Page 94 of Inseparable
She’s calling my bluff, and I’m tempted to follow through, if only to ensure I know exactly where she is, but I’m not walking her into a police station and booking her for indecent exposure. She doesn’t need that on her record. Shocked me that she had one. Two counts of drunk and disorderly in the last three years. She’s lucky her lawyer knew what he was doing, and managed to get her off with a fine. If she’s not careful, she could end up doing time.
“Don’t. Push. Me.” I try to take her arm, but she shoves me away, almost falling on her butt in the process. I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “You will let me escort you out of here or I will throw your butt in jail. I’m warning you, Ange, you’ve tested me enough for one night.”
“Asshole,” she mumbles under her breath, but she gives up trying to wriggle out of my hold. The instant we step foot outside, she slams to a halt. “You’re not driving me home. I’ll call a cab.”
“Get in the car, Ange.”
“I don’t want you knowing where I live.”
I roll my eyes. “I already know where you live. Detective, remember?”
She scowls as she clambers into the car, muttering more obscenities under her breath. Danny quirks a brow, and I just shake my head.
The journey is undertaken in complete silence. My eyes are closed as I rest my head back. My chest is tight with pain.
When we reach the building where Ange lives, she can’t get out of the car quick enough. The heel of her shoe catches in the rim of the door in her haste to get away from me, and she falls headfirst onto the sidewalk.
I hop out of the car the same time Danny does, and we both race around to her side. She’s groaning, clutching her head, and trying to sit up. “Let me see.” I push her hair back, inspecting the nasty gash in her forehead. “Shit. You might need stitches.”
“I’m fine.”
She swats my hand away, attempting to stand up. Danny helps her to her feet, and she doesn’t mount any protest at his touch, which fucking messes with my head. She leaves her shoes on the sidewalk as she stumbles toward the door in her bare feet, staggering all over the place. Blood drips down her face, and I reach my limit, storming after her. “You need to go to the hospital.”
“The fuck I do.”
I start dragging her back to the car. “You could have a concussion.”
“Get the hell away from me,” she screams, trying to pry my hand off her arm.
I strengthen my grip, hauling her to the car. She’s remarkably strong for a drunk, fighting me the entire time. When her nails dig into my flesh, piercing skin, and drawing blood, I roar out in pain, but I don’t let go. We’re at the car now, and she’s struggling as I’m trying to get her in the back seat. “Ange, stop. Please. Just let me take you to the emergency room to get checked out.”
She leans back, making a grating sound at the back of her throat, and then she lets a loogie loose from her mouth. Her saliva hits me square in the face, and I jump back, disgusted, staring at the woman I love with abject horror.
She laughs hysterically, doubling over and clutching her stomach. Blood is still oozing out of the cut on her forehead, trickling into her eyes. Pain slices across my chest. My heart actually fucking hurts. I don’t know what to do there. How to help her.
Danny steps forward, subtly shaking his head in my direction. “Let me try,” he mouths, and I nod. Then I rest my head on the hood of the car, all out of ammo. Tonight has drained me in more ways than one.
“Ange,” I hear Danny say. “Will you let me take you inside and clean your cuts?”
Her manic laughter trails off. She sniffs. “Yeah, oncehestays out here.”
I don’t even look at her as I walk around the front of the car and get in the passenger seat. With mechanical movements, I open the glove box and remove a pack of tissues, wiping the spittle off my face. Balling the tissue in my hand, I slam my palms down hard on the dash, repeatedly, roaring as frustration gets the better of me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I rock my head in my hands as despair blankets me.
It feels like I’m losing her all over again.
And I have to wonder if she was ever mine to begin with.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Angelina
My head is thumping like a million bongo players are testing a new rhythm out in my skull. My mouth is dry and icky, and my chest burns with a combo of acid reflux and heartache. After Danny patched me up last night, I collapsed in a heap on the couch, passing out almost instantly. I woke a couple hours after that, in bed beside a snoring Scott. Pushing his leg off mine, I managed to race to the bathroom before I spewed up my guts. Vodka seeped out my nose and my mouth, mixing with course tears as they slid down my face. When I had nothing left to expel, I lay on the cold tile floor, sobbing.
Devin’s reappearance in my life has brought everything to the surface again, and I’m no more equipped to deal with the maelstrom of emotions than I was back then.
I roll over in the bed, wondering how I got here a second time because I’m pretty sure I cried myself to sleep on the floor in the bathroom. I move my hand across the bed, but the sheets are cold and empty. Scott must have decided to go into the dealership today. His dad owns the place, and he reluctantly gave him a position a couple years ago when he’d been fired from his job again. Only family can put up with his shit.
I shuffle out of bed, dragging my achy body to the kitchen. Rummaging in the cupboards near the sink, I find a couple of pain pills and swallow them with a mouthful of vodka, ignoring the ache in my throat as the liquid goes down. I open the other cupboards, hoping there’s even a dry cracker or some breakfast cereal, but the cupboards are bare. I take another swig from the vodka bottle, grateful I still have my priorities in order.Who needs food when you’ve got booze, right?Bending down to open our small refrigerator, I wince as a dart of pain shoots up my spine. Lifting my shirt, I prod at the blossoming bruise that stretches from my left hipbone around my back. Shit. I strip off my shirt, standing in my undies in the kitchen as I inspect every inch of my body.
