Free Lies Beneath the Surface (Buried Secrets #2) by Silla Webb Page B

been honest. It seems honesty is the one thing we both lack in this so called relationship. I pour another round, tossin’ it back, but instead of Jack soothin’ me, I become enraged. I bust the shot glass against the backsplash leavin’ behind an imprinted dent in the tile, small shards of glass glistenin’ across the floor. I pull the bottle to my lips by the neck, and chug, ignorin’ the bite Jack leaves behind.
    Walkin’ into the livin’ room, a picture on the mantel catches my eye and stops me dead in my tracks. I feel all of the blood drain from my face as I pick the picture up and truly look at it for what feels like the first time. Carly Jo is sittin’ in my lap with her cheek firmly pressed against mine, stickin’ her tongue out with a goofy smile on her face as she looks at our little photographer. I’m lookin’ down at her, entranced by her beauty and happiness. Heidi Jo was so proud of her photography, she insisted that we get a print made of the picture. Floppin’ down in the recliner, I feel like all of the oxygen has escaped my lungs. The image of the woman I love captured in this picture, is completely opposite of the image seared into my brain in this very moment.
    I take a few minutes to reflect the situation laid at my feet. It all rewinds in my mind; her confession, the tears, the guilt clearly written across her face. But it’s still too much. I keep sippin’ on Jack, and lettin’ the gravity of the situation weigh me down harder as I continue to stare at the picture I have gripped in my hand. Before I know it, I’ve sucked the entire damn bottle dry.
    A fifth of liquor after six years of sobriety is a lot for any one person. I’m a big man, but a mean drunk. The longer I drink, the madder I get. I storm into the kitchen to get the second bottle of liquor I bought for this momentous, heart rippin’ occasion. When I step on a shard of glass, embeddin’ it into my heel, I reach my breakin’ point of pain for the night. Physical pain, emotional pain. I’ve had my limit. I pluck the shard out of my foot as rage consumes me. Finally allowin’ the emotions to release, I want to scream, cry, bust somethin’. I want to inflict this gut wrenchin’ pain on someone else so they have to hurt with me. But I’m alone.
    I stagger into the livin’ room, glan cin’ down at the picture again and see a different picture. I see the depravity and the venom in her hazel eyes. She never intended to love me. Never wanted to stay. Never wanted a family and the love that only I could give her. I slam the picture down on the end table, bustin’ the glass from the frame. With one swift flip, the end table flies across the room, shatterin’ the lamp to the floor into a thousand pieces. I want every bit of her essence gone. I can’t stand the faint smell of her on my pillows, her hazel eyes glarin’ back at me from the pictures on my dressers. So I clean house, drunk Colton style.
    Within minutes, my clean home is a disheveled, jacked up mess. I’m too drunk to grasp the destruction I’ve caused, both here tonight, or in the situation over all. I crawl into bed, and drown my sorrows into Jack, and the last hazel eyes that I see, when I close mine.

Chapter 7

    It’s been three days since I told Colton about Luke. He hasn’t bothered with coming into work, and has been avoiding me at all cost. Every call has been sent to voice mail and he ignores my text. I’m worried about him, but I’m trying to give him his space to work this all out. My last text to him was this morning at 9:12.
    Me: Colton, I’m worried about you. You can’t ignore me forever. I know I made a monumental mistake, but I’m praying this is our baby, so we can have our happily ever after. I love you. Call me soon.
    A short while later, Shelly calls to tell me that Emily Weston is on line one. I take a deep breath before picking up the line.
    “Hello , Emily. How are you?
    “Carly Jo, I’m okay, but Colton is anything