Sophie sucked in her bottom lip. Dash had kept so many secrets from everyone around him, so she wasn’t surprised he’d kept Chris from Poppy, too.
She just needed to find Dash to let him know she would be there for him, no matter what.
Her Lyft was ten minutes away, which felt like a lifetime. She scratched the side of her head as she went into her texts and tried Dash again.
Dash, please, just tell me you’re okay.
I’m coming home and we can talk about this.
Text me back.
She spotted Kitty out of the corner of her eye—smiling and making small talk with people in the room. William, however, didn’t seem to be able to plaster on a smile, the way his wife had.
“This day is so messed up. First my mom intentionally hurting Dash, and then you not only keeping the fact that you’re dating my brother a secret from me, but also that he has a drinking problem.” Poppy crossed her arms.
“Could you not make this about me and you right now?” Sophie’s nerves were wrapped as tight as a rubber band, and she was about to snap. “Your brother, who is a recovering alcoholic, just experienced a traumatic event. He’s sensitive about his sobriety, and I’m worried that this whole thing pushed him too far. He’s just trying to stay sober.”
Poppy frowned. “Too far?”
“I don’t know, but he’s not answering my calls or texts. I’m worried about him, and you should be, too.”
Poppy licked her lips and studied her. “Okay, I’ll drive you to his place, but you have to tell me everything,” she eventually said.
“Dash is the only one who gets to tell his story. I’m sorry.” Sophie hoped that Poppy could put aside her feelings and see the bigger picture before it was too late. “But, please, let’s go. I want to make sure he’s okay.”
Without another word, Poppy tucked her purse under her arm, grabbed Sophie, and led the way to the exit.
When they got to the house, Dash’s car wasn’t there, and Sophie’s concern mounted when she spotted Chris sitting outside the gate.
“I saw the livestream,” Chris said by way of greeting, and a worried line worked its way between his brows. “He’s not with you, then?”
“No,” Sophie said. “Do you know where he’d be?”
“We can check the AA meeting we used to go to, but I want to go to his old spot first.” Chris dug the toe of his shoe into the dirt, exhaled, and waved for them to follow.
The Viper Pit was a bar that smelled exactly as Sophie imagined, stale and smoky. Dash was hard to miss as he relaxed against the seat of a booth with his rumpled blond hair and button-down shirt. He had a drink in one hand and looked up when they came in.
His eyes were glassy and red, as if he’d been crying. And when he caught sight of them, his jaw clenched. He wouldn’t look at her, but Sophie kept her eyes locked on him, because she needed him to know she was there.
“Let me get him,” Chris said.
But Sophie wanted to help, too. “Is it okay if I talk to him first? If you think it will make things worse, I won’t.”
“Sure,” Chris said. “But, Sophie, you’ve never seen him intoxicated. He might say or do things he wouldn’t normally. Don’t take anything personally.”
“I won’t,” Sophie assured him.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this,” Poppy said quietly.
“It’s not your fault,” Chris said. “All we can do is help him through it.”
Poppy nodded, then looked to Sophie. “Let us know if you need backup.”
Dash didn’t say a word as Sophie slid into the booth next to him. She could no longer smell his clean, earthy scent, only vodka and something spoiled. His body was loose in a way she wasn’t used to, and she held a steady palm on his back.
She wasn’t often at a loss for words, but here was Dash, the man she so deeply cared for, and he was in pain. So much pain that he’d had to numb all of it with the one thing he’d worked so hard to remove from his life. She stroked the side of his face with her fingertips and brushed the hair from his eyes.
“Let’s get you home” was all she said.
“I don’t deserve a home. Or you.” His voice was soft and his words slurred together.
Sophie wanted to cry but stopped herself. She ached for what he was going through and how badly he must hurt to have come to this bar. She needed to bring him back to his place and hold him until he knew he was safe.
She tilted his chin up so he could look at her. “Dash, I hope you can hear what I’m about to say. I am not leaving. I am here. We are here for you. Okay?”
She tried to get him to meet her eyes, but he wouldn’t.
“You must think I’m disgusting,” he eventually said. “You should go.”
“No,” she emphatically replied. And then she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly he coughed. But she didn’t know what else she could do or say in that moment, because she’d never been in a situation quite like this. All she knew was that she didn’t want Dash to lose hope, and she wanted so desperately to be able to care for him the way he deserved.
34
DASH
When Dash woke up, he was alone, and he was grateful for that. He didn’t want Sophie to be part of his life anymore, not when he couldn’t control himself. For a few weeks, he’d fantasized about being able to stay sober and good enough for her. But he’d known all along that was a lie.
He pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and the old, familiar pulse of a hangover throbbed just behind his eyes. He’d had so many in his life, but this one felt raw and sharp. He’d fucked up so badly he couldn’t see a way back. What the hell was wrong with him? He fisted a clump of his hair and pulled in frustration.
Dash put on jeans and a shirt, brushed his teeth, and combed out his hair. He may not have been emotionally ready, but nevertheless he opened his bedroom door to face whatever judgment awaited him.
What awaited him was the smell of maple syrup and bacon. His stomach lurched from the lack of food and overabundance of vodka, and his throat felt dry even after drinking the full glass of water that had been left at his bedside.
Chris stood from the couch in the living room and moved to hug Dash. He let him. And Luna was there, too, wiggling on a soft blanket on the floor.
“She’s doing her tummy time, which she hates.” Chris picked Luna up and held her against his chest. “Are you feeling sick? Because you look like you’re in need of soup, or a trash bin, or both.”
“Thanks.” Dash wiped a hand across his face. “Chris, I should’ve called you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“What happened is done, and you’re safe, which is all I care about.” His friend shrugged so nonchalantly that it felt like they’d just talked about something that wasn’t a massive relapse.
“Here.” Poppy handed Dash a plate—one he’d crafted—loaded with bacon, two waffles smothered in syrup, and a piece of toast with butter and jam. She didn’t look happy about any of it. “Enjoy your heart disease.”
“I will.” He took the plate but grabbed Poppy’s hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”