Chapter 89
Aiden
The silence after the door slammed was deafening. Not just in the
house–in me. It rattled around my chest, echoing like a gunshot,
leaving nothing but the hollow ringing. For a long time, I just stood
there staring at the door, half expecting Noah to come storming back
in, cursing me out, fighting me, anything. But he didn’t.
And I’d told him to go.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck had I done?
I stumbled into my office, half–blind with rage at myself, dragging out
the bottle I kept stashed for nights like this. Nights when the weight
of my own fuckups pressed so heavy I couldn’t breathe sober. I
poured until the glass overflowed. Didn’t wipe it. Didn’t care. Just let
it scorch all the way down, like punishment I knew I deserved.
My desk was littered with ghosts waiting their turn. I’d kept them
here like trophies of failure, proof I’d destroyed everything I touched.
My hand found the first album, the one I should’ve burned years ago.
Jamie.
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My kid brother grinning under a helmet too big for his head, his arm
slung around my shoulders after practice like I’d hung the moon.
God, he used to look at me like I was invincible. Before I shattered
that illusion. Before I ruined his future along with mine.
I traced his face with a rough finger, the photo edges worn from all
the times I came here to bleed on them. A tear slipped free before I
noticed, splattering his smile.
I turned pages–victories, little league games, trophies. Then the last
photo: Jamie older, his smile faded, his body slumped in that
goddamn chair. My chest clenched so tight it stole the air out of me.
Another drink. Harder this time.
The next album cut even deeper. My glory days. All shine and
trophies, me strutting like a cocky bastard at twenty. Smug,
untouchable. I wanted to punch the asshole staring back at me from
those photos. He had no idea the fall was coming–the scandal, the
accident, the collapse. I shoved the album aside like it was poison.
But the smaller one waited. Meaner. Micah.
That nearly gutted me.
His face lit up every page–smiling, kneeling, laughing with his head
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thrown back at some party, arms tight around me like I was worth something. Sunshine, light, joy. He’d trusted me with everything, and I’d let him slip through my fingers like he was nothing.
“I couldn’t even keep him!” I growled, my voice breaking. Rage ripped
through me as I hurled the album across the room. It hit the wall with
a slap, pages spilling out like open wounds.
My chest heaved. I buried my face in my hands, elbows digging into
my knees, shoulders buckling under the weight.
And still—still—my thoughts went to Noah.
Fuck. Noah.
That stubborn, relentless kid. Bright eyes, sharp tongue, a laugh that
had no business worming its way past my defenses. He’d pushed past
every wall, every rule, every line, right into the one place I’d sworn
off forever. My heart.
And what had I given him? Everything but the one thing he wanted
most. I’d teased him with it, dangled it just close enough for him to
believe… and then I’d shoved him out into the night like he was a
disposable mistake.
Now I had nothing. No career. No brother. No Micah.
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And no Noah.
The burn in my throat wasn’t just from the liquor anymore. It was
grief. Regret. Self–hatred so thick it hollowed me out from the inside.
I poured another drink with shaking hands and downed it, but it
wasn’t enough. Nothing ever would be.
I shoved the bottle aside and dragged my laptop closer, ready to make
yet another bad choice, because why stop now when I could clearly
fuck up on a much larger scale?
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
