The Bourbon Kings
Page 122

The sting did bring him around, and he rubbed his cheek. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes, I did. And I’ll do it again.” She shoved his toothbrush into his mouth. “Use that.”
It was hard to talk around the damn thing, so he did what he was told, working the left side, the right, the front, the under parts. Then he bent over and spit in the sink.
“It’s not that cold,” he said.
“How would you know. You’re saturated drunk.”
Actually, he wasn’t—and that was probably part of the problem. For the first time in how long, he hadn’t had anything to drink the night before—
“What are you doing?” he said as her hands went to his fleece.
“I’m getting you undressed.”
“Really.”
While she worked his clothes, he looked at her body. It was hard to see much of it, what with her sweatshirt, and he decided to reach for her to test out that waist.
She stopped. Stepped back. “I’m not interested in that.”
“Then why are you taking my clothes off.”
“Because your lips are blue.”
“Turn that off.” He pointed to the faucet. “I’ll take it from here.”
“You’ll drown.”
“So what if I do. Besides, you don’t want to see what’s under here.”
“I’ll be waiting out by your chair.”
“And doesn’t that give me something to look forward to,” he said under his breath.
She shut the door behind her with a clap—and he didn’t follow through on anything. He just went back to leaning against the wall and looking at the steaming water.
“I don’t hear any splashing,” she said from outside.
“It’s not deep enough for me to swim in yet.”
Knock. Knock. Knock. “Hop to it, Mr. Baldwine.”
“That’s my father. And he’s an asshole. I go by Edward.”
“Shut up and get in the water.”
Even through the fog of his stupor, he felt a flare of something for her. Respect, he supposed it was.
But who cared—
Boom, boom, boom!
“You are going to break that door down,” he yelled over the noise. “And I thought you didn’t want to see me naked.”
“Water. Now,” she clipped out. “And I don’t, but better that than you being dead.”
“Matter of opinion, my dear girl.”
And yet he decided to do what she said. For some insane reason.
Bracing his arms on the sink and the back of the old-fashioned toilet, he hefted his body up to his feet. His clothes were a pain in the ass, but he got them off … and then he was in the tub. Strangely, the warm water had the opposite effect that it should have. Instead of heating him up, it made him feel freezing cold, and he began to shiver so badly, he created chop on the surface of the bath.
Crossing his arms over his chest, his teeth rattled together, and his heart skipped beats.
“You okay in there?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, Shelby said more loudly, “Edward?”
The door burst open and she jumped into the bathroom like she was prepared to go lifeguard and save him from twenty-four inches of water. And it was horrible … as she looked down at him, all he could do was stare into the messy water—and hope that it covered up his spindly legs, his flaccid sex, his white skin with its purple scars.
He was pretty sure she gasped.
Smiling up at her, he said, “Pretty, aren’t I. But believe it or not, I’m fully functional. Well, Viagra helps. Be a darling, would you, and bring me some alcohol—I think I’m detoxing and that’s why I’m shaking like this.”
“Do you …” She cleared her throat. “Do you n-n-need a doctor?”
“No, just some Jim Beam. Or Jack Daniel’s.”
As she simply stared at him, he pointed through the open door behind her. “I’m serious. What I need is alcohol. If you want to save me, get me some. Now.”
When Shelby Landis backed out of that bathroom and shut the door, she fully intended to get Edward what he’d asked for.
After all, she had a lot of experience with alcoholics—and even though she didn’t approve of any of it, she’d brought her pops his booze a thousand times, and usually in the morning, too.
At least that was her plan. In reality, however, she couldn’t seem to move, to think … even to breathe.
She had not been prepared for the sight of that man in there, his dark head bowed as if he were ashamed of his too-thin, mangled body, his man’s pride as shredded and unhealed as his flesh. He had once been a great force; her father had told her the stories of his dominance in business, on the track, in society. Heck, she had heard about the Bradfords since she was young: Her father had refused to drink anything but their No. 15—and so had most of the horse people she knew.
Putting her hands to her face, she whispered, “What did you do to me, Pops?”
Why had he sent her here?
Why …
“Shelby?” came the demand from inside the bathroom.
God, it was just like her father: The way Edward said her name with that hint of desperation … it was exactly the way her Pops had when he’d needed the drink bad.
Closing her eyes, she cursed out her breath. Then felt guilty. “Forgive me, Lord. I know not what I say.”
Looking across the space, she found a lineup of full liquor bottles in front of one of the shelves of silver trophies, and the idea of delivering that poision to him made her want to be sick. But he would just come out here himself—and probably fall and hit his head on the way. And then where would they be? Plus, she knew the way things worked. That terrible trembling wasn’t going to stop until the beast inside was fed what it needed, and his body looked so frail to begin with.