Page 14 of Until Tomorrow (Love Doesn’t Cure All: The Ashwood Duet #1)

Logan

We always celebrated Eva’s birthday. I made sure to go above and beyond to celebrate her. Too many birthdays had gone unnoticed when she’d been in foster care. I couldn’t make those bad memories go away, but I could make good new ones for her.

But this year, I sucked.

I tipped back the last of my… fourth drink? Fifth? For all I knew, it could’ve been my sixth. I’d called in sick from work, moped around the hotel, and then taken myself out for a drink to avoid calling her. I wanted so badly to call her, but I knew that was a bad idea.

Instead, I drank. A lot apparently. With very little in my stomach, I was drunk fast. It did the exact opposite of what I wanted. I didn’t want to think about Eva, but she was the only thing I could think about. So, I did the only reasonable thing a selfish husband could do: I ordered her flowers.

Except none of the flowers were good enough. So, I kept ordering her more. I had no idea how many flowers I sent her.

When I waved down the bartender for another drink, he tossed his rag over his shoulder and stopped in front of me.

“So,” he began, clicking his tongue, “I’m going to say seven drinks is your limit.”

“Five,” I said, and he frowned. Was five the right response? I squinted at him as I tried to figure it out.

“ My point,” he replied. “You got someone I can call for you? Make sure you get home safe?”

“You can’t call my wife,” I told him. At least, I was almost certain I said those words.

“Phone.” He held out his hand, and I gave it to him. He leaned in closer so I could hear him better over the bar activity. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to go name by name through your contacts, okay?”

“Right.” I nodded seriously.

“And you’re going to tell me yes or no. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“And if by the end of your contacts, you haven’t said yes, I’m calling your wife,” he stated.

“I asked her for a divorce,” I blurted out. “How broken do I have to be to ask the perfect woman for a divorce?”

“That sounds like something you should talk about with your therapist.”

“I don’t have a therapist.” I probably needed a therapist. I’d wanted this divorce because it was logical. I needed to understand myself. What I hadn’t accounted for was the emotional toll giving up Eva would cause.

“You might want to think about getting one, buddy,” he said. See? Needed a therapist.

I paid as much attention as I could while he walked me through my contacts. The minute he said Elliot’s name, I made the bartender stop and call him. He’d be grumpy, but I knew Elliot would get me back to the hotel.

“Eli!” I exclaimed when I saw Elliot weaving through the dwindling crowd toward me. He looked tired—had I woken him up? “My bad.”

Did I say that out loud?

“What’s your bad?” he asked. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he stopped next to me. I grinned at him, a gesture he didn’t return. “How much have you had to drink tonight, Logan?”

“Not enough,” I said and beckoned him closer. “It’s Eva’s birthday.”

“I know.”

“I sent her flowers.”

“You did not.”

“ A lot of flowers,” I admitted. I’d placed a few too many orders.

“Okay, then. I’m going to close your tab, and then I’m taking you home,” Elliot told me. He flagged down the bartender, seamlessly taking care of my bill and keeping an eye on me.

“I can’t go home,” I reminded him. “I live in a hotel.”

“I know.” He grabbed my jacket and put it around my shoulders. “You’re coming home with me.”

“I’m fine,” I scoffed. To prove my point, I dropped off my stool, and my knees just kept on doing their thing. Elliot caught me before I went down completely, hauling me against him to hold me up.

“Jesus Christ, Logan,” he muttered. He was unbearably close—practically nose-to-nose with me. Somehow, the dim bar lighting made him more handsome. I didn’t need to be noticing that.

There was a fraction of a moment where my heart beat a little faster in my chest. That almost kiss moment came back to me—memories hitting like a fucking truck. I shoved Elliot away, unwilling to go down that avenue all over again. It was the whole reason I was so goddamn miserable.

If he’d never tried to kiss me, I wouldn’t be where I was. I’d be at home with Eva.

“Get off of me,” I snapped. “I can walk on my own.”

“You fall one more time, I’m throwing you over my shoulder and carrying your sorry ass out,” Elliot told me. Damn it. I didn’t need the image of being tossed around by him in my head.

“Fine,” I grumbled. Unsteadily, I trailed after him until we were outside.

The cold night air was a stark contrast to the heat inside the bar.

I paused on the sidewalk, breathing in deeply.

I stared at the sky, wishing for the stars that I’d grown up with.

Small-town life had its perks over the city.

Stars were one of them. “I’m so fucked up, Elliot. ”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he replied, and I frowned. “Come on, Logan. You don’t think I’d notice you’re practically drunk every night?”

“That’s not…” Was I? I didn’t have a clue.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you home.” He took me by the shoulders and steered me toward his truck. “We’ll talk about all this shit in the morning.

“Nah,” I muttered. “I don’t want to.”

“You need to.”

“Nope, not going to.”

“I swear to fuck, Logan —”

“Why is it swear to fuck?” I interrupted. “Who thought that was a good phrase?”

“In,” Elliot ordered when he yanked open the door. Instead of listening, I rotated on my heels to stare at him. “What?”

“Am I a bad guy?” I asked.

“No, Logan.” He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “Divorce almost always sucks. At least for one person involved.”

“Divorce fucking sucks,” I agreed. “And it’s my fault.”

“Look, I want to push your buttons and make you tell me what happened between you two, but you’re not sober, Logan,” Elliot said. “Get in the truck, and let’s go home. We’ll talk when you’re sober.”

We wouldn’t. We both knew it. I couldn’t tell my best friend I wanted that stupid kiss we’d almost had. I couldn’t tell him how fucking scared that thought made me, or how I’d let it ruin my marriage.

Nope. Couldn’t do that to Elliot.