OUR FIGHT

3 • drunk in bubbly

*a few weeks after haunting and healing*

• • •   • • •

I'm pretty sure if I came face to face with my seventeen-year-old self, she would be greatly disappointed in me. Hell, I'm disappointed in myself. I'm a twenty-two-year-old grandma slumping over the kitchen island relying on a mimosa to keep myself awake... at eleven-thirty at night.

I take another small sip of the bubbly orange liquid, inviting the bitter taste to slowly kick my senses awake as it travels down my throat. It wasn't that long ago, but I remember the days when I could pull two all-nighters in a row with ease. Now I can barely make it to midnight without needing alcoholic assistance.

In California, rain in June is rare, but quite fitting for tonight, as it's an accurate reflection of my mood. The soft patter of rain hitting the windows reminds me of the deafening silence engulfing my house. It shouldn't sound like this; I should be hearing laughter, teasing, and glasses clinking.

I sigh, running a hand through the top of my hair while attempting to focus on my open laptop. I started my new job at a salon about a month ago and I'm almost already booked with appointments. It would be nice if I could actually work on organizing my schedule, but it's starting to feel impossible. When I glance at my phone and see no new notifications pop up, I take another gulp of my drink. This gulp is much larger than the last.

Saxon should have been home from work hours ago. Before he left this morning, he never said anything about working late so that can't be the case. What makes things worse is I haven't received a single text or call from him explaining his absence. I've tried calling him dozens of times, I've even tried reaching out to his right-hand man Andy for any information. Nothing but voicemails all around.

I started worrying when he was forty minutes late. Now, hours later, I'm about to enter full panic mode. I don't know what his exact agenda was for today, but I do know that he and his gang are in the middle of dealing with another gang that's been messing with their shipments.

What if that's the reason he hasn't come home yet? What if they're duking it out right now? What if he's in danger? What if he's hurt? Or even... oh my god.

I immediately shut down my train of thought and close my eyes. Chewing on my bottom lip, I debate whether or not I should call Saxon again. It may be pointless to try, but at this point, the sound of his voicemail is more comforting than the unsettling thoughts I'm having. I wish I could just go to bed and hopefully wake up in his arms, but how can I fall asleep not knowing if he's safe?

I'm about to dial my mom's number to cry about the situation when there's a knock at the door. I place my glass warily back on the dark gray countertop, looking suspiciously in the direction of the noise. It's nearly midnight, who the hell could it be?

I creep to the foyer, and by the time I reach the wooden door, I realize that I should have brought a weapon with me. But the thought instantly leaves my mind when I look through the clear window on the door.

"Oh my god!" I unlock the door hastily and swing it open. Andy gives me a polite nod, but my eyes go straight to the slouched man that has an arm across his shoulders for support. Both men are slightly wet, with raindrops sliding down their faces from their hair.

"Hi, baby girl," Saxon's bloodshot eyes pierce my own as he gives me a lazy smile. "Haven't seen you in like... fuckin' ages."

My eyes widen at his slurred words.

"Come here, you idiot," I grumble. Andy helps a very drunk Saxon step inside so I can hold him up by placing an arm around his torso and the other on his arm. He stumbles a little, so with a grunt, I grip his body tighter to prevent him from falling over.