Nico seems to struggle not to let my attitude flip the rage switch in his head as he downs the rest of his drink. It doesn’t take him long to lose his cool. Sometimes it takes as little as a single misplaced word to earn a split lip or a black eye.
“I don’t know what happened, and neither do you. And you won’t unless you talk to her.”
That’s the problem. I’m so disconnected from reality I don’t think I can hold a conversation with Thalia without letting the emotions take the reins. Not filtering my words and spewing the tangled web of my thoughts is not the best idea. I’m sure I’d end up screaming things I don’t mean and regret them in the future. I need to sleep this off; rest, recharge, and arrange the sudden influx of unexpected and unwanted information.
We’ll have to talk at some point, but when the time comes, I need to trust myself to let her speak because all I want to do now is scream at the top of my lungs. She put a dent in my trust today, and that shit is hard to rebuild.
THIRTY-ONE
Theo
THE MIND-SPLITTING HEADACHE comes as no surprise when I wake up in Nico’s guest bedroom. The same one where my relationship with Thalia began.
I sat downstairs with my brothers until the early morning hours, and I don’t remember how I got to bed. The good news is that I didn’t puke, despite having six whiskeys on an empty stomach. At least the sixth is the last one I remember drinking. I might’ve had more.
I can’t recall the last time I got so wasted, but the hangover is a blessing in disguise. I’m too unwell to even think about my girlfriend’s dead husband. I’m also too unwell to scream or throw shit around, which will work in Thalia’s favor once I get home to talk to her.
Nico and Logan are downstairs when I haul my ass over there. They’d both easily pass for extras in a zombie movie—bloodshot eyes and pale faces. And to think, this is what we used to look like every weekend back in college.
“Morning,” I say, my mouth drier than the Mojave Desert. I sit at the breakfast bar, my elbows on the counter as I hang my head low, willing the kitchen to stop fucking spinning. I’m twenty-seven, for God’s sake. I should know better than to drink like I’m sixteen. “What time is it?”
“Half-past eight.” Logan throws a bottle of painkillers at me. It bounces off my head, landing on the floor. “Take two, or maybe five. Have you made your mind up?”
“About what?” I need those pills, but if I bend over to snatch them off the floor, I may not come back up.
“Whether you’ll ask Thalia to marry you.”
“What? I said that?”
Nico starts the coffeemaker, the noise like needles to my eardrums, but the bitter aroma compensates for the misery. “You don’t remember much, huh? After the sixth whiskey, you were back and forth about going down on one knee.”
“Fuck it! She married him, so she’ll marry me too. She’s not going to have his fucking surname. She’ll have mine.”Logan quotes, overly theatrical.
“What if she saysno?What if I’m not the right guy for her? What if she doesn’t love me?”Shawn joins our gathering, fresh as a daisy. “You’re such a drama queen. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re the gay one.”
“So?” Nico urges, smirking behind his cup. “Are we going engagement ring shopping this fine morning?”
“I was drunk,” I huff, playing it down, but my heart is going faster than a train on the tracks at the thought of Thalia becoming Mrs. Hayes. “Get over yourselves.”
“Yeah, youweredrunk,” Logan says, arms crossed over his chest. “Drunk people are honest. You won’t end it with Thalia. I’ll personally kick your ass if you do because, let’s face it, you’re a lucky bastard to have her. What makes you think you’ll find another woman gullible enough to love you?” He elbows my shoulder and successfully dodges the apple I hurl at his head. “I’m joking, but for real—stop moping, put your big-boy pants on andtalktoher.”
They all nod in unison, the helpful little bunch.
Fucking assholes.
They annoy the crap out of me half the time, but honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without them. They call it as they see it, and right now, I’m grateful for the proverbial bucket of ice-cold water tipped over my head because Logan is right.
They all are.
I need to talk to Thalia and get to the bottom of the issue instead of throwing the relationship away at the first sign of problems. Thalia didn’t hold me accountable for living my life as a man-whore until I found her. I’ve got no right to hold her accountable for her mistakes, but I need to hear the whole story. I need to know why she married that guy and how he died.
Shawn’s phone pings in his pocket, and blood drains from his face when he checks the screen. “Shit...” He looks up at me. “It’s Thalia.”
My headache gives way in an instant when he shows me the screen with the text from my girl.
Thalia: 911
My legs, like two tubs of water, slow me down when I run to the living room to retrieve my phone. The same text waits on my screen, sent less than a minute ago.