Page 86 of Luck of the Devil

We left moments later and got into Malcolm’s car, the weight of what we’d just learned heavy on my shoulders. The silence stretched between us as he pulled away from the curb.

We were still silent by the time we reached the highway. Everything in me screamed for a drink. Something to take the edge off the raw nerves Aunt Hannah’s revelations had scraped wide open. But I reminded myself I was a stubborn bitch, and I was going to beat this demon. Even if my life was burning down around me.

But there was no denying my withdrawal symptoms were hitting me full force. The back of my neck was damp with sweat and the ache in my head felt like a jackhammer was splitting my skull open. What little food I’d had at the table was spinning in my gut.

I lifted a hand to rub my temple to ease the pain. Malcolm caught the way my hand shook, and reached for the flask. “You need a drink.”

“No,” I forced out through gritted teeth.

“I know you want one,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Hell, you’d probably kill for one, so I appreciate the effort you’re goin’ through to refuse it, but you’re not through your withdrawal yet. If you don’t take a drink, it’s only gonna get worse.”

Tears burned my eyes, and a knot clogged my throat, but self-disgust quickly followed. I only had myself to blame for being in this situation. Self-pity would get me nowhere.

I held out my shaking hand, biting back tears nonetheless, because even though I was a stubborn bitch, I felt like I’d left some of that strength back in my grandparents’ dining room.

He handed me the flask. It took some effort to unscrew the cap, but I got it off and forced myself to only take a sip.

* * *

The sweet relief that washed through me nearly made me cry with gratitude as some of the pain started to ease. My hand trembled as I held the flask, every cell in my body begging for more. One more sip—just enough to stop the screaming in my head. My hand tightened on the metal, and for one terrifying moment, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to let go.

I shoved the flask at him, and once he took it, I pressed my hands between my legs, willing them to stop betraying me.

Malcolm’s tension radiated from the driver’s seat. The same coiled energy of someone who’d shown too much, revealed a crack in the armor they’d spent years perfecting. His hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

I recognized it for what it was—the same reaction I had when someone started to see the person I kept buried beneath the tough persona I projected to the world.

Today had stripped away our defenses, leaving us both raw and exposed in ways that terrified us.

After a few moments, the silence became suffocating. We were both drowning in our own thoughts, and someone had to throw a lifeline before we both went under. I decided he’d carried me this far on our journey. It was time for me to pull the weight.

“I’m sorry about the way I treated you when we went outside earlier,” I said. “I got mad for absolutely no reason, and … I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he grunted, keeping his gaze on the road ahead of us. “It’s fine.”

“No,” I insisted. “It’s not fine. You’ve been nothing but nice to me since you showed up on my doorstep yesterday, and I was a first-class bitch.”

His jaw tightened. “Maybe you had the right to be.”

I studied him for several seconds. “No. I didn’t.”

He focused on the road, wearing a solemn expression, but some of his fierceness had faded a bit. “Carter got back to me while I was out. He got video from some of the neighbors, but none of it proved helpful.”

I sighed. “It was a long shot anyway. At least we have the images of the two guys and the woman Mrs. Comstock sent us.”

“Carter’s still running them, but he hasn’t come up with anything yet.”

I pulled out my phone and checked for messages. Lisa had sent a text saying she didn’t recognize the woman, and she’d shown it to several other women who didn’t recognize her either. I relayed the information to Malcolm, and he gave a silent nod, still lost in his emotional stew.

I decided to address the new elephant in the room. “My grandmother liked you.”

He released a snort. “She doesn’t know me.”

“I think she’s a good judge of character.”

He snorted again. “You hardly know her either.”

“Is it so hard to believe you’re capable of being good?”