

Muscle memory kicked in, I knew exactly what part of the store to go to, which bottle to grab, and how much it cost.

“That’ll be twenty-two-eighty-six,” the man behind the counter said.

I slid my card, purchasing my second bottle of tequila in the last few months. This time, with every intention of drinking the whole thing.

Tossing the bottle on my passenger's seat, I threw my Jeep in drive, heading down the dark, windy roads of the Colorado mountains. I didn’t want to drink this bottle here. So, I drove down the road for miles, eventually pulling over, an all too familiar sight in front of me.

I turned the car off, tossing the keys in the back seat. I may be about to relapse, but the last thing I planned to do was drive once the tequila touched my tongue.

Up until now, I’d stuck to my script. I’m fine.

I can do this. Alcohol doesn’t tempt me, I’d tell myself.

But you could only hammer that idea into your head so far, so many times, before reality caved in on you, the need for it overpowering your every thought.

Every thought so dark, I didn’t see another way out.

Every day, the reminder screamed at me, “It should have been you,” only dimming the light at the end of the tunnel.

Not giving it another second, I grabbed the bottle off the seat next to me, untwisting the cap with shaky hands, and brought it to my lips.

The clear liquid hit my nose first, the sweet smell of agave and citrus bringing me back to all the nights I drank tequila like water. The taste came next—the clean, crisp flavors burning down my throat, the first swig tasting just how I remembered it almost a year ago.

Staring straight ahead, I could hardly recognize the curve of the road without all the smoke, blood, and shards of glass.

You’d never know, if it wasn’t for the cross on the side of the road, surrounded by fresh flowers, that a horrific accident happened here, taking the life of a man because someone made a stupid decision to drive drunk.

For a month, I carried around the weight of believing I was the one to kill that man. To kill Paige’s father. Just because Paige ended up finding out the truth, it didn’t mean the feeling went away.

The guilt has been eating me from the inside out for so long now; there was no other answer besides what was in this bottle.

Tipping the bottle back, I took another pull, this one a little longer than the first.

Some of my darkest days were spent in that month. I spent days drinking my life away, some nights going to bed with hopes I wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

With every drink I took, my mind wandered further down the path leading me to that night.

I realized what I already knew but had no proof of.

In that moment, I was a good fucking person.

I did everything I could to save his life.

I searched endlessly for a phone, a way to contact help.

Logan ripped that opportunity from me at the same time he stole any life that Anthony may have had left in him.

That’s why he’s rotting in prison, not you.

Reminding myself didn’t help. I still allowed the guilt to eat me alive.

The instant his fist connected with my face, each breath Paige’s father had left in him slowly faded, help getting further and further away.

On October 9th, I woke up at Logan’s house with a pounding headache and a foggy memory. I knew the night prior some shit had gone down. I remembered an accident, but it wasn’t until the news broke that I knew the man in that truck was Anthony Wilson.

I had to give it to Logan; he was quick on his feet.

But it didn’t take long to catch up to him.

He took full advantage of me when I asked him what had happened the night prior.

For a whole fucking month, he nailed it into my head that I was behind the wheel, that I killed the father of my brother's new girlfriend—his ex-girlfriend.

When Paige returned home to mourn her father, none of us expected her and Declan to reconnect and end up together. But when Logan caught on to their relationship, he only used me as a pawn. He wanted to be the hero, when in reality, he was the villain all along.

The whole time, I was too drunk to see what was in front of my fucking face.

He wanted to get away with murder, get the girl, and ruin my life all at once.

He was a fucking narcissist.

“Fuck you, Logan,” I mumbled under my breath, draining more tequila down my throat.

It didn’t matter that he’d been caught in his web of lies; I’d never forgive myself for hanging out with him that night at a random fucking house party.

My eyes began to droop, the heaviness in them returning from earlier. I refused to sleep until this bottle was empty. I was in the driver’s seat, finally taking control of each image that flashed in my mind the moment my eyes fell shut.

My phone dinged, the sound shooting my eyes open.

“Sophie.” My breathing sped up; my heart conflicted with what to do. Do I answer my girlfriend? The girl I was positive I was so fucking in love with? The girl I didn’t deserve whatsoever?

Opening the text, my heart dropped.

Sophie: Hey, I just got home. Where are you?

Even through a text message, I could sense her worried tone. She should be worried. I was doing the exact thing she was worried I’d be doing.

“She doesn’t deserve this. I don’t fucking deserve her,” I slurred, my head banging against the headrest. Once, twice, three times. I continued to throw my head into the seat, grunting and crying with each knock my head took.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since I asked her to be mine, and I was already ruining it. I was breaking her heart, and she didn’t even know it. But I knew Sophie, and you could hear her heart breaking from miles away through a single text message.

The phone fumbled through my fingers, dropping to the floorboard as I tossed around the idea in my head to text her back. I had no idea what I would say to her; I just knew I needed her.

But I needed to finish this bottle more.

I was being tempted once again, love on one shoulder, evil on the other.

Maybe this bottle would be my final temptation. Maybe I’d get sober after this, maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d die on this hill of being an alcoholic, with many more bottles of tequila in my future. Or maybe I’d get better and accept that someone could love me as fucked up as I am.

Who knows, maybe I wouldn’t make it past twenty-two.

Final temptation or not, I’d deal with the consequences later.