More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) (41 page)

Authors: Jay McLean

He only ever sees the bad now.

I curse under my breath, already fearing his response. And of all the emotions that could possibly lead me to what I do next, fear is the greatest one.

Dylan

Riley’s calling.

I don’t know why she’s calling.

I ignore the call only for it to ring again. And again.

Then a text comes through.

Riley:
I’ve been pulled over. The brake lights were out, I guess, and it’s registered under your name. The officer asked you to come and bring some identification.

I sit on the edge of the hotel bed and check the time. It’s nine at night. I don’t know if I’ve slept or if I’ve just been in a daze but last I knew it was light out. I call her back, but I don’t speak.

“Dylan?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

I grab the beer sitting on my nightstand and take a few sips. “Where are you?”

She gives me her location and I take another sip. Then I dress, grab my keys and go to her.

She’s not hard to find, the flashing lights of the police car give her away. I park behind both cars and get out, pulling out my wallet as I walk toward them. A part of me is angry she’s driving without brake lights, not just because it’s fucking dangerous, but because I’d specifically asked Dad to take care of that shit because I knew she wouldn’t.

She’s still sitting behind the driver’s seat and when I walk up, the officer turns to me, aiming his flashlight in my eyes. “You’re the owner of this vehicle?” he asks. He’s my dad’s age, same build, no beard.

“Yes, Sir,” I tell him, pulling my military ID from my wallet and handing it to him.

He flashes his light on the ID and looks up at me. “Camp Lejeune?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, Sir.”

“Did Ms. Hudson tell you why she was pulled over?”

“Yes, Sir. Brake lights. I’ll take care of it first thing.”

He steps closer as he hands me back his ID, then freezes in his spot. He shines his light at my face again. “You been drinking, Lance Corporal?”

I suppress my eye roll. “I was having a beer when I got the call, officer.”

“How many beers?”

“Just the one.”

“I’m going to trust you,” he tells me, his voice stern.

I stay quiet, because everything I want to say would just get us in more trouble. I’m not intoxicated, but I’ve definitely had more than one beer.

He turns and starts walking back to Riley’s window.

I lean against the car, my arms and legs crossed, waiting. I just want to get back to the hotel. Back to solitary. Back to silence.

“Here’s your license back, Ms. Hudson. You’re going to have to leave the car here and get it towed. It’s illegal to drive it the way it is.”

Shit.
Now I have to sit in the fucking car with her.

“Is that a bottle of liquor on your passenger seat, Miss?” the office asks, and my head whips to the side, my ears perked, waiting for her response.

“Yes, Sir,” she says quietly.

I push off the car and stand next to the cop, my forearm resting on the roof. I don’t look at her. I can’t.

The officer sighs. “Hand it over.”

It takes a long time before I see Riley’s hand out the window, holding the bottle of Boons Farm wine she used to inhale to survive.

The officer lifts it higher, his flashlight shining on the screw cap. “This seal’s broken, Ms. Hudson. You are aware it’s an offense to drive with an open container of alcohol in a vehicle, aren’t you?”

She sniffs once. “Yes, Sir.”

The officer opens her door. “Please step out of the vehicle, Miss.”

I keep my gaze lowered, and re-cross my arms, doing everything I can not to look at her. If I see her—see the plea in her eyes—her eyes the color of sadness, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’d probably cut the bullshit and reach out to her, hold her and tell her that it’ll be okay. But it won’t last long until I fuck up, until I hurt her, until Dave’s in my vision again—pushing me to the brink of insanity.

“Have you consumed any alcohol tonight?” the officer asks her.

She sobs again, the single sound causing the destruction inside me. I finally look at her, her cheeks stained with tears as she stands in front of the police officer, her hands shaking at her sides.

“No, Sir. I mean yes, Sir. Just a sip. In the parking lot at the store where I got it. That’s all.”

My stomach falls, my breath releasing as my head drops forward, Riley’s words completely ruining me.

Her shoulders shake as she covers her eyes, releasing another round of sobs.

The officer says, “I need to do a sobriety test, Ms. Hudson.”

“Okay,” she says, her face contorting with another cry.

The cop’s shoulders drop as he stands in front of the girl I love, his authoritative demeanor waning. “Miss. If you’ve only had a sip, you’ll be okay. You’ll get a fine and it will all be over, okay?”

She drops her head in her hands, her shoulder lifting with each sob.

“Riley,” I whisper, but she doesn’t hear me.

“
Go to her!
” Dave’s voice rattles in my head. But I can’t. My feet are glued to the ground, my heart with it. Because I destroyed her.
I caused this
.

She looks up, wiping her tears on her arm. She straightens her shoulders as she looks between the cop and I.

“Miss?” the officer says again.

Her words are muffled by her forearm—using it to hide her cries. “That’s not why I’m crying.”

“Then why?” the officer asks gently.

She stands taller, looking at me for a long time before going back to the cop. “Because I’m a recovering alcoholic, Sir. Fifteen months and I haven’t had a drop and tonight, I failed.” Every word is forced. Every sob is restrained. Every breath is a struggle. “I failed myself and I failed him.” She points to me. “I’m a disappointment, Sir.” She cries harder, attempting to hold in her breaths to keep them quiet, but it doesn’t work. “I’m a fucking disappointment.”

“Riley,” I breathe out.

She places her arms in front of her. “You can arrest me,” she whimpers. “I don’t mind.”

