Molly's Hope (A Second Chance Romance Book 3) Page 3

  “That’s the spirit. First things first, tons of water and Gatorade. Let’s get the poison out of you.”

  Sure didn’t taste like poison.

  “Fine. Whatever. Give it to me. I don’t promise not to puke though. My stomach still feels like it’s in a grinder.”

  “Little bit at a time.”

  FOR THE REST of the day, several things happened. I knew they would but I didn’t know if that knowledge was a good thing or a bad thing.

  It almost made it worse to know beforehand.

  The shakes moved from my hands to the rest of my body even as Molly flitted about, trying to shove gallons and gallons of water and Gatorade into me. I was surprised she hadn’t put a needle in my arm with saline solution.

  “You still a nurse?” I asked with a straw perched at my mouth, ready to down another jug of the weak orange liquid.

  “I am. Not labor and delivery anymore though.”

  “Pediatrics?” She always loved children and wanted to be around them as much as possible.

  “Geriatrics, actually.”

  That didn’t seem right, even in my stupor.

  “Old people?”

  “Yes.” She was folding towels for the second time that day. I only owned a handful and when I’d thrown up before, plus the two cold showers she’d forced me into, they were dirty already.

  “Doesn’t seem right.” I managed to grumble. I eyed the sandwich she’d made for me still setting on the plate on the countertop. It looked good but my stomach was having none of it.

  “I can make you some soup. I think I saw a can of it in the pantry. We are gonna need to get some groceries sooner than later.”

  The only thing I went to the grocery store for lately was another bottle.

  “Soup might be good.”

  “Okay.” She got a pot out of the sink and scrubbed off the fur coat of whatever leftover food was growing on it. She must’ve washed it three times before deeming it worthy of being cooked in. “While this is cooking, there’s something we need to take care of today. I need to know where everything else is in this house. And don’t think you can lie to me, Lars. A lot of things have changed, but I can still read you like the back of my hand. Where are they?”

  “Where are what?” I rolled my eyes at myself. Playing dumb wasn’t going to get me far.

  “The bottles. All of them. Where are they?”

  I shrugged. “Most of them are in the cabinet above the fridge. Some under the bed. Some in the closet.”

  I watched on, sipping that awful drink while she gathered my precious friends in a black garbage bag like they were–trash.

  “Is that it? Doesn’t seem like a lot of bottles for someone who was out for three days.”

  Three days? Is that how long I was out?

  I shrugged again. There was a bottle hidden in the sofa and one that she would never find. I didn’t care how well she thought she knew me.

  “Lars Grekov, you and I are about to have a come to Jesus. Either you tell me where all this crap is or I’m going to lose it. This is my one law of staying here. You have to be honest with me.” I dropped my chin to my chest. “That means right now, soldier. Where else is this–this stuff–that’s killing you.”

  Killing me? I never thought the stuff was killing me. In fact, sometimes that stuff stopped me from killing myself.

  You don’t want to kill yourself when you’re numb.

  You just don’t care.

  “There’s another one on the top of the light fixture.”

  “The light fixture? Really?” Molly wasn’t much shorter than I was and while she reached for the bottle–make that two bottles–on top, I couldn’t help but look at her. She was skinnier. I was right. She still had perfect hips and the way she leaned up on her toes to reach reminded me of a ballet dancer.

  “Hey, I grew up in Russia. You learn where to hide the vodka early.”

  My mother was American, but my father was Russian. They lived in Russia from the time they were married until I was about twelve. Then we came here and my father and I became citizens.

  “Oh give me a break. You lost most of your accent in high school. Only when you said certain things did you…never mind. Is this the last bottle?”

  What she was about to say was that I really only got my accent back when we were in bed. But we were only married for a short while before I had to leave.

  “That should be the last of it.”

  When the words left my mouth, a shredding pain hit my temples and one of my eyes as if someone was twisting an electric screwdriver in my eye socket. It came out of nowhere and nearly knocked me off the barstool at the kitchen counter.

  “What is it?” she asked calmly, but I could hear the concern in her voice. At least it wasn’t the cooing from before.

  “Headache. I think I have some Tylenol in the bathroom.”

  “I brought plenty. Let me see your arm.” She took my arm with two fingers on my wrist and looked at her watch on the other hand. “Your heart rate is elevated a little. Let’s get you back into bed. I’ll get some Tylenol.”

  My eyes were closed and I tried to get to the bedroom without her before running into a wall.

  How did that wall get there?

  “Wait for me, Lars. Lean on me. Put your arm over my shoulder.”

  She acted like I had a sprained ankle instead of a case of the “need liquor stumble”. Molly had always been good like that.

  “I can do it by myself.” I heard the growl from my throat but didn’t recognize it as my own.

  “Let me help you.”

  It took me stubbing my toe at the very next step to give in.

  “Fine.”

  As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out, even before she could give me the Tylenol. Sometime later I felt a cool washcloth on my head. I heard her voice in my dreams telling me that she loved me and that she wasn’t leaving me.

  Detox dreams are jerks.

