Scorched

“I didn’t think it was her fault,” I whispered. “I just didn’t know. I had no idea. Andrea seems so…”

“You know, usually the people who smile the most and laugh the loudest are the ones who…suffer the most,” she said quietly as she glanced down at Andrea and sighed wearily. “I knew…I knew the drinking was bad, especially with the anxiety. I’ve talked to her about it, you know? But I never really pushed her on it, and I…I should’ve. I know better. It’s just hard to see everything clearly when it’s someone you care about.”

Damn, that was… All of this was painful to hear. For a moment, I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at Andrea. The bright red curls were spread out behind her like flames. Her hands were folded under her chin, against her chest. I had no idea how she’d gotten herself in that tiny ball, but she looked much smaller, much younger.

“I messed up,” I said out loud, to no one in particular.

A heartbeat passed and Sydney said, “So did she. So did all of us.”

Chapter 18

Andrea

It was the butt-crack of dawn Saturday morning when I found myself wide awake with a pounding headache and a really vile taste in the back of my throat. Throwing off a quilt I didn’t remember grabbing, I sat up and the room did this really weird funhouse thing. I made it to the bathroom with just seconds to spare, enough time to turn on the shower to drown out the sounds I made when I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet.

Pain shuttled up and down my ribs by the time I finished, and I sat there for a minute, clean water in the basin of the toilet and steam filling the bathroom, replaying messy images from the night before, over and over like I was stuck in some kind of twisted instant replay of random, blurry flashes that didn’t make a lot of sense.

Last night…I’d gotten plastered and not only made a complete idiot out of myself, I’d had an anxiety attack. My cheeks burned as I vaguely remembered Ta

How in the world would I ever face Ta

I dragged myself to my feet and, after stripping down, I stepped under the warm spray. It was a nice shower—multiple body jets and an overhead rain showerhead. I liked to think the drenching and pounding washed away all the lingering alcohol seeping out of my pores.

Brushing my teeth twice, I practically made love to the mouthwash before I pulled on a lightweight maxi dress and quietly sneaked downstairs. It was too early for anyone else to be up and even though I wanted—needed—coffee and its wonderful caffeine, I didn’t want the aroma to turn the house into a Folgers coffee commercial. So I settled for iced tea that I took outside.

Tired and my head thumping dully, I set the tea aside and padded over to the side of the pool. My toes curled as I stared at the water. I felt…detached from last night. Like it hadn’t been me who’d gotten so drunk or had freaked out. Just a movie I watched or something I was a bystander to. But that was how it always felt after an attack, and it had been me.

Lifting my head, I closed my eyes and I tried not to think, but it was a quiet moment. My body tensed, and I wasn’t sure what I was preparing myself for, but every muscle trembled.

When I opened my eyes, nothing had changed.

I walked over to the lounge chair and sat down, tucking my feet under the hem of my dress. Since it was so early, the sticky humidity and the overbearing heat hadn’t rolled in yet. The sky was cloudless, a beautiful blue that…that reminded me of Ta

Ta

My shoulders rose with a deep sigh. Last night had been such a disaster. I hadn’t pla

I never stopped at one or two drinks, because I didn’t know how.

Closing my eyes, I let myself sink into the cushion as I sipped the tea. A huge part of me wanted to shout at the top of my lungs that I didn’t have a problem. I wasn’t the dreaded A-word. I knew what an alcoholic looked like.

An image of my father formed in my thoughts.

For many, many years, he’d hidden the truth from his colleagues, but not from us. Every moment he was home, he drank. Didn’t matter if it was my birthday or Brody’s. Or Thanksgiving or Christmas. So many special moments he’d missed, passed out on the deck or in his bedroom. Ten years ago, when Mom had threatened to leave him, he’d sobered up, started going to AA meetings and all that jazz. It had been a rough start and he’d had to take a sabbatical from his practice, but he’d made it through.

I wasn’t like my dad.

I didn’t drink every day, but…as I drew in another shaky breath, I opened my eyes. I wasn’t stupid. Alcoholism didn’t mean someone drank all the time, but I didn’t have that problem. No way. I would not slip down that rabbit hole, especially after seeing what it had done to my family. I wasn’t that weak.

Maybe I did drink too much on occasion. Okay. I totally did that. And maybe very few people who knew me in real life actually took me seriously because of it. And maybe… God, I was a mess with or without a drink sometimes.

A lot of times.

Sipping the tea, I let my gaze wander over the tall pines surrounding the backyard. What in the world was I going to do about Ta

That…that had hurt. Still tore through me, because I was a mess. I’d proved that last night, hadn’t I?

Blinking back the sudden rush of tears, I gave a little shake of my head. I felt like I’d disappointed him somehow. Like I had let down my parents when I’d told them I no longer wanted to go to med school. Like I’d disappointed Sydney when she had kindly suggested that I talk to someone when she discovered I had anxiety attacks and I’d told her that I didn’t need to talk to anyone.

But worse yet, I was disappointed in myself, and I couldn’t go back and change anything.

The last couple of times that I’d had that feeling of being overwhelmed and out of control, I’d been able to stop it before I’d needed meds. It had been well over a year and then some since I’d actually had one. If I hadn’t been so drunk, I knew I would’ve been able to stop it. I just knew it.

The sliding glass door opened and I looked over, my heart lodging in my throat when I saw that it was Ta

I was struck mute, partly embarrassed about last night, and his disheveled look was really just too damn attractive for this early in the morning. When I rolled out of bed, I looked like a redheaded Chewbacca.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff as he lowered his arm. “You’re up early.”

I nodded, clutching my tea to my chest. “I…I got a lot of sleep last night.”

He nodded slowly, and when he didn’t respond, the silence stretched out between us until it became so awkward that my cheeks started to burn. I was about to get up and flee, which probably also included shoving my head under a blanket, when Ta