Slow Ride (Fast Track #5)(62)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Maybe you shouldn’t watch that,” Kendall told her.

“Shh.” She had to see, to hear how she had presented herself the night before.

“So what kinds of items are available tonight at the auction?” the blond interviewer asked.

“Oh, all kinds of shit.” She waved her arm around. “Meet-and-greets with drivers, restaurant gift cards, wine. Too bad I can’t win the wine.” She laughed, an obnoxious cackle that screamed she was bombed on Merlot.

As she watched, she saw herself stumble and grab the reporter for support. “Oops, sorry.”

The woman smiled tightly. “I don’t think you need to win the wine.”

Onscreen, she laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life. Tuesday hit the stop button. She’d seen enough. Swallowing hard, she made a decision.

“So, do you know a good therapist? Someone who specializes in alcohol abuse?”

“What? Are you serious? No, but I can definitely help you find someone. You really think it’s that bad?”

Tuesday didn’t even have to glance in the mirror to know what she looked like, and her physical symptoms were completely familiar to her. She had humiliated herself the night before in front of all her friends and co-workers. Her mother and her boyfriend, the two most important people in her life. That made it a problem. “It’s not beyond repair, but I need to get a grip before it gets worse. You know, I lost my dad to cancer. I just lost Diesel to my own stupidity. That fight could have gone a different way if I hadn’t been drinking. Hell, we might not have had the fight.”

The tears spilled out and a little sob escaped before she could stop it.

“Hey,” Kendall said softly. “Who’s to say you’ve lost him? It wasn’t entirely your fault, you know. He could have chosen a better time to initiate a conversation that was emotionally charged. He made it all about your drinking and that wasn’t fair. He brought his own issues to the fight.”

She nodded, even though Kendall couldn’t see her. She knew that was true. Everything she had said to Diesel was true, even if the way she had said it was awful and bitchy. He wasn’t necessarily dealing with his grief any better than she had. He just suffered internally, whereas her method of coping was external, on display at the bar. Neither was going to serve them long-term. But she supposed, no matter how much she loved him, that was his problem. He needed to decide to deal with it or not deal with it. It hadn’t been fair, the way she had been poking at him, insisting he talk to her.

Love was supposed to be patient. It was something she needed to learn tenfold.

She was going to deal with her problems head-on. She never should have tried to be the strong one, pretending she could handle her father’s death. It was a big deal, a catastrophic loss, and most people couldn’t just forge ahead on their own. There was no shame in needing someone to talk to, or finding a positive outlet for her grief.

In lieu of that she had turned to alcohol and that had been the worst possible choice.

“It doesn’t matter,” she told Kendall, even as her voice caught. “It’s over, and it’s probably for the best. I need to get my shit together before I’m involved with someone. It’s not fair to Diesel otherwise.”

“Maybe a little later, after you’ve both had a chance to think and process everything, you can be together.”

A part of her desperately wanted to cling to that hope. But a break was a breakup and she couldn’t pin her future on something that had very little chance of happening. “I don’t think so. We both said some rough things.” Her stomach tightened miserably and the tears came freely. “But I do love him, Kendall. I really, really love him.”

Maybe she should have told him that. In a way that wasn’t roundabout and flippant.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, God, this sucks. And you know that I’ll help you in any way you can. If you want to do inpatient therapy let me know. And I can help you out financially, you know I’m happy to do that.”

“Thanks, Kendall. I really appreciate that.” Then she knew she needed to get off the phone. “Oh, damn, I’m going to be sick, I’ll call you later.” Tuesday hung up the phone urgently.

While the pain in her heart swelled, her stomach did likewise, and clearly in an effort to make her as utterly miserable as possible, hurled up all of last night’s wine all over her white down-filled comforter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DIESEL studied the window of the car, his helmet in his hand, driving suit on. He was ready to go. All he had to do was climb in. But that was what was worrying him. What if he couldn’t get in? There was a ton of people milling around and if his knee gave out on the way into that car, he’d be humiliated. Then once he was in, what if he couldn’t get back out? What if his leg was too weak to control the car?

Well, he could stand there indefinitely or he could find out.

If he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do it. So there might be some sympathetic glances from the crew and the media, but no one was going to call him a pu**y. He was the only one doing that.

In the week since the benefit, he’d only tried to call Tuesday once. She’d hit the ignore button on him, and he didn’t blame her. He had blindsided her at that benefit as much as she had blindsided him with her announcement onstage, and shittiest of all, he hadn’t checked up on her the next day. He had waited until Monday to call her, when his anger had simmered down a little, but by then she was probably even more pissed at him, and he couldn’t blame her.

Reflecting on whether or not to cancel this charity drive with Roger, who had pulled out the highest bid on the car, Diesel had reflected on a lot of things. Tuesday had made some fair points in the course of their argument even if she had hurled them at him in anger and alcohol. He hadn’t dealt with his accident. He hadn’t dealt with the fact that sometimes he didn’t feel quite as much of a man as he had before. He had been stingy with his emotions. Hell, he loved the woman and he’d never really told her that. His delivery of such a powerful sentiment had been lame and after that first time, he had only told her he cared about her. He had never said straight out, “I love you.”

So he was going to get his ass into this damn car and then he was going to tackle the rest of his life. He would conquer his fear, then he was going to apologize to Tuesday. He was going to open up, tell her how he felt, and make a total nuisance of himself until she agreed to give him a second chance.