  Chapter Five

  Molly

  I WIPED HIS forehead again. He kept sweating but was shaking as if he was ice cold. He had a fever, but that wasn’t uncommon in his condition. I put a new washcloth on his head and grabbed another blanket for him. He was still cursing me under his breath, but I was used to it by now.

  We were on day three of him not having any alcohol, and it had been a nightmare. As a nurse, I’ve seen others going through withdrawals, but it was much different when it was the man you loved. I wished I could take the pain away from him. He had called me every bad name in the book, but I let it roll off my back. I knew he didn’t mean it. He wasn’t the type.

  “Lars. Can you hear me?” I rubbed his back and heard him slightly snoring. He was out again, and it gave me a moment of peace.

  I stepped out of the bedroom again as soft knocking came to the apartment door. It was Ms. Griffin.

  “Hello, Molly.” She greeted me. “I brought you this.” She handed me two bags of groceries. “I know you’ve not had time to go to the store.”

  “Thank you.” I sighed with relief. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it out since I had a watchful eye on Lars.

  “How’s my boy?”

  “Day by day.” I told her honestly. I loved how she cared for him. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. Take care of him.” She nodded and left.

  I was thankful for our small town. We’ve always looked after one another no matter what. I missed it too. After I filed for divorce from Lars, I moved to Dallas for treatment and to be closer to my mother. She left my father and me when I was a teenager to go back to school and find herself. I didn’t understand why until I became older. I still hold some animosity toward her, but she was there for me when I needed to get away from Lars before he found out the truth. She was also the one who told me I should write him a letter explaining why I left, just in case I didn’t make it through. I did write one but left out the most important part.

  I made him a bowl of soup. I knew he was probably getti
ng tired of it, but he really couldn’t keep anything else down. He will have a couple more days of this before he should be somewhat normal. If he’d ever be that way again. He had a long road ahead of him. I wished I could be here for him more, but I couldn’t stay forever. No matter how much I loved him.

  I carried the bowl and a glass of water to the bedroom, but he’s not in there. “Lars.” I looked around and saw the bathroom room closed. “Lars.” I called his name louder and put everything down on the nightstand. I jiggled the doorknob, but he had it locked. “Open this door right now.”

  “Go away.” He grumbled.

  “Do you have a bottle in there?”

  He didn’t answer. He wasn’t one to lie outright but silence was enough for me to know the answer.

  “You have five seconds to open the door.”

  Nothing.

  “One. Two. Three. I will kick it down and I don’t think Ms. Griffin will like the fact of having to replace it. Or maybe she will enjoy charging you for it? Four.”

  The door unlocked, and I turned the handle. He didn’t have anything around him. It was just him sitting on the floor.

  “I need to be alone.”

  “Why? You think you can make it to the liquor store in your condition? I don’t think that’s happening.”

  He glared at me.

  “Come on. I have some food for you.”

  His glare turned quickly to anger. Great, we’re at that stage again.

  “I want you to get out of my apartment.”

  I shook my head. “Nope and try to be all scary and mean because I know you better. You won’t hurt me.”

  He slowly raised up. “You don’t know me anymore.”

  “You’re wrong. Now, let’s get some food in you.” As I turned, I could smell it. There was whiskey in here. “Where is it, Lars?”

  He turned away.

  I yanked back the shower curtain and there it was. A fifth of Jack Daniels…empty. “How could you do this?” I yelled.

  “Go away. I don’t need you,” he said, still on the floor.

  “Apparently, I’m going to have to never leave your side. Now, get up.” I removed the empty bottle and threw it in the bathroom trash can. “You need a cold shower, a cup of coffee, and food. I’m not going to hear one argument either.”

  “Go away.”

  “Are those the only words you know?” I snapped my fingers. “No, I heard very colorful words the past couple days.”

  “You don’t care about me, so why are you here?”

  It hurt to hear him say those words. I did care for him. I loved him. He was my soulmate and there would never be anyone else but him, yet I couldn’t tell him.

  “I’m here because Jameson and your family care for you. Plus, they’re tired of your whiny, drunky butt and so they sent in reinforcements.”

  He looked down at his hands.

  “Lars.” I leaned down to his level. “Everyone loves you and is concerned about you.”

  “They call me a hero.” He mumbled.

  “You are a hero.” I reminded him. He saved many men in his unit.

  “No, I’m not.” He roared, and I jumped back.

  He leaped to his feet and began to throw items around the bathroom. He wasn’t throwing them at me, he was just releasing anger. He was cursing, screaming, punching the wall. I shut the bathroom door and jimmied a chair under the doorknob, with the hope of keeping him in there for a bit. I then raced out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. I found the toolbox and there was a piece of rope in it. While Lars was still fighting and now throwing items in the bedroom, I closed the door and knotted part of the rope around the door handle. I ran across the hall to Jameson’s bedroom and tied a knot on that door handle. Now he wouldn’t be able to get out. At least, for a little while.

  I pulled my cell phone out of my back pocket and called Jameson. “I need your help. He’s losing it, and I don’t think he’s going to be able to listen to me right now.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Thankfully, Jameson only moved two blocks away. It didn’t take long for him get here. As I opened the front door, it sounded as if Lars was on the verge of kicking a hole through it.

