“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except why the hell this bottle is empty!” Her voice rose on every word and she hurled it—with surprising strength—at the wall. It bounced off, and I was glad as fuck it didn’t shatter and add to the mess.

The doc took that opportunity to flip open his black bag, pull out a syringe and bottle, and quickly measure out a dose. He was fast, and luckily Elle’s ma didn’t notice. She was too busy trying to struggle to her feet, but couldn’t quite get her legs under her. The doc slid the needle into her arm without a word, and she was too blitzed to even notice. Another minute of struggling and she sagged back against him. “What did you do…” The slurred words trailed off.

“Thank you,” Elle whispered. “I didn’t know what else to do. She was inconsolable.”

“And drunk. I only gave her a tiny fraction of a dose because of the alcohol. I’m going to have to stay with her and monitor her as long as she’s out. I’m not taking any chances.”

Elle lifted a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t even think about that. Hell. What a mess.”

The doc looked to me. “Could you help me get her upstairs?”

Finally, something I could do to be useful. “Of course. I’ll get her; Elle, you lead the way.”

Once we had Elle’s ma situated in her bed, and the doctor by her side, holding her hand in a way that suggested to me that he was a little more caring than your average doc, we went back downstairs.

Elle threw herself into my arms, and I squeezed her tight.

“What a mess,” she said. “What a goddamn mess.”

“We’ll work it all out. I promise.”

As soon as his arms closed around me, I let go. The edges of the wound that had been knitting together tore wide open, and years of grief flowed free.

I’d been transported back over a decade, to the moment when my mother had called to tell me my father was dead.

Her lifeless words still rang in my ears.

“He’s gone. You need to come home.”

But home wasn’t home without my father.

Tears streamed down my face, soaking the front of Lord’s shirt. I cried for everything I’d lost. Years of memories I never got to make. Knowing that my dad would never meet the man I’d fallen in love with and give his approval. Never walk me down the aisle. Never hold the children I’d have someday.

I cried for my mother and the wedge my father’s death—and everything that had followed—had shoved between us. I hadn’t just lost him that day; I’d lost her too. Nothing had ever been the same. I’d gone from the safety and comfort of knowing I had two parents at home who loved and supported me to being completely alone. Barely eighteen. Still trying to figure out who I was going to be and how high I could soar … but my foundation had crumbled. The night before my college graduation, I’d listened to all of my friends talking about their parents coming to see them walk, taking them out to celebrate, and all I could think about was how unfair it was that I’d never share another milestone with my dad.

Unable to deal, I’d pulled a card from my mother’s deck and drank until I didn’t care about anything at all. The next day, she and Denton had bailed me out of jail, and their scathing reprimands had made it clear just how alone I truly was.

The conversation still played vividly in my head: “Disappointed? How can you of all people be disappointed? I’m just taking after you by solving my problems with a bottle.”

My words had been followed by her sharp inhale, the sting of her palm across my face, and Denton’s eyes lighting with approval.

I’d never forget that look on his face—or hers.

Because she’d looked like I’d slapped her right back.

Over ten years of ugliness on both sides … spawned by a man we’d both loved and lost.

He would have been so disappointed in us both.

My tears fell faster, but this time they were washing away the bitterness instead of letting it fester. I was done holding it in. It was time to let it all go. Time to start over. I had one parent left, and I’d already wasted over a decade caught up in the past.

Time was fleeting. Nothing was guaranteed. I could just as easily lose my mother, and with that, my chance to repair everything between us.

Lord’s hand stroked my hair and my back as my tears quieted. I lifted my head and began wiping them away. I didn’t even care how I must’ve looked.

Lord stilled my hands and slid his thumbs along my cheeks, catching the tears I’d missed.

“We’re going to get through this, Elle. I swear to you. I will not let another one of your tears fall without putting myself on the line to stop it from happening again.”

This man. What did I do to deserve this man?

“I love you,” I said. “I don’t deserve you, but I love you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Lord said, lowering his lips to press against my forehead. “You deserve everything—and I’m going to give it all to you.”

I bit my lip. “If you keep saying things like that, I’m going to cry again.”

“You’re going to have to figure out how to handle it, because I guarantee it’s not the last time I’m going to say it.”

I hugged him tighter before pulling away. I stood straighter, stronger, and not feeling nearly as broken as I had only minutes before. I had a renewed sense of purpose. A renewed sense of hope.

Lord’s hand slid down my arm and threaded through my fingers. He brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to my knuckles.

“How about we clean this place up?” he asked.

I surveyed the room and the shards of glass.

It was time to start picking up the pieces … for good this time.

We cleaned up the library in silence, but it was a silence filled with purpose and not despair. Elle was already pulling herself together, and I was impressed as hell.

When we finished, I asked her what she wanted to do.

“I have to stay. I can’t leave her.”

“You want to stay the night? Or just for the rest of the day?”

Elle released a long breath. “I really should stay the night, probably.”

“I’ll get your bag out of the car.” It was the one she’d packed and had waiting when I’d picked her up this morning. “The rest of your stuff is at the house, though. You tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you and run it back.”