Page 158 of Merciless
The house was a mess, I knew that. Although I don’t think I really appreciated how bad it was until she started cleaning.
It just went to prove how much I’ve been taking Alana for granted. From almost the first day I took her to Dad’s house where we stayed to begin with, she became a huge part of my life.
To begin with, she told me that it was because she needed a distraction. But as time went on, she never stopped. Every day the house would be perfect, restaurant-quality meals would be cooked, and all the while, she made it look effortless.
She was only sixteen when I first rescued and hid her. It astounded me how much she knew and was able to do. By the time I bought us this place and we started renovating, I wasn’t surprised when she made DIY look easy. Just like everything else she did, it was totally effortless.
She amazed me daily. Made me fall for her harder with every little thing she did.
And now she’s gone, all I can think about is how I didn’t tell her enough, how I didn’t appreciate everything she’s given me.
She became my everything. I should have treated her better, told her how I felt, showed her how much she meant to me.
You’re a Hawk, Son. That comes above all else. Even pussy.
“ARGH,” I scream, grabbing a pillow and smothering my face with it. The second it connects, I realize my mistake and launch it across the room instead, but I fuck that up as well and the bottle topples over and crashes to the tiled floor beneath shattering everywhere.
“Motherfucker.”
A pained sigh that’s loaded with all my mistakes and regrets passes my lips and fills my—our—empty house. She might not be aware of it, but when I bought this place, I put her name on the deed right alongside mine.
She made sure to tell me that she didn’t want anything for free from me. But what she didn’t realize is that anything I could give her pales in comparison to everything she’s given me.
A few thousand dollars is nothing when I think of her smile, her laughter, the way she looks when she’s lost in her own thoughts, and writing in her beloved diary.
I’ve no idea how long I lie there, drowning in the whiskey that’s still flooding my system, while I remember our time here together.
It’s not the end. I know it’s not.
Somewhere deep down in my gut, I know. Just like all those years ago I knew she was going to be mine.
She’s going to come back to me. She is. I just need to find a way to make it happen.
At some point, I manage to drift off again, and when I come to, the sun is flooding the house, making my eyes water and my head continue to pound.
But that’s nothing compared to when there is a succession of loud, obnoxious knocks on my front door.
My pulse picks up as I try to guess who it might be. No one comes here. I made a point of making it off-limits to almost everyone when we moved to allow Alana privacy and to give her the confidence that she’s safe. Hell, I’m pretty sure that most don’t even know this place exists.
The only other person who has a key and is able to show up unannounced is Sheila. Which is how I know this isn’t her.
She’d have barged in already and begun chastising me for getting drunk.
I can hear her words loud and clear, as if she’s standing next to me right now.
Since when did drinking solve anyone’s problems, young man? Get up, get showered and get out there to fix whatever is fucked up yourself.
I smile as I think of her fierce expression and give-no-shits attitude.
When I don’t make a move to answer the door, the knocking starts again.
“All-fucking-right,” I bark, swinging my legs off the bed and pushing to stand.
“Ow, fuck,” I complain when pain slices through the sole of my foot. “Fucking assholes,” I hiss, remembering there’s broken glass everywhere.
As if they don’t know I’m a hungover mess, now with a bleeding foot, the knocking continues.
“COMING,” I bellow before hopping over the rest of the glass, leaving little drops of blood in my wake.