Chapter 225

Grace

The words on the screen burned into my retinas, each letter searing a fresh mark of frustration onto my already frayed nerves.

What did that mean that things got more complicated? The words felt almost cold, impersonal like he was leaving a message for his secretary. Worst of all, it was vague. No further explanation, no apology, no time that he might make it back

Fury bubbled within me, threatening to erupt. First, Eason and his high horse, now this. I tossed the pages on the counter and poured more whiskey than tea. Then, I tried to call him. The debt, the suspicion, the doubt-- I had expected him to at least be here today. He was supposed to support me through this, and yet--

The voicemail answered again, and I hung up. Was he ignoring my calls now? A choked sob escaped my lips, echoing emptily in the vast silence of the house. I didn't even hear Cecil playing anymore. Maybe she'd taken herself upstairs to her room. George was definitely gone, probably with Eason.

I tried calling Charles again, but I got the same voicemail message. Esme was gone. She'd left with Margret, I was sure. I sank onto a barstool and started to drink, feeling more alone and more lost than ever. Every soft creak seemed to mock me. The silence felt deafening around it, and my eyes kept drifting back to the document on the counter.

I took another long sip as my eyes skimmed over the words before dropping down to the bottom, where my signature and Devin's were. I thought of the decree upstairs. I could see the debt clearly in my mind and drank some more.

My chest felt tight. I drank some more. I thought of Sean sitting in the courtroom, his maliciousness, the sneering way he'd looked at me. I drank some more and poured another cup, this time just whiskey. I drank every time my mind dredged up a vision of that courtroom or those dreams.

I called Charles again, but there was nothing but the voicemail. Was he coming back?

I called Eason, but he didn't answer either. Was he coming back?

I almost called Devin, like I was slipping back in time when it had just been me waiting up for him in the middle of the night with the kids asleep.

Until you have nothing left.

A sob caught in my throat. I downed the rest of the cup before reaching for the bottle. This felt familiar. It felt easy and wrong, like I knew I shouldn't, yet I couldn't stop. I opened the bottle and drank.

Soon enough, the quiet of the house faded away to a familiar, quiet darkness where no past and no present existed.

The light burned. My head throbbed. My stomach felt queasy. My mouth was dry. Drunk. Hangover. Fuck. It had been years since I had been like this. Day was already here. I looked over at Cecil and saw her at the table with a bowl of cereal. I frowned.

"Hey... you could have woken me up."

She looked up at me and then to the bottle beside me. "It's okay, mommy. Uncle Eason set up the pantry for me so I could pour my own cereal like a big girl."

My jaw clenched. The motion made my head pound. There was something about this that wasn't right, but as she opened the little bottle of milk and poured it over a container that suspiciously looked like one that had a top, I figured I wouldn't argue. I slid out of my seat. My back ached. Every muscle throbbed, and I could barely walk straight.

Margaret cut me off as I headed to the stairs. She eyed me, sniffed, and glared.

"Really?"

I flinched as the sound made the pain worse. "Please... a little softer."

"No," she said. My ears ringing. "You deserve this. Really? You're still drunk."

"I know. Thank you."

I pushed past her and dragged my body up the stairs. Esme came out of a room, already dressed for the day. She eyed me.

"I don't need a lecture," I said, blinking slowly.

She cocked an eyebrow. "I wouldn't waste my breath." She pulled out a vial. "I'll give you half an hour to pull yourself together. Drink it before you get in the shower."

I glared at her. "I don't need you to judge me either. I thought you were on my side."

"That's the problem, Grace," she looked at me. "I am on your side. The real question is, are you."

I set my jaw. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"The liaison will be here today," she gestured to me. "Do you think you can pull yourself together enough to get through that in less than thirty minutes?"

My stomach plummeted. I cursed and struggled up the rest of the way. I got to my room, drank the potion, and got in the shower. Everything was still swimming around me; everything hurt, but at least my ears had stopped ringing. I got dressed in whatever was hanging at the edge of my closet and hoped it was a full outfit. When I got back downstairs, Esme put a sandwich and a bottle of water in my hand before hustling me out the door. Cecil didn't even say goodbye, looking so forlorn at the table by herself that my heart ached.

"You want to play blocks later?" I asked before leaving.

She shook her head and kept eating. I bit my lip and turned, shaking my head. I couldn't fight that battle right now. It was better to let her figure out what was wrong with some distance before trying to get answers out of her.

We got to Wolfe Medical within ten minutes. I was in my office with a strong cup of coffee. Sunlight streamed through the office windows, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within me. Esme pulled out her copy of the decree. I didn't even know where mine was.

"Pull out your company's financials. I want you to have at least a draft of a plan before you're left alone with him."

I huffed and pulled out the last month's reports. I opened my computer to a recent report and hoped for the best. The sales had gone down, but I wasn't terribly worried. The stockpile would last a little longer while I was still sorting out production sourcing.

I thought back to the field and Eason's vampire friend and quickly pushed that out of my mind. I spread the documents across the desk. Each page was a grim reminder of the state of Mooncrest. We were just barely struggling to get out from under the past-due debts, never mind the mountain of debt we still owed Charles. I saw that we'd been making payments on it, but I wasn't even totally clear how far we'd gotten with that. Then, there were the other payments going out to other members of the States for debts that were on the records. They were draining most of our cash flow. Numbers swam before my eyes, taunting me.

It was impossible. Esme picked up a notebook.

"What's your interest rate with Charles?"

I blinked. "I..."

I had no idea. Esme let out a deep sigh. Then, a sharp rap on the door jolted me. Esme waved the door open, and a courier entered, holding a manila envelope embossed with the official seal of the patent office. A flicker of hope ignited within me. I signed for it, ignoring the financials on the desk and hoping for a bit of progress.

But as I ripped open the envelope, the hope turned to ash. The letter inside informed me that my patent application had progressed to the next stage, but approval was far from guaranteed. Frustration welled up, bitter and hot. Why couldn't things just be simple? Why did every step forward feel like wading through molasses and just waiting to be pushed back several steps?

Before I could start to vent my anger or call the patent office to get a better understanding of what the hell I was supposed to get out of this document, the intercom buzzed with an announcement.

"Alpha Wolfe," the voice chirped, "Mr. Thorne is here."

Oh, great. I looked down at the documents. Then to Esme, who looked completely unapologetic. Esme looked down at the documents.

"You haven't answered me."

I tried to gather up the Wolfe Medical documents. Then, I heard Amira. Esme didn't even flinch, but she pulled out a different pen and tossed the pen in her hand across the desk toward me.

"You can't just--"

Without waiting for an invitation, the office door swung open, revealing Mr. Thorne himself. His smug grin and the way he sauntered in, oblivious to basic courtesy, set my teeth on edge. I clipped the reports in my hand together.

"Good morning, Alpha Wolfe," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock respect. "Glad you're here. I would hate to report your lack of dedication.