Page 31 of Unbreakable Thread

I look over at the clock on the wall. It’s two in the morning. “Where have you been, Max?” My voice rises. He’s never done this before, so it’s out of character for him.

“We boxed, then Drake stopped by. We were all shooting the shit. Leo, Xander, Mikey showed up and me. We just drank too much.” His fingers run up and down my leg. “My phone died.”

I sigh. “I was worried about you.”

“I had Johnny watching over you.”

I groan. Not again. He’s too drunk to even say anything. I bend to take his shoes off.

“You’re the best,” he slurs.

God, how much did he drink?

“S-sexy.”

His foot curls when I slip one shoe off, then I move to the other, and then I ask, “How did you get home?”

“I had a ride.”

I nod.

“She helped me to the door.”

She.

“Who?” I shout. It better not be her.

“Don’t yell, Sol. My head.”

“I will scream or throw a punch if you don’t answer me.” I raise a brow at him, standing to my feet, my hands folded to my chest.

“Annette.”

What the actual hell? Of all people, she’s giving my man a ride home?

“You should have called me, Max. What, were you drinking with her, too?”

“No…No, I called Carlos to give us a ride, but Annette showed up instead. She gave Xander and me a ride.”

My blood pressure is skyrocketing to the point of going ballistic on him. “I suppose she took Xander home first.”

He flops onto the bed. “She did.”

Of course she did. She would do anything to get time with him.

“I would have appreciated it if you had called me. You made a call to Carlos. You could have called me. The office has a phone. You could have called me.” The flames of jealousy burn hotter. It’s not the type of jealousy where I feel she’s better than me. No, it’s the fact that he is drunk, and I don’t trust her. And I’m pissed he didn’t call me.

“Perdón,” is all he says, then soft snores leave his lips.

I toss and turn for two hours, then get up. I have too much on my mind. After Carlos’s call and Max getting home late without even bothering to reach out, it stirs so much in me. I can’t think straight.

The shower hisses upstairs in the background as I nurse my third cup of coffee from Max’s high-end espresso machine—identical to the one I had at my parents’ home. I couldn’t afford one when I moved out, so it’s nice to have a luxury cup of espresso at home when I’m not at the café.

I drum my fingernails against the warm ceramic. The clomp of shoes stomping down the stairs makes me tighten my grip on the cup. This is probably one of the quickest showers this man has taken.

“Good morning.” His voice is low and raspy. He shuffles to the cabinet where he keeps his painkillers, eyes fixed on anything but me.

“Morning.”