made it to my private bathroom. Granted, I threw up in the shower twice, but managed to at least clean myself up and put on a fresh t-shirt and shorts.
“Where the fuck did my couch go?” I demanded, the tremors progressively getting worse.
“ You pissed on it, kid,” Frank snapped. “I’ve got a new one, it’ll be delivered tomorrow. Come on, we’ve got to get you home.”
“That’s not my home. It’s a fucking apartment. That fucking cunt is living in my home, the home I’m paying for,” I sneered, letting Luke tuck my arm over his shoulders.
“You’re apartment, then,” Luke agreed, leading me into the reception area. Kathy stood up from behind her desk, her hands clasping together nervously.
“Mr. Thane?” she asked, glancing between Luke and Frank.
“He’s fine, Kath,” Luke assured her, winking her way.
“Stop flirting with my secretary,” I growled, shivering.
Somehow, Luke got me into his rental car and “home” to my apartment.
The next forty-eight hours were torturous.
As I sobered up, I thought of Kelsey. I realized that I’d never taken any clear-headed time to allow myself to feel what she’d done to me, and I quickly learned that going through detox while your heart is breaking was only double the torture.
I wanted a fucking normal family. Was it too much to ask? I was almost twenty-five, when most successful men my age wanted a million gorgeous women on their arm, and all I could dream about was a family . A loving and devoted wife, a couple of adorable kids, and a marriage that meant more than designer bags and bottomless bank accounts.
I finally started feeling like myself again after two days, attempting to eat some soup that the at-home nurse-dash-warden served to me on a tray.
Luke dropped to the chair next to me, stretching his long legs out. “Guess what.”
“What?” I asked, looking his way.
“I asked Madeline to marry me.”
Grinning weakly, I rested my head against the pillow once more. “Congratulations, little brother. I’m not the best one for advice, but Madeline sounds perfect. It’s always good not to marry a fucking whore.”
Luke laughed, his shoulders shaking as he rolled his eyes. “ ’It’s always good not to marry a fucking whore.’ I’ll need that embroidered on one of those frilly pillows, okay?”
“Consider it done.” I sighed, blinking back the unfamiliar moisture in my eyes. “Thanks, Luke. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
His face fell, and he met my eyes. “Are you done drinking, Keaton?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” I replied, turning away to look out the window of my penthouse apartment. “Less disappointment that way.”
“Fair enough.” He sighed, slapping his hands on his knees, over his jeans. “Well, I need to get home. I’ve been gone for almost a week.”
“Madeline’s lucky,” I replied. “Make sure she knows that.”
“Will you be my best man?” he asked, and I was immediately taken back to our childhood by the young hopefulness in his tone.
“I’d better be.”
“Not ‘till July . And you’ve got to come home. I’m getting married in Pittsburgh.”
I sighed, nodding. “I think it’s about time I came home.”
He clasped my hand, and I pulled him down into a tight hug. “Things are going to change for us, Keaton. For you. You deserve better than this. Than what she did to you. I love you, brother.”
“Love you, Luke.”
I watched him shift his bag over his shoulder and leave my room before I turned back to the window.
I did manage to clean myself up, but I didn’t stop drinking completely. I was a functional alcoholic, according to my therapist. She also fed me some bullshit about “Possessive Personality Disorder,” which I interpreted to mean that I wanted to be the Master of the Universe.
Since that didn’t sound so bad to me, I agreed with her and refused treatment with a sarcastic eye roll.
Upon reflection, I realized that I’d hit what