Bittersweet (The Calvettis of New York 4) - Page 8

“He must have a wallet on him. Or his phone will hold some clues.” Mandy smiles at my reflection in the rearview mirror. “I’ll pull over, and we’ll figure it out together.”

Chapter 5

Afton

Some crafty detective work brought me to this apartment building close to midtown Manhattan.

Once the taxi was parked near the Chrysler Building, Mandy tried waking Luke with a push on his shoulder. That didn’t work.

We found his wallet in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The address on his driver’s license listed a building close to where we were, so Mandy hopped back behind the wheel and drove us the few blocks to where Luke lives.

I paid for the taxi fare with some of the cash from his wallet.

She offered to help me get him up to his apartment on the sixth floor, but he woke up as soon as I tugged on his arm to get him out of the taxi.

Leaning against me with his arm wrapped around my shoulders, we walked up flight after flight of stairs until we finally reached his floor.

He attempted to unlock the door to his apartment twice, but his keys ended up by our feet both times.

I took over after that, pushing the door open easily before he motioned for me to go inside.

Nothing inside of me sensed it was a bad decision, so I did it.

Now, I’m watching as he turns in a slow circle in his living room.

“You should sit down.” I point at a couch near one of the large windows that overlook the apartment building next door.

“I can’t find my phone.”

I shove it at him. “Here it is.”

He wobbles to the left as he reaches for it. “The room is spinning.”

I gesture toward the couch again. “Sit.”

He plops himself down with a thud. The phone in his hand tumbles to the worn brown leather next to him. “My fucking head hurts.”

As if to exaggerate the point, he drops his head down.

“I can get you something for that,” I offer with a glance around the small apartment. “Do you have ibuprofen or aspirin here?”

“Kitchen.” His hand juts out with a single finger pointed to the left.

I set off in that direction with the hem of my expensive gown dragging on the hardwood floor and my guilt becoming heavier to bear by the minute.

***

“Success,” I whisper as I finally find what I’ve spent the past ten minutes searching for.

I crack the seal on the bottle of acetaminophen that was on a shelf near the stove. It was hidden behind a dying cactus, a box of microwave popcorn, and a broken pair of sunglasses.

Since I already looked in every cabinet, I know exactly where to go to grab a glass. I pull one down and half-fill it with cold tap water.

Rounding the corner that leads to the living room, I announce my arrival, “Help is here.”

I stop as soon as I realize that Luke has slumped over on his side. That shouldn’t surprise me. The almost empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table in front of him is open.

He must have taken a swallow of it when I disappeared from view.

I nudge his shoulder. “Luke, wake up.”

I don’t know the rules of drinking and popping headache pills, so I place those down next to the bottle.

“Luke,” I say his name louder. “You can’t sleep here.”

He waves a hand toward me, but that’s all I get from him.

I tug on the sleeve of his jacket. “I’ll help you get to bed.”

“Sleeping here,” he mumbles.

“No.” I shake my head. “We’re going to your bed.”

One of his eyelids cracks open. “Both of us?”

Stifling a laugh, I reach for his hand. “No. You’re going to bed. I’m going…”

I still don’t know where. Once I have him settled, I’ll need to make a plan.

With a push of his large hand against the arm of the couch, he’s sitting upright again. It takes another minute before he attempts to stand.

He likely weighs at least eighty pounds more than I do, but I offer my hand. “I’ll help.”

“You did,” he whispers. “You helped.”

The sadness in his voice cuts through me. I don’t know if Warren is torn up right now, but the guilt that has been enveloping me since I left the church tightens its grip.

I help Luke to his feet and lead him down the hallway to what I think is the main bedroom.

He slips out of his jacket, dropping it in the doorway. His attempt to unbutton the shirt he’s wearing is an epic fail, so he goes for his belt. As soon as the buckle is undone, he drops face-first into the middle of a king-size bed.

I tug his shoes off and do my best to push his legs onto the mattress. Glancing around, I spot a thin white blanket draped over the back of a chair by the window. I grab it and cover him from the neck down.

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Calvettis of New York Romance
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