Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)(77)

I had a nightmare.

My mom locked Oakley in her room, screaming, “You want light? I’ll give you light!” as she set fire to the house and burned my sister alive.

Talk about a rude wakeup.

I attempted to level my breathing. I glanced across the gulf between us; Sierra curled up on her side of the bed facing away from me.

She’d been nothing but thoughtful and supportive, giving me the connection I hadn’t known I’d needed.

And how had I repaid her? By shutting her out.

Yeah, I was some great boyfriend.

Fuck. I needed air.

I managed not to wake her as I dressed and then snuck out of the bedroom.

As I wandered through the dark house, my thoughts moved faster than my feet.

I worried about Oakley.

I worried about Rock.

I hated feeling helpless at my mother’s hands again.

I hated not knowing what my dad needed to talk to me about.

I hated feeling I’d let Sierra down.

I hated getting scheduled for a midnight to noon shift the next two days.

I pretty much hated f*cking everything.

Booze wasn’t the smartest choice, but I needed to calm down. I’d already tried exercise and that had failed. I couldn’t swim because the door alarm would wake Sierra. Mindless TV wouldn’t do anything but piss me off even more.

Booze it is.

The liquor cabinet in the kitchen had tequila, rum, a bottle of high-end Crown and Jack Daniels.

While I preferred the Crown—Sierra’s taste was wearing off on me—doing shots of it would be a waste. I grabbed the bottle of Jack.

I twisted the cap off and drank deeply. Classy, not to bother with a glass.

I took a breath and swallowed another mouthful.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Then I forced myself to inflate my lungs fully with a slow breath and exhale. I did that four more times, one for every shot of booze. I’d learned the trick from Corky, an older medic who’d served in the Gulf War. But he’d cautioned me to only use it when I’d exhausted other options.

It was only the third time I’d resorted to it in seven years.

The first time had been after I’d lost a patient.

The second time after I’d failed three tests, three days in a row because of dyslexia stress.

And tonight.

I had a water chaser and I put the bottle away.

The whiskey hit me. Not like a freight train—more like a VW bus.

I made it to the couch in the great room. The room didn’t spin when I closed my eyes and the tight feeling beneath my skin had loosened. The constant bombardment of worst-case scenarios faded too.

I pulled the afghan over me and drifted off.

The whirring grind of the coffee maker woke me up. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and glanced at my watch. Seven a.m. Sierra was right on schedule this morning.

I f*cking loved that she was so consistent.

I got up and headed for the shower.

Sierra was standing in front of her laptop when I joined her in the kitchen ten minutes later.

The first thing I did was kiss her. An in-her-face, balls-to-the-wall, full-body kiss.

I loved the dazed look that put in her eyes. “Morning, gorgeous. You look fantastic and you smell like a million bucks.” I brushed my mouth across hers again. “You even taste great.”

She poked me in the belly. “You are so cocky.”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Boone West. You started the morning mouth f*ck so I’d stop wearing lipstick.”

“I crave the taste of your lips and your mouth, baby. Not that waxy chemical shit.” I grinned against her lips. “Morning mouth f*ck, huh? I like that.”

“I like it too.” She smirked back. “I just put on lipstick in the car now.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee, crossing over to refill Sierra’s cup. When I turned back around she wore a quizzical look. “What?”

“Why’d you sleep on the couch last night?”

I started to play it off as insomnia.

Sierra shook her head. “You are about to tell me a little white lie, or change the subject. I didn’t push last night about what happened with your sister. I’m pushing you now.”

“Yeah? You sure you wanna hear about my nightmare where I watched my psychotic mother torch the house and my sister?”

She bobbled her cup. Then she drew in a slow sip of coffee. “I’m sorry. I knew you were restless last night. Did sleeping on the couch help?”

“The five shots of Jack Daniels helped.”

“I imagine so.”

I don’t know why the hell I’d expected her to pass judgment on me; she never did. “Thanks for trying to take the edge off last night.”

Her lips quirked which meant she was thinking dirty thoughts.

“With the massage thing,” I stressed, “but I wouldn’t have turned down a blowjob.”

“Really? You like blowjobs? Huh. I wasn’t sure.”

“Smartass. So you gonna bust my balls or do you wanna hear about Oakley?”

“Bust your balls,” she muttered. “Sometimes I think you forget I’m not Raj.”

I lifted a brow. “I promise you I never discuss my balls with Raj.”