KNOCK OUT [LH]

Chapter 24: Cedar Uplift Lotus Therapeutics

[LUKE'S POV:]

The door shuts, enveloping me in the dark and private confines of my room before Atwood has a chance to fire back a snarky remark.

I lean my tense back against the cool surface of the door with an exhausted sigh, not bothering to flip on the lights just yet as I blindly work to unravel the boxing tape from my bruised and busted knuckles, giving my sore hands a quick stretch once the tape is removed and pushing back off the door to slowly making my way over to the counter.

The unpleasant interaction with Atwood has left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I know the only cure lies within the array of different bottles sitting in a temping line across the counter top. Each one seems to call my name, just waiting to be consumed, and it scares me to admit that in my exhausted state, I'm not sure if I have the self-control to limit my alcohol consumption tonight.

Carelessly tossing the boxing tape aside, I finally flip on the light switch, wincing slightly at the sudden brightness before scanning the glass bottle row of options. As planned I snatch the tequila out of the mix, using my thumb and forefinger to twist off the cap and raise it to my awaiting lips with no intention of using a glass tonight, feeling as if drinking directly from the bottle is the only way to bring about any sort of intoxicating satisfaction.

However, before I can so much as feel the pleasurable burn of the beverage washing down my dry throat, a series of rapid vibrations sound from across the room, making me pause.

My eyes flicker over to where my phone sits face down on the couch, vibrating with incessant notifications that makes my jaw clench in annoyance before I'm drowning out the noise and turning my attention back to the bottle in my hands.

I don't know who's trying to contact me at this hour, nor am I interested in finding out.

It's when the rim of the bottle just barely grazes my chapped bottom lip that my mind jumps to Winifred again, instantly sparking the reflexive urge to forget the tequila and scramble for my phone.

Fuck.

I'm slamming the glass bottle back down onto the counter and stomping my way over to the device before I can stop myself, the action purely driven by the possibility of it being her, and I hate it.

How am I so fucking whipped for this kid?

"Fucking pathetic." I grumble under my breath in irritation, though the unsettling pinches of something potentially being wrong settles in the pit of my stomach as I quickly snatch my still buzzing phone off of the couch with a scowl.

Swiftly flipping the device over in my palm, I surveying the cracked screen for a moment, and when I see that all twenty-five fucking texts are from Calum, I nearly explode right on the spot.

Without hesitation, I'm reeling back the hand that clutches my phone, ready to chuck it into the opposite wall of the room until her name flashes across the screen in the latest incoming text and I freeze.

The anger that had been bubbling up inside me instantly subsides as my eyes flicker over the text message, only to be replaced by the dreadful feeling of my stomach sinking as I read the words over and over again to make sure this isn't some kind of sick fucking joke before I'm frantically sprinting towards the door...

Earlier that morning...

[WINNIE'S POV:]

"Okie dokie, kiddos," My dad says, rolling out from underneath Kelly: the soccer mom wagon on the old mechanic's creeper before tossing a wrench back into the tool box beside him. "She's all fixed up and ready to go."