Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Six
Travis' POV
The bottle was empty.
I stared at it, wondering when that had happened. An hour ago? Two? Time didn't mean much anymore.
I reached for another bottle from the cabinet. My hands shook as I unscrewed the cap.
Everything shook these days.
Emily was alive. The thought kept circling my mind like a vulture. Alive. Breathing. Walking around somewhere plotting revenge while I'd spent five years mourning her.
Five years of guilt. Of self-hatred. Of drinking myself into oblivion because I couldn't face what I'd done.
I hadn't been there when she needed me. Hadn't been there when she gave birth. When she died.
Except she hadn't died.
She'd faked it. Let me think she was dead. Let me suffer.
I took a long drink straight from the bottle. The whiskey burned going down, but I barely felt it anymore.
The study door opened. I didn't bother looking up.
"Go away, Malachi. I'm not in the mood."
"It's not Malachi."
