Wild Addiction (Wild #2)(59)
Author: Emma Hart

I snort, licking my spoon again. “Kind of? If I were at the other end of this pregnancy, I would have given birth I laughed so freakin’ hard.”

Tessa flicks some sprinkles at me. “It’s always nice to know the mother of your future niece or nephew has your back.”

“Don’t anger the hormones. They’re evil.”

“So I hear,” a smooth male voice says behind us.

I stand and spin. “The hell do you think you’re doing here, Stone?”

Aaron grins playfully. “Our plane got…lost.”

“Lost? Despite the fact we’re farther south than your destination, hmm?”

“Air traffic control messed up the coordinates,” he tries again. “We ended up in L.A. What were we supposed to do?” He holds his arms out to the sides, but his words are what have caught me.

He holds his arms out to the sides, but his words are what have caught me.

“We? You mean—oh shit. No.” I drop my spoon in my sundae glass. “I’m done. Someone take me to the airport.”

“Liv,” Day says, standing.

“Easy.” Aaron gently grabs my arm. “He doesn’t know what room you’re in and every member of staff has been told if they tell him, they’re fired.”

I narrow my eyes and look up at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Because this weekend is about me and Day, not you two. Besides,” he adds, “you’re impulsive but not irrational. You wouldn’t have broken up with him if you didn’t feel like it was the right thing to do.”

“We’re not…broken up. We’re on a temporary break.” The words sound flat even to me. Like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.

“Yeah?” He leans in. “Then you should probably tell my cousin that, because today was the first time I ever saw him cry.”

My mouth feels like it got in a fight with a desert and lost.

“He did what?” I whisper scratchily.

“He protested an allergy for a while before finally disappearing into the bedroom for the remainder of the flight. When he came out, no one but me would have been able to tell.”

I swallow, the lump in my throat suddenly too big, too painful. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you making a weekend for you about me?”

“Because he’s integral to my happiness the way you are to Day’s. He’s in room 1583. If you wanted to continue the conversation you began yesterday.”

I take my arm away from him and look him in the eye. “I don’t. And you shouldn’t even be here to give me the opportunity.”

“Touché. I’ll still make sure he doesn’t find out your room number.”

“Considerate of you. Perhaps you should have extended the same courtesy to the hotel.” I grab my phone from the side. “Are you guys ready to head back into the spa? I don’t want to be responsible for murdering the groom on the party weekend.”

“Wow,” I hear Aaron mutter as I walk away. “They really are evil.”

I stop by the door of the restaurant. “This isn’t evil. This is normal. You should be very afraid, Aaron Stone. Very fucking afraid.”

I catch Day’s shrug before I turn away again. “She’s right,” she says. “And to think this is a good day. Now, I’m going for a massage, and when I get back, I want you and Tyler out of my frickin’ sight, Mr. Stone. Got it?”

I lean against my hotel room door and breathe out a long sigh. Every corner I turned, I expected him to walk around. Every time the elevator doors opened, I expected him to be there, waiting. Hell, when I got to the room, I expected him to be here.

This weekend, not that it ever got off to a good start, has been ruined. Just by him being here, the heavy cloud that lifted somewhat in the presence of Dayton and Tessa has descended once more.

I feel the pain so strongly, wrapping around me and squeezing, like its only goal is to draw all the life out of me. Knowing that he’s here, close, two floors up and three doors down, is like an echoing plea. A beg to take me there, to drag me to him.

A desperate plea for my heart to rejoin with my body.

For everything to balance out.

If only it had been balanced to begin with. It wasn’t. Away from him, I can see it more clearly. I can see how the needs of his addiction outweighed mine. Fuck now, talk later—it’s all good until the talking doesn’t happen.

When it doesn’t happen repeatedly, questions have to be asked. ‘We’ll get through it together.’ ‘We’ll do this.’ ‘We can cope as long as we’re together.’ They’re all good. They’re all ambitious, realistic statements.

Until there’s nothing to back them up with.

How?

How are we going to cope with our addictions and the way they hurt us? Are we going to continue down this path, clinging desperately to the other person while we battle our way through, only to inevitably hurt the other? Are we going to wake up each morning to the sun filtering through the windows and decide that this is the day we separate the emotion from the addiction and live like that?

Or are we going to call, talk to people, lay it out? Are we going to deal with therapy and the highs and lows? Are we even going to try?

Are we going to look past the idealistic thoughts we have, or are we just going to sit around like a couple of teens waiting for the answer to fall into our laps?

I know Tyler’s answer. Believe. Try. Wait. Hope that some little fairy will come along and wave their damn wand and make it better.

That’s not how it works. Maybe we have to be apart to make it work.

We might not have anything to lose when we’re apart, but we sure as hell have everything to fight for.

And the fact that you might not win the fight is a far scarier thought than losing something you never thought would go.

Maybe the key is to be together but not. Maybe seeing each other, talking, but not really having one another, is the key. Because then we’ll remember, every day, what we’re fighting for. We’ll have something to work toward.

Maybe it’s a coffee date, breakfast, or dinner. Maybe it’s a movie or a doctor’s appointment. Maybe it’s even a sleepover.

Just something small, mostly insignificant—the little things that change everything.

I don’t believe for a second that Tyler will haul his ass willingly into therapy. For him, I would. I hated every second, but if therapy means managing this and if managing this means having him, I’ll go through hours of hell and hurt.