Page 95 of Best Kind of Trouble
Then he turns and leaves me alone with Karma, and the fear that I ruined everything in my life. Again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LIAM
I try to sleep, but I keep seeing Briar’s face. The way she looked at me when I was inside of her, warm and trusting—and the way she looked at me before I walked out of her door last night, like I’d stabbed her in the heart.
Yeah, I messed up good. But in my defense, I didn’t know what to do. I’d given her what she said she wanted. I’m not capable of giving her more.
It’s obvious sleep isn’t coming, so I decide to do the smart thing and stop trying. I head to the brewery and test the gravity of the pale ale.
And I’ll be damned. It’s coming through like a real slugger. After everything we’ve been through, it’s actually going to be ready in time.
Maybe I have Dottie’s crystals to thank for that, or it’s possible the singing did it. Whatever fucked-up miracle won the day, I’m going to pull this off after all.
My first thought is that I need to call Briar, but I can’t casually call her after what happened last night.
Guilt sinks its teeth into me. I’m no better than Briar’sasshole parents and that insufferable bitch from her boarding school.
I hurt her.
I should have stayed away, but I was weak, and now I’ve screwed up everything.
At least I haven’t broken her heart. Not yet. That’s what Hannah was really afraid of, and it’s one thing I can still prevent myself from doing.
I spend the rest of the morning pacing between the vats, my mind lurking in the dark places it has mostly stayed out of during the uneventful years I spent at Big Catch under the not-so-watchful eyes of Frodo.
I have no idea what time it is when I head into the tasting room and take a seat at one of the tables, nesting my head between my hands. All I know is that the sun is out—good enough for me. After a few minutes of sitting there, feeling like shit, I pour myself some of the tropical IPA.
I need a drink, and right now, I don’t feel like I deserve a good one.
I’m still sitting there, nursing the crappy beer, when the door creaks open. I don’t turn to look, because I want it to be her…and I also don’t. I still don’t know what to say. No waves of brilliance have lapped over me.
We’re in an impossible situation, Briar and I. I like her. I like hera lot. I’m a little obsessed with her, to be honest. But I haven’t forgotten my sister’s warning.
If I mess this up badly enough, I could lose my sister, my job,andthe woman I want. In other words: I could lose everything, and so could Briar.
I don’t place great odds on me not messing up.
“Oh, dear. Did I leave too much moldavite here last night?”
It’s Dottie Hendrickson.
I need to have a conversation with Dottie, but I don’t have asingle clue what she’s talking about, nor do I have the patience to find out.
She sits down beside me, giving me a sidelong look as she pulls off a crocheted hat and fluffs her dyed purple hair. “Something very interesting happened to you last night.”
I bark a laugh, barely holding back theno shit. “I suppose you could say that.”
I glance at the clock mounted on the wall. It has somehow slipped from early morning to ten. Still a couple of hours before opening, which means Dottie’s here earlier than she should be.
I shift to get a better look at her. “Why are you here so early?”
She gives me a prim look. “My intuition told me I was needed.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t say the web of crystals spoke to you.”
“Would that be more believable?”
