Chapter 72
[ 493 words ]
Chapter 72:
A little after 3:00 a.m., my phone rattled hard against the pillow and yanked me awake. My heart slammed against my ribs far too fast. Jeremy Harrison was calling. He was Ethan’s best friend.
“Hello, Jeremy?” I said, my voice rough with sleep.
“Lianne! Thank God you answered!” Jeremy sounded half out of his mind. “You need to come to Midnight Bar and pick Ethan up! He came in here around 1:00 a.m. and started drinking like he’d lost his mind. Nobody can stop him, and now he’s completely passed out.”
Phone still in hand, I stared out into the pitch-black night. The small flicker of worry and softness that had briefly stirred in my chest died on the spot. What took its place was a deep, choking exhaustion.
Again.
Whenever he was in a rotten mood, I was the one who had to come clean up after him.
“Didn’t he bring a driver?” I asked, my voice flat.
“He did, but he drove the driver away. Lianne, I’m begging you. He’s not stable right now. If he loses control and shifts out here, it’ll be a disaster.”
𝖥𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅 𝖯𝖣𝖥𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌.𝖼𝗈𝗆
I shut my eyes and let out a long, tired breath.
We were practically finished as mates, and he still had to go out, get drunk, and make a mess in the middle of the night?
“Send me the address. I’m coming.”
I ended the call and threw back the covers.
This was the last time, I told myself.
Once I picked him up and we ended our marriage on Monday, there would be nothing left between us at all.
Lianne’s POV
Pushing open the door to the private room, I was hit at once by a sharp wall of alcohol.
Ethan was sprawled in the middle of the leather couch with his eyes shut. His tie hung loose, and two buttons on his shirt had come undone, baring the clean line of his collarbones. One hand still gripped a half-finished glass of liquor.
Empty bottles were strewn all over the floor. Vodka, whiskey… Was he trying to drink himself into the grave?
“Did he finish all of these?” I asked with a frown, turning to Jeremy.
Jeremy gave a grim nod. “I couldn’t stop him. He lashed out at anyone who got close. He said he was in a bad mood.”
In a bad mood? Was it because Ivy felt wronged, or because his mate had refused to listen and hurt his ego?
I drew in a slow breath, forcing down the sour pain in my chest, and walked over. “Ethan,” I called out.
He gave no response.
When I reached for the glass in his hand, his eyes opened little by little. Those eyes, usually so sharp and glacial, were now blurred with fatigue. He didn’t speak. He only looked at me, his gaze so fixed and intense that it stole my breath.
For a second, I couldn’t tell whether he was drunk or clear-headed.
“It’s late. Let’s go home and get some rest,” I said evenly, keeping my eyes off his.
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