Seeking Her (Losing It #3.5)(6)
Author: Cora Carmack

She sang the words at the top of her lungs, bouncing around in a way that made her look younger, less concerned with being pretty or sexy. I found myself smiling in spite of myself.

The bartender came over, completely nonplussed by the change in atmosphere. He leaned across the bar, and lifted his chin in acknowledgment.

“Я моґу вам помочь?”

I paused, not just because I didn’t speak the language. It was obvious what he was asking, and I hesitated.

I hadn’t meant to come near the bar. That was the promise I made myself as soon as I followed Kelsey into the dimly lit building.

I swallowed, and my throat felt as dry as sandpaper. I was suddenly so thirsty.

“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “No thank you.”

I pushed my stool back and made for my original perch on the far wall. It was safer over there.

But the easiness I’d felt watching her was gone. By the time she quit the bar that night, her arm tucked into the elbow of the good-­looking guy who’d lifted her up onto the bar, I’d worn my palms raw from clenching my fists.

I breathed a heady sigh of relief when I stepped out into the night air.

Mission Temptation was off to a rocky start.

IT WAS EASY that first night to think that Kelsey was just having a good time, enjoying her freedom. On the second night, I chalked it up to celebrating being in a new country.

But on the third day, when she ventured out to a club once again, I felt myself growing weary. She didn’t do much during the day, slept late after her busy night. I couldn’t seem to get myself to follow her lead. So I woke up at a reasonable time, texted her father to let him know where we were and that everything was fine, and tried my best to establish a routine.

She’d venture out for dinner (which was really lunch for her), then she’d repeat the whole adventure at a new venue.

Tonight, my control was wearing thin. We were at some dance club, and I kept losing sight of her on the dance floor. The first few times, I let it slide, searching until I found her again. Then I lost sight of her for nearly fifteen minutes, and knew that my current tactic wasn’t working. I couldn’t do shit to protect her if something happened while I was out on the edges of the dance floor.

I gritted my teeth, my annoyance simmering beneath my skin, and pushed through the crowds on the dance floor, heading in the direction where I’d last seen Kelsey.

I didn’t make it very far before a drunk girl stumbled into me, spilling her nearly full drink down the front of my body.

I winced at the cold splash of liquid, and sucked in a breath. She started, apologizing, but that mostly consisted of her touching me and then trying to goad me into dancing with her. I held her at arm’s length, my jaw clenched so tight that I was probably grinding my teeth to dust.

I managed to extricate myself from her, only to turn and come face-­to-­face with a scantily clad girl making the rounds with a tray of colorful concoctions in plastic test tubes. I’d seen Kelsey down a few of them earlier, and the waitress held one up to me in offering.

My hand was reaching for it before my mind could do anything about it. Seconds before the tube was in my hand, I came to my senses. I pulled away from her so fast that I bumped into the drunk girl again, who spilled even more alcohol on my clothes.

Struggling to keep my breathing steady, I pushed my way a little too forcefully out of the crowd and back toward the edge of the room. I commandeered the first empty chair I found, slamming myself down into it and burying my head in my hands.

One year.

Well, almost.

I was almost one-­year sober.

Less than two weeks until I would hit that milestone. If I were back home, I’d be getting my one-­year chip, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this would be any easier if I had it now to squeeze in my fist.

But I didn’t have that chip. And I hadn’t yet made it to one year. Sweat was beading on my f**king forehead just from the determination it took to keep myself in the chair instead of searching out a drink. The smell of whiskey wafting up from my drenched shirt sure as hell wasn’t helping.

I pressed my knuckles into my forehead hard, and then sat back, staring up at the ceiling. I watched the moving lights that flashed neon colors around the room and tried to clear my head.

Alcohol had been my crutch for a long time. It had practically raised me when my parents weren’t around to do the job. Stepping away from my dysfunctional liquid family hadn’t been easy. It had taken a war, a new family, and daily reminders of the thin line between life and death for me to beat it.

Here, I was alone, and exposed in a way that I hadn’t allowed myself to be in a long time.

“Damn it,” I groaned under my breath.

I could do this. I just needed to redirect all this energy into something else. Something active was usually best.

My eyes found Kelsey again on the dance floor. Unbidden, the thought rose that she would make an ideal distraction.

Immediately, I shut that down.

I was not trading one bad decision for another. Besides, she was the one who’d gotten me in this mess to start with. If alcohol sent me off the rails, then Kelsey was likely to send me off a cliff.

I just . . . I needed to get out of here.

Yes, I was supposed to protect her and that didn’t include leaving her in this massive crowd. But I wouldn’t be any help to her if I caved and had a drink.

The best thing for both of us right now was for me to get some distance.

4

HALFWAY BACK TO the inn, I realized I was practically stomping my way home. My teeth had been clenched so tight that my entire head ached. I was pissed. Pissed that I was even in this situation, that Kelsey wasn’t who I’d expected her to be.

Sure, I hadn’t relished the idea of following her to museums or plays or whatever, but that would have been better than this. Better than risking my precariously balanced life so she could party it up like a high school kid.

God, I was a f**king killjoy without alcohol. What I wouldn’t give to be as carefree as Kelsey. Angry seemed to by my primary emotion these days. How had Rodriguez and the other guys put up with me?

A misplaced smile cracked across my lips. They hadn’t, that’s how. They’d never had any problem telling me when I was being a pain in the ass.

My skin flashed hot and then cold with the memory of my old unit. Still much more bitter than sweet.

There was a military ban on alcohol for much of the time I’d spent in Afghanistan, but it happened anyway. I kept clear of it for the most part, but one night, I’m not even sure how, I ended up with a bottle in my hand. Rodriguez found me, took it away, and then used it for firing practice.