  “Ms. Griffin said she wouldn’t call the police, but if there’s any damage he’ll have to pay for it.” Jameson explained walking in.

  “I figured. I’ll take care of anything broken or repairs.” I told him and followed him down the hall.

  “Hey, bro, it’s me.” He tried to speak calmly. The pounding stopped. “Lars, listen we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “And locking me in a room is the best way to do it?” he yelled through the door.

  “It’s just until you calm down. We’ll let you out, but you have to simmer down, okay?”

  Lars doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I don’t like being locked in.”

  “I only did it because you were throwing things.” I explained.

  Jameson inspected me and whispered, “Did he hurt you?”

  I shook my head. “He’d never hurt me. He was just mad because I caught him drinking. I thought I got all the bottles.”

  He sighed. “Bro, are you good now? Can we let you out without any trouble?”

  “Fine.”

  “You promise?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He growled.

  “Do you pinky promise?” When we were teenagers he would pinky promise me everything and we never broke it.

  I RAN FASTER, but I was laughing too hard and Lars was quicker. He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me up.

  “I’m going to throw you into the pond.” He moved closer to the edge of the dock. We were near my uncle’s cabin. We had driven up to swim but we’d just arrived and I hadn’t changed out of my clothes yet.

  “Don’t you dare, Lars.” I squealed with giggles.

  “Then say it.”

  I couldn’t stop laughing and there were happy tears running down my cheeks.

  “Not until you say it.” He lifted me higher. “Say it.”

  “I love you. I love you. I love you.” I repeated the greatest three words over and over.

  “And?”

  “I promise never to leave you.” I vowed.

  He put me on my feet and turned me to him. He held out his pinky. “You pinky promise me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t that a bit childish?”

  “No.” He wiggled his pinky at me. “Pinky promise.”

  I wrapped mine around his. “I pinky promise to love you forever and never leave you.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” I thought I had said everything.

  “And you promise never to break our pinky promise.”

  “I promise never to break our pinky promise.” I repeated.

  WELL, MINUS ONE. The one I swore I’d never leave him.

  “I pinky promise.” He grumbled. “At least I keep mine.”

  Jameson looked over at me with a sad smile and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged. I knew he didn’t mean it and wouldn’t say it had he known the truth. Together we got the knots undone and opened the bedroom door. Lars was shirtless but was wearing shorts. The anger was clear all over his face and he was staring right at me. I crossed my arms and glared right back. He doesn’t scare me.

  “I see you threw your food all over the wall.” I nodded to the broken dishes.

  “Go away.”

  “Find a new sentence.” I quipped back. “I’m not going anywhere, Russian Rocket, so suck it up.”

  Jameson snorted at my old nickname for him. I’ve not called him that in years. When we first met his accent wasn’t thick but clear. Plus, he was the fastest runner, still was, and that was where I came up with Russian Rocket.

  He brushed past me and staggered down the hall. He was tipsy but not overly drunk. I turned to Jameson.

  “I’ll clean this up if you’ll make some soup.”

  He nodded and headed toward the kitchen. I rolled
up my sleeves and began working on the bathroom first since it was the worst. He punched a small hole in the wall, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t fix. My dad made sure I could do a lot of house repairs because even though I was a girl, I should know about these things.

  I was almost done with the bedroom when he came back in, with Jameson trailing behind him. I pulled the comforter back and he fell into the bed. He wasn’t passing out, but he looked exhausted.

  “Lars, you need to thinking about going to AA meetings.” I put all his dirty clothes back into the hamper.

  “Why?”

  “Maybe because you’re an alcoholic.” I huffed.

  “I’m fine. I don’t need you to keep telling me what to do.” He sat up. “You’re not my wife, and I don’t want you around. You’re the one who left me, remember?”

  I stomped over to him and put my finger right in his face. “I remember a lot of things, and I’m well aware I’m not your wife, but I’m here because I care and your family asked me to be here. So, here I am and I’m not going anywhere.”

  He and I had a stare down until he said, “I hate you.”

  There are many things I could handle as he was detoxing, and I was certain more will come since he hasn’t gone through all the stages yet but that hurt. I knew it was possible for him to hate me, but he had never, ever said the words. Until now.

  I pushed down the hurt and pain and continued my stare down. “I’m still not going anywhere. Now, you get some rest because you’re about to go through a week of hell, and I’m the only one who will be around to help you.”

  I stormed off before he could see the tears fall.

  Chapter Six

  Lars

  WHEN I WAS a kid, I made my bed every morning. It wasn’t something that was on a chore list and I certainly never got an allowance for doing such things. It was simply expected of me.

  Bootcamp made me see it as more of a chore since I had to tuck and crease the sheets and blankets the way they wanted me to or the drill sergeant would make a crease in my eardrums.

  “It’s like licorice,” I said out loud not meaning to.

  “You hate licorice,” Molly said, standing way too close to me. She was always too close to me. She didn’t understand my personal space. I had a personal square of space and for some reason, her toes or fingers or smell or voice was always in it.