Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)(72)

“Look how easy I replaced you!” he shouted. He was so drunk that he was swaying in place. He threw an arm around each woman. “Twice!”

I blinked back tears. “What is wrong with you?” I asked him, my voice trembling.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?! Did you forget? You divorced me.”

Dean came back into the room, not saying a word, just setting a glass of orange juice down in front of me on the coffee table. He shot me one swift, drunkenly sympathetic smile before he disappeared away again.

I would remember the round shape of the glass, the exact shade of orange that juice was. I’d remember that that glass was full nearly to the brim.

“Oh, is that who you want?” Tristan shouted, his malevolent gaze swinging to Dean’s retreating back. “Wouldn’t that be f**king precious, you and douchebag Dean.”

I took a long drink from that memorable glass of orange juice, feeling almost too weak to lift it to my mouth. It tasted bad, a touch bitter, but I attributed that to the bad taste already in my mouth.

He lifted his arms, and shooed the groupies towards the hallway. “Go wait in my room, replacements. I’ll be right there.”

They went, and I took another long drink. It was hard to even look at him just then, but I did it.

Our drama, or Dean, had cleared this room completely. It was the closest I thought we’d get to being alone.

I looked up at him and whispered quietly, “I’m pregnant.”

He blinked, just blinked, and didn’t say a word, just staring at me. I had no idea if he heard me.

“How could you do that, Danika? How could you just send Jerry here with those divorce papers without even giving me a chance to talk to you?”

“I sent Jerry with those papers and a letter. I told you I’d meet with you, if you wanted to try to work things out. Didn’t you read the letter? All you had to do was go to rehab, Tristan, but instead you just signed those papers. We both made this mess. You can’t put it all on me.”

He threw his arms in the air, the muscles in his chest and stomach working with the motion. That had set him off. “A letter? Bullshit! There was no f**king letter!”

I shook my head, again and again. Was he just so out of it that he didn’t remember?

“There was,” I whispered, feeling woozy suddenly. I shook my head, but that just made the feeling worse.

Carefully, I set the orange juice down.

I would remember that it was half-full exactly as I studied it. I didn’t touch it again.

Something was wrong with me.

“Tristan, I don’t feel well. I don’t think I’m okay to drive. I need to lie down.”

“Dean, will you f**king take her home?” he shouted. He pointed at me, his mouth shaped into a snarl. “You divorced me. Did you forget?” he said, yet again. “You got yourself stranded? Not my problem.”

I just kept shaking my head.

Tristan turned to the wall, punched it three times, leaving a gaping hole, then stumbled from the room.

Tears seeped slowly from my eyes as I lay back against couch and let my lids drift slowly closed. I just couldn’t keep them open for another second.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DANIKA

I started slightly as I felt a hand on my arm.

“Come on, Danika. I’ll take you home.”

It was Dean’s voice, and I opened my eyes, but I didn’t quite process what he said.

He helped me sit up, and then stand, and then I was leaning on him as he led me out of the apartment. I blinked, trying to clear the strange cloud that had come over my mind.

“What’s going on?” I mumbled, struggling not to let my eyes close again.

“I’m just giving you a ride. Shh, now, you’ll be home in no time, and you can talk to Tristan in the morning, or whenever he sobers up. He’s a maniac tonight.”

He supported most of my weight as we made our way very slowly, very carefully, down the steps.

“Why are you being so nice tonight?” I asked him, letting my eyes fall closed after he’d helped me, very gently, into the passenger seat of his car.

He didn’t answer, in fact he barely looked at me again as he set my large wedding picture into my lap and shut the door. I hadn’t even realized that he was carrying it.

I hugged it to my chest and closed my eyes.

The car began to drive, and I struggled to stay awake, as I felt a cold touch on my leg. I couldn’t tell what it was at first, but I knew that it was wrong.

With effort, I opened my eyes.

Dean’s cold hand was on my thigh.

“What are you doing?” I whispered hoarsely, trying to shift away.

His hand lifted, going back to the steering wheel. “Shh, go back to sleep. You’re fine. I’ll have you home in no time.” His tone was still soothing.

It was only then that I realized this nice version of Dean was far scarier than the unfiltered prick I was used to, but I was just so drowsy, and my eyes drifted closed again.

I had a thought that made me fight to stay awake, and I opened my eyes again. “You shouldn’t be driving,” I pointed out. “You’re drunk.”

He laughed. “And high as a kite. We’ve been chasing speedballs with shots of vodka, in honor of our dearly departed Jared. But don’t you worry about it. I drive better drunk, so you’re in good hands. Now go back to sleep.”