"I don't want you to have the impression I didn't appreciate the favors, though. At the time they were enjoyable enough. Turned out you came at a very high price, however." I ran one finger down her smooth cheek and she stared up at me, unmoving. "My name, my vineyard, my freedom as it will most likely turn out . . ." My heart, my soul.
A tear hit my finger, and I pulled it back as if I'd been burned by acid, turning away from her and stepping out of the dim alleyway onto the bright sidewalk. I heard the soft sound of her sobs, but she didn't call after me, and I didn't look back. I left my heart in that alleyway. There were no segments of my heart left for anyone else to take, so she could take it all. I wouldn't ever need it again.
I drove home full of icy pain, my skin prickly with more misery than I'd ever felt in my life. When I got there, I went straight to the liquor cabinet and brought out a bottle of aged Scotch. Wine wasn't going to be strong enough today.
As I tossed back the first shot, I looked out the window at the vineyards beyond. Right before Kira had left, I'd measured the sugar, the acid, the tannins, and determined when the grapes would be perfectly ready to harvest. They were ready now. But I didn't have the funds to hire anyone to help me harvest. I raised my glass to the vines in a mock toast. "You did your part beautifully. Sorry I failed you, too." In a very short time, the fruit would be rotting on the vine, a complete waste—a perfect metaphor for my entire life. Of course, now, I'd probably be in jail anyway for assaulting Cooper Stratton. I poured another shot and let it burn down my throat. All of it was lost. There was no hope, no hope left at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Grayson
The world shifted into focus as I groaned, grabbing my head in my hands to stop the incessant pounding. I was in the living room, sprawled across the couch, the bottle of empty Scotch lying on my stomach, along with the shot glass I'd been drinking from. I didn't bother to move them before sitting up, and they rolled off me onto the floor, not breaking, just landing on the area rug in a soft thud.
Stumbling to my feet, I rubbed at the back of my neck, trying to massage the kink out. Outside, the sun was still rising, the sky awash in shades of gold. I blinked and froze. It looked like there were . . . dozens of workers in the grapevines, harvesting fruit. I squinted, scratching absently at my stomach, trying to understand what I was seeing.
"I figure you'll need these," I heard behind me and turned to find Charlotte setting down two tablets I assumed were pain relievers and a glass of water on the table next to the couch. "Not that the way you're feeling isn't exactly as you deserve. I'd like to smack you upside the head myself, but I won't. Seems you've been doing enough of that by yourself."
"What in the hell is going on outside?" I demanded, ignoring her other remarks.
"The grapes aren't going to harvest themselves," she said.
I took a deep breath. "What I mean is, who hired those people? You know very well I can't pay them."
"Harley called in some favors and he, Virgil, and José pooled the money you paid them up to the end of the month. They'll split it amongst the men who agreed to work for you this week."
"Harvesting grapes takes longer than that as you well know."
"Yes, well, this will be a start, and if you can get the wine in barrels into bottles, you can start selling it. There's a second crew coming in the evening to help with that."
I turned sharply toward Charlotte, grimacing at the sudden, sharp ache in my skull. "Why? Why would they do that?"
"I suppose because they believe in you."
"Believe in me?" I let out a sharp bark of laughter that only served to hurt my head. "What good is that going to do them when it comes time to feed their families? Speaking of which, why are you still here?"
Charlotte only pursed her lips. "Perhaps you'd like to get showered and go down and join them."
I snorted. "No. A second bottle of Scotch and I have plans for the day."
I told myself I didn't care about the disapproving look she shot me before she left the room. She had lied to me as well. The only reason I didn't kick her out of my house was because this had been her home longer than it'd been mine. But she'd be forced to leave soon enough—once I could no longer afford baking ingredients. Or once I got arrested for assaulting Cooper Stratton. I groaned, running my hands through my hair, the mess of my life coming back into sharp focus.
"Charlotte," I called. She halted at the wide archway that separated the living room from the foyer, looking back at me. "Have the police been by? Or called?"
"No," she said, and turned and walked toward the kitchen. I wondered why she wasn't curious about why I'd asked that question. Perhaps she just couldn't take on one more issue right now. Neither could I, and yet, apparently, fate had other plans for me.
I downed the two pills Charlotte had left, and then went upstairs and showered, letting the hot spray soothe my sore muscles. After I dressed, I went into the guest bedroom across the hall to look out at the grapevines beyond. The equipment and the men were still there. Fools! It was all a waste of time.
I went and flopped down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, the one I'd stared at in wonder so many nights after Kira and I had made love. Stop. Don't think of her—not right now. Was she waking up with Cooper this morning? Were they having breakfast in bed? Tortured by my own thoughts, I went to get the second bottle of Scotch. I'd drink so much I'd pickle my brain and kill all the brain cells that held memory of her.