Page 9 of Bombshell

“This is Little Love. When I was in high school, and no one had parents out of town, this is where we had our parties. There’s a bigger version in Nashville, but this one is closer.” I pause to see if he wants to say anything, but he just looks out at the campus, dotted with its beautiful old buildings. I can’t even tell if he hears me. “Anyway, no one will bother us here. Do you want me to leave?”

“How do you not kill him?” Sterling says, and I’m still not sure he has heard anything I said.

“My father has a way of pulling you into his world. He owns everything, controls everything. And he uses all of it, all of the time, to get what he wants. You either let him, or you learn how to break out of his world.”

“I don’t want to break out of his world. I want to destroy it.”

If it had been said by someone else, or without so much sincerity, I might not take it seriously. But I’ve never seen Sterling like this. For the briefest of moments I wonder if he should get drunk, just for tonight, just to help him let go of whatever happened. But I know that’s the cheap way out, that it will just create more problems.

“I know that feeling. Believe me.”

He looks at the bottle in his hands and twists off the cap. My heart sinks as I wait for him to take a swig. Instead, he inhales deeply, savoring the smell.

“You haven’t tried to stop me from drinking,” he says, somewhere between confusion and accusation.

“Part of me wouldn’t blame you,” I murmur. “You have to remember, I’ve been dealing with Angus MacLaine my whole life. So I know the last thing you need is for me to tell you what choices to make.”

He nods. “You’re right about that.”

“But I also know drunk Sterling isn’t the best Sterling. And isn’t that what my father wants?”

“He offered to buy me off. Six figures,” Sterling says, pausing to savor the whiskey’s aroma again. “I don’t even warrant a million from a multi-billionaire. Doesn’t he know that’s how it’s supposed to work?”

I force myself to laugh, but it falls in hollow peals between us. It’s not funny to either of us.

He screws the cap back on the bottle, setting it down on one of the posts holding up the log barrier, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’ll make him regret fucking with us,” Sterling says, turning to me with the same wild look he had on his face when I caught up to him on the road.

“I’d like to see that—but it’s probably not going to happen tonight.” I put as much smile behind it as I can and reach for his hand. “Let’s go back to your dorm. Forget my father. He can’t control us if we don’t even think about him.”

Sterling lets me take his hand, but he doesn’t grasp it, then gives me a weak smile.

“You win, Lucky. Let’s go.”

We get back in the car, and I back up in the silent dark, wanting to put this behind us. But as I shift into drive, the headlights glint off the full whiskey bottle reminding me that there’s a difference between wants and needs and sometimes knowing the difference between the two is as hard as walking away from the answers at the bottom of a bottle.

4

Sterling

The spring air is crisp and cool as Adair drives us down the switchbacks leading away from Little Love. She shivers slightly, ducking toward the dashboard in an attempt to stay away from the air rushing overhead. A rumble of thunder sounds in the distance, and by the time we reach the bottom we’re being pelted with rain.

Stupid, Sterling.

I shouldn’t have left her at the wedding. Now she’s here, driving a convertible in the rain, freezing cold, and wondering if I’m going to go off the reservation and start drinking again. Am I trying to prove Angus MacLaine right?

We’re in a full-on thunderstorm by the time we pull into the dorm parking lot. Adair screeches to a halt in the first open space, then jumps out and begins trying to get the roof of the Jag up before the rain completely soaks the interior. I pull off my jacket and hold it over her head, doing my best to keep the rain off her.

“Thanks,” she says, and when she struggles to get the roof in place I leave the jacket over her and go around the other side of the car to help. It takes a few minutes, and by the time we’re standing inside the entrance of the dorm, we’re both soaked to the bone.

“You really love that car, don’t you?” I say.

“Yeah. It was my mom’s, remember?” she says, her teeth chattering.

We take the elevator to my floor, and I can’t help wondering what would happen if her father disowned her because of me. Does she move in with me, somewhere off campus? We both work—but she can’t afford school, of course. I can see it so clearly: the Jag breaks down, but the repair bill costs more than either of us makes in a year. She has to sell it. I have to see her heart break when she does it.

As soon as I unlock the door to my room, Adair darts inside. “Need a warm shower,” she says, throwing her small purse and keys on the table beside my bed and going to lock the door leading from our suite-mates’ room to the bathroom before someone over there does the same to us.