Page 45 of Love Me (Charlotte Monarchs Hockey #1)
Bree
A fter walking through the lobby of The Avenue, I stop at the concierge desk.
“Hey, Bree,” Truman greets me with a smile. “You here to see Luke?”
“No. He’s out of town. I just want to drop this off for him.” I hold up the envelope containing the letter I wrote pouring my heart out to Luke. My hand shakes as if giving it to Truman will release all of the passion I put into the words.
“He’s upstairs. I can just buzz you in and give you a code for the elevator,” he says.
“What do you mean he’s upstairs?” I ask, confused.
“He came down to pick up food he had delivered about an hour ago,” Truman says, speaking more slowly as he goes on as if he’s realizing he may have made a mistake by telling me that.
“He told me he wouldn’t be back until Sunday.”
“Uh, I—” Truman stutters.
“Can you please buzz me up? I need to see him.”
“I don’t know, Bree. Maybe I shouldn’t.” He glances at the phone on the counter as if he should call Luke first.
“Please, Truman. I need to talk to him.”
Tension makes his shoulders stiffen, and he remains silent.
“Please?” I plead. “I’m really worried about him.”
Finally, his body relaxes, and he lets out a deep breath. “He looked rough, Bree. I asked him if he was okay. His eyes were all glassy. It’s like he looked right through me. He looked high or something.”
“Shit.” I tighten my grip on the envelope in my hand and rush to the door leading to the elevators.
As Truman buzzes the door open, he yells, “28201.”
I nod, gripping the handle and flinging the glass door open. I round the corner and press the up button three times. Once I’m inside the elevator, I peck 28201 onto the number pad and press the button for the thirty-first floor.
That bottle of Lortab flashes in my mind. I should have had him dump it. There’s no reason to keep a narcotic like that on hand. I don’t want to believe he took them, but I need to know.
“Luke!” I yell as I pound on the door to his condo. “Luke. Open the door!”
I don’t hear anything inside, not the hum of a TV, nor the shuffle of his feet across the floor. I refuse to give up. I know he’s in there and need to find out why he lied to me about having to take a trip out of town.
“Open the fucking door!” My palms are red from banging them. Taking a step back, I think about what to do next. Truman probably has a key at the front desk. They must have a master key for maintenance purposes. But it’s probably against some policy to give it to me.
Refusing to be defeated, I shift my method and try again.
“Luke,” I say, in a calm, firm voice. “Please open the door. I just need to make sure you’re okay.” As I speak, I grab the handle of the door and twist it. To my surprise, it’s unlocked and swings open easily.
I rush into his condo and immediately notice the mess.
Food boxes, liquor bottles, and glasses litter the countertops.
Clothes are strewn all over the place—on the floor and over his big red couch.
I almost think his place has been ransacked until then I see Luke curled in the fetal position on the floor in front of the couch.
“Luke!” I rush over to him, squat down, and shake his shoulder.
I survey the area quickly, looking for the pill bottle. I don’t see it, but I do count five empty vodka bottles between the counters and the floor.
Luke never would’ve taken the pills with vodka. He’s smarter and stronger than that. The alarm ringing in my head tells me to check the bathroom drawer just to make sure. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with here.
I rush to the bathroom and jerk the top drawer of his vanity open.
After pushing aside hair gel and toothpaste, I find the bottle of Lortab in the exact spot it was the first time I saw it.
I pick it up and shake it, listening as pills rattle around.
I don’t know how many were in it to start, but I know in my heart he hasn’t touched it.
I take a deep breath and twist open the bottle, then dump the contents in the toilet and flush.
Once the water has drained and the pills are gone, I put my palm on my forehead and take a deep breath.
He’s just drunk. Technically, he’s completely blitzed, but knowing he didn’t take any pills makes me feel better about the situation.
I wander back into the living room, stooping to pick up clothes from the floor as I go. After I’ve gathered most of them, I toss them in a pile on the floor next to Big Red. Luke can deal with that mess later.
“I’m soooo pissed at you,” I say, grabbing a blanket off the couch and sinking onto the floor next to him. As I curl around him, I pull the cover over us and snuggle against his back.
His breathing is deep and heavy. There’s nothing I can do until he wakes up, so I wrap an arm around him and shift my body, trying to get comfortable on the floor.
“And I love you,” I whisper before I drift off to sleep.