The officer looks between us, not knowing what to do. After a while, he sighs, his focus on me. “Take your girl home,” he says. “Show her she’s loved.”

Silently, I lead
Riley to my truck, opening the passenger door for her. After making sure her car is secure, I get behind the wheel.

She doesn’t sit in the middle like she always does, she sits with her side pressed against the door as far away from me as possible.

I start the drive back to our house, my head spinning, my jaw tense.

“
Be nice,
” Dave says and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block him out. The last fucking thing I need is his dead voice adding fuel to my guilt.

Riley doesn’t stop crying. As hard as she tries to stop, I hear every single one, feel each one like a bullet straight through my heart. “I’m sorry, Dylan,” she says.

“
She’s fucking sorry, man.
”

I press my thumb to my temple, begging, pleading for the voices to stop.

“Dylan?” she whispers.

“
She needs you, man.
”

“Not now!” I yell, punching the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry,” Riley shouts, cowering against the door again.

I face her quickly. “Not you!” And when I focus on the road again, Dave’s standing in front of the car, his head blown off, his voice loud in my ears. “
Stop fucking yelling at her!
”

I slam on the brakes to avoid hitting him, my hands gripping the wheel as the tires spin, burning rubber against the concrete. I lose control, just for a moment, the car fishtailing across the narrow road before finally coming to a stop. Smoke surrounds the car, fog rises through the headlights.

I turn to Riley, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the door. She’s breathing heavily, just like me.

Fear.

It’s all I see.

All I feel.

In her.

In me.

“Fuck!” I hit the steering wheel again. Feeling the rage build. “Get out, Riley!”

“I’m not leaving!”

I reach out and open the door, forcefully pushing her out of the car. “Get out!”

“I’m sorry, Dylan!” she shouts through her sobs, standing next to the car.

“Go home!”

She shakes her head, her hands in her hair. Then her face turns white. “Dylan!”

Forty-Seven

Dylan

M
y breaths are
weak. My body weaker. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. I can hear her voice. She’s screaming my name. Over and over. I can feel her with me, but she sounds far away. So far.

My lips part, her name barely a whisper.

She’s crying. She screaming and she’s crying.

White light flashes behind my eyes. More distant voices. But none louder than Dave’s. “
What the hell did you do, man?”
I follow his voice because I have no choice. My breath leaves me. It doesn’t return. It’s dark. So damn dark.

Forty-Eight

Dylan

T
here’s a beeping
sound, something pressing down on my fingers, faint voices, and the familiar smell of hospitals. I know where I am before I open my eyes.

I try to remember what happened, about as much as I try to forget.

I remember Riley’s face—the white caused by the headlights behind me. Then the sound of crashing metal right before the car spun and spun and spun some more. I tried to control the steering wheel but I couldn’t.

“Riley,” I breathe out, my eyes snapping open. I search frantically for her, but she isn’t here. No one’s here. “Riley!” I shout, starting to get up. There’s weight on my chest, keeping me down, and pain in my right leg that shoots up to my hip.

Dad steps into the room, his eyes wide when he sees me half out of bed. He starts to speak, but I cut him off. “Where’s Riley?”

He places a gentle hand on my chest, keeping me down.

“Where is she!” I demand.

“She’s here. She stepped out for a minute, but she’s here. She’ll be back. She hasn’t left your side for two days.”

“Two days?” I whisper.

He nods.

I ignore the beeps from the monitor next to me, the sounds fast and frantic. “Is she okay?”

“She’s okay. Do you remember anything that happened?”

I shake my head. “Yes. No. Some.”

“The other car hit yours on enough of an angle that it barely clipped her. She’s got a bruised hip. That’s all. A few cuts and bruises from trying to get you out. But she’s okay.”

I rip the monitor off my fingers and try to get up again.

“Son, please,” he begs. “I know it’s hard. You need to stay down.”

Tears build in my eyes, my heart aching more than the physical pain I’m in. I try to take his advice, try to breathe through the guilt.

Dad inhales a breath, his hands slowly rising when he knows I’m not going anywhere. “I contacted your First Sergeant. They approved your leave until your leg heals. I think it’s best you stay close. You have a concussion and a punctured lung. Broken leg—”

“I don’t care. I want to see Riley. Where is she?”

“She’s just—”

“You’re up!” It should be physically and emotionally impossible to feel so much from the sound of one person’s voice, but hearing her, seeing her smile as she walks toward me, coffee in her hand… I feel everything. I feel the air fill my lungs, feel the pain leave my body.

“Baby,” I whisper, my hand out, reaching for her.

She glances at Dad quickly before looking over at me.

And her touch—her touch doubles everything I felt when I heard her voice, when I saw her face. She reaches up, one hand on mine, the other still holding the coffee when she uses the back of her fingers to glide across my forehead. I gaze into her eyes, looking for the calm. It isn’t there. Neither is the smile anymore. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” I croak, my throat dry.

Both her hands leave me, returning a second later with a cup of water and a straw. She lifts my head gently until my mouth surrounds the straw and I drink slowly, my throat aching when I swallow.

Dad steps back from the bed, taking a seat in the corner of the room.

“You’ve been out a while,” Riley says.

Where did her smile go?

Where is the calm?

My head spins, my breaths ragged as I try to remember.

I don’t remember anything. Just the headlights shining on her face and the spinning of the car.

And Dave.

I remember Dave.

Slowly, it all comes back to me. I remember why we were there in the first place.

I
ruined
her.

Destroyed every ounce of strength she had.

I wanted her to hate me.