Free Ross 03 Leave Me Breathless by Cherrie Lynn Page B

Peeking inside one of them revealed nothing but darkness in the living room. Impulsively, he gave the knob a twist, surprised when it gave and the door creaked open.
    Well, this was probably wrong, but something told him to do it anyway. He hit the switch and flooded the room with sickly pale light, as all but one of the bulbs in the overhead ceiling-fan kit were burnt out. But that light was enough to disturb the snoring heap on the couch. Gus flopped over away from the disruption.
    The breath left Ghost in a relieved rush. His friend was here. Not in jail, not lying in a ditch and, apparently, not dead. But the smell of alcohol was strong even from his position across the room. Hell, that was a good sign. Drunk he could deal with.
    “Dude,” he bellowed, striding across the room and yanking him over onto his back. “Wake your ass up.”
    Gus’s eyes flew open, so bloodshot he could’ve had a double case of conjunctivitis. “Huh? The fuck you come from, man?”
    “I’ve only tried to call you about a dozen times to explain. And so have the guys, because we wanted to put together a jam session tonight.”
    Gus’s bleary gaze tracked over to the clock on the bookshelf, taking a moment to focus on the time. “Shit.”
    “Shit is right. You’re in a world of it if you don’t pull it together. They’re ready to toss you, kid.”
    Gus pressed the heels of his palms into both eyes. “I don’t even care anymore.”
    “Don’t say that. Where is your truck?”
    “Wrecked it.” He burst out laughing. It was a terrible, almost frightening sound, and it turned into a coughing fit. Ghost took a couple steps back in case he started spewing vomit. Once he subsided, he lay back and grimaced. “Wrapped it around a tree, totaled that fucker.”
    “When?”
    “Two nights ago.”
    “Were you drunk?”
    “Hell yes.”
    “What are you trying to do, man? Kill yourself? Or somebody else?”
    “Naw. That bitch ain’t worth that.”
    Ah. It all became staggeringly clear. “Great. When did she take off?”
    “ Fuck her.”
    “Okay. But will you look at yourself? It’s no wonder she split. I want to leave you too, and I don’t even have to live with you.”
    “So leave.” Gus flicked a hand at him, turning his face toward the back of the couch again and throwing his arm over his head. “I don’t give a shit.”
    This scene was so damn familiar, Ghost’s hands began to shake. Except he had been the one in his friend’s place. Brian had been the one trying to drag him kicking and screaming, fighting and cursing, back to the world of the living.
    He had to turn away, fighting to fill his lungs with air. Old wounds he’d thought long since healed threatened to rip open and ooze again. Words he didn’t want to remember ricocheted in his brain, replacing Macy’s sweet sounds of pleasure that had been echoing there all day.
    Brooke explaining to him over the phone why she’d left him. Her fucking weak-ass excuses. Each one of them an insult after the sheer magnitude of what she’d done to him.
    It had been so long ago, it shouldn’t have still been so close to the surface. But it was. It could be triggered by the simple sound of a particular voice…and not even hers. He hadn’t spoken a single word to her in six years.
    No other woman had ever fucked with his head like that. Not Raina. No one. No one ever would again. He’d all but sworn it in blood.
    “You gotta get over this shit, man,” he said, hearing the tremor in his own voice. Who was he to give that advice?
    He was someone who knew how the guilt, the I-should-have s and the raw sense of betrayal could eat a guy alive, if he sat around and let it fester.
    “I don’t even know what she did,” he went on, “and I don’t care. Let it go.”
    “It’s not even about—”
    “Don’t dick me around. I know exactly what it’s about. You do this every time. I’m just amazed you’re coherent.”
    “Give me time.”
    Oh god damn . Did he have to go and