20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Nolan — Then

I stirred awake, draped in the remnants of wild desperation and bad decisions. My head throbbed, and I cursed at the sunlight streaming through the curtains. Blindly, I patted the cold mattress beside me, searching for those wild curls that made it worth getting up in the morning.

“Indy?” I sat up in a rush, groaning as the room seemed to spin. I shouldn’t have drunk last night when I’d come home after my debut game, but my thoughts were suffocating me, and alcohol was my only immediate relief. Scanning the room, I saw no proof of the mess I’d left. My textbooks were stacked neatly on the kitchen table, the empty beer bottles and pizza boxes gone.

Indy was gone too.

I could only remember glimpses of last night after she’d come home, but I was aware how I’d treated her at the ball field. When she’d come to me out of concern and I’d shut her down. “ Drop it,” I’d told her. “ I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let me worry about baseball .” How many times had I listened to the folks back home gripe to Indy about what she should or shouldn’t be doing? And yet, I’d screwed up and done the same. I couldn’t treat her that way. She deserved more, more than me. I was already riding on stolen time with her, and I’d be a fool to push her away .

Ignoring the roiling in my stomach, I scrambled to my feet, grasping for my phone. “Come on, peaches.” I rubbed my chest, my heart pounding faster with each ring until she finally answered. “Indy?” My voice was frantic, breath thick with the stench of beer. “Where are you? I woke up and you were gone. You’re never gone, you’re always there—”

“Take a breath, Nolan.” Her voice was soothing, and I felt a stab of shame she had to speak that way to me in the first place. Only after I’d forced a deep breath in and out did she say, “I needed to grab a few things this morning. I left you a note on the table, but I’m guessing you might’ve missed it.”

I glanced at the table, and sure enough, there was a letter from her, assuring me she’d be home soon. And right beside it were my class assignments... completed by Indy. “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

“You’re okay,” she assured me, and I hated how I soaked up her kindness. I should be a better man, a stronger one. Not one who needed his wife to pick him up again and again. “Why don’t you get in the shower? By the time you’re done, I’ll be home. I picked you up a few things, including a grilled cheese from that sandwich shop you love.”

I rubbed my jaw, my voice a jagged whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do.”

After I thanked her and hung up, I made my way to the bathroom. I stripped off my boxers, only now realizing I wasn’t in my uniform. Because Indy had taken care of me—she was always taking care of me. She hated waitressing, but she did it every day—all so I could chase this impossible dream. She was giving me everything. How long until she realized she was wasting her time on a man with a broken mind?

I turned the shower on, one foot in when I saw a forgotten beer bottle across the apartment. It lay on the floor beneath the wildflowers Indy painted on the wall months ago. Shower forgotten, I grabbed the bottle, feeling like it was tainting the bright and beautiful colors. Bright and beautiful like Indy. And as I held the half-empty bottle, I realized it was like me.

Poison .

I didn’t like drinking. It wasn’t fun, nor something I craved. The only reason I’d tasted alcohol when I was just shy of sixteen—and a few times since—was for the same reason I’d sought it out last night. It numbed me. Temporarily gave me a break and quieted the unforgiving darkness within. I could forget who I was.

Except I hated drinking almost as much as I despised the shell of a man I’d become.

But . . . if I could find some sort of middle ground. An in-between of who I was drunk and who I was sober. Maybe then I could better stand on my feet. If I could do that, I could give Indy everything she deserved. She’d never have a reason to leave.

Hopeless, I raised the bottle to my lips and drank.