Seeking Her (Losing It #3.5)(10)
Author: Cora Carmack

Yet another mistake.

I hung my clothes on the hook outside the shower stall, then pulled the curtain closed. I turned on the faucet, cramming myself into the far corner of the stall to avoid the flash of cold water that came out first.

When it got to be lukewarm, I decided that was probably as best as I was going to get for the night. I stood beneath the spray, letting it dribble down over my face, and congratulated myself on making it through another day.

That’s what I was back to. Counting the hours of sobriety just like I had those first few months. It helped me focus, but seemed to make time move slower. Three more days.

I’d built up the one-­year mark in my head as if things would magically get easier once I passed that point. I knew they wouldn’t. But I let myself pretend for now.

Quickly, I finished washing up. Then I grabbed the towel I’d slung over the wall of the stall, pulled it tight around my hips before sliding open the curtain.

A soft, lilting laugh traveled down the hallway, announcing company. I picked up my things to exit at the same time that a girl stumbled through the door, laughing. She gripped the doorframe with one hand, but her upper body tipped toward the floor.

“Hey, easy there.”

I reached out to steady her, and realized who she was before my hand even touched the familiar curve of her shoulder.

“I’m okay. I’m good.” She was still laughing, but even holding on to the doorframe, she couldn’t seem to stand up straight. She tossed her hair back, and I directed my gaze away, like that would keep her from seeing me. That’s when I caught sight of the guy behind her, the same one she’d been hanging around with at the club.

“I’ve got her, mate.”

Australian. He was a traveler, too.

He gripped her waist, and she fell back into his body, her eyes closed. God, how drunk was she? I was torn between being worried for her and relieved for me. I don’t think she’d even noticed me, which meant she was unlikely to remember me in the morning.

But . . . I couldn’t not say something.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “She’s pretty wasted.”

“Pretty and wasted. Can’t beat that combo.”

My stomach turned, and my fists clenched.

Kelsey wobbled past me, and I almost reached out and grabbed her. I almost told the douchebag to back the f**k off.

God, I wanted to.

She was drunk. Too drunk. But she was also holding on to the guy’s neck and leaning her face against his chest like she wanted to be there. I didn’t have any right to tell her what to do. She had to make her own f**ked-­up decisions, just like I had.

So I let him pull her into one of the shower stalls, her delirious giggle echoing out at me even once I could no longer see her. Squeezing my eyes shut, I dragged a hand across my face, suddenly battling the urge to punch something.

A piece of clothing, her dress most likely, was tossed over and out of the shower. The water turned on a few seconds later, and I heard her squeal rupture into peals of laughter.

I forced myself to leave then, my gait wooden and stiff. I didn’t know what the right thing was to do in this situation. I shouldn’t give a f**k. But I did.

My fascination with figuring her out had began to mesh with my attraction to her, and now I couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore.

I had to think this through. If I went back in there and interrupted, I was definitely outing myself. It was one thing not to pay attention to a random guy you walk past. If I tore open the shower curtain and beat the shit out the guy she was probably having sex with . . . I had a feeling she’d remember that, no matter how much she’d had to drink.

How would I follow her after that, when she could recognize me from even the slightest glance? And as far as I knew, she might be sober enough to know exactly what she was doing. She could tell me to f**k off, and then I would have burned myself for no reason whatsoever.

No, it was better if I minded my own business. And yet, when I lay down to sleep a few minutes later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities. What if that guy had gotten her drunk on purpose? What if he hurt her? That would be my fault.

How would I explain that to her father? How could I live with myself knowing I could have stopped that? I rolled out of bed and stood to go find her, and got halfway across the room before I ground to a halt.

Goddamn it.

So she was wasted. She’d been wasted a lot on this trip so far. And she’d hooked up with random guys regardless of her sobriety level. I was overreacting. Clearly, she knew what she wanted out of this trip, and I just needed to let her do her thing.

I took a deep breath.

I needed to relax. Normally, I would have reached for my sketchbook, but the last four drawings I’d made had been Kelsey, and I had no doubt what number five would be, too, unless I wanted to draw the pimply guy snoring in the bunk next to me.

No, that wasn’t going to do the trick this time.

I stripped off my shirt, and ignoring the fact that I’d just taken a shower, I got down on the floor and started doing push-­ups.

There was a sharp twinge of pain in the shoulder that I’d separated in Afghanistan, but it eased into a dull, familiar ache after a few reps.

I needed to tire out my brain, and the fastest way to do that was to tire out my body. So I bent my arms, my breath huffing out across the dusty floor, and then pushed myself upward. I did it again and again. I reminded myself of all the ­people who’d tried to help me when I’d been off the rails. They’d only pissed me off and pushed me farther away.

I did push-­ups until my arms ached, and then I switched to sit-­ups.

By the time I crawled back into bed for the night, I wasn’t thinking about Kelsey or alcohol or the past. I was only thinking about sleep.

6

THE NEXT EVENING I followed Kelsey to the train station. As we approached, I immediately raised my guard.

It was just after midnight. Gara de Nord loomed ahead of us, but as we got closer, I couldn’t help but pick out the dilapidated buildings that dotted the street. I was used to seeing a lot of ­people out and about, considering Kelsey frequented late-­night businesses, but these streets showed a different side of city life. A man lay curled up on his side next to a metal trash can. I saw Kelsey pause, and mentally urged her to keep going. He was likely harmless, but these streets were dotted with beggars, and I’d read enough of my guidebook to know they were likely to try and take advantage of Kelsey if she acknowledged them.

After a few seconds, she kept walking, her eyes fixed on the train station up ahead. A few ­people called out at her as she walked past, but she kept her eyes forward. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad at least that I didn’t have to worry about her behaving recklessly when she was sober.