36

“It’s my kitchen.”

“You’re acting like a child.”

I knew I was. I was acting like an asshole. The truth was, I liked it when she made tacos. In fact, I liked everything she made. Tonight, nothing was going to be right. Not even, it seemed, Emmy.

I stormed out of the kitchen. “I need a fucking drink.”

I grabbed the decanter of scotch and poured a healthy shot. I downed it in one swallow, the liquor burning its way down my throat and into my chest. I refilled the glass and stomped upstairs to my room, pulling off my suit. I swallowed some more of the liquor and stepped into the shower. The sting of the water on my knee made me hiss and looking down I saw a gash from where I fell.

I was going to burn that piece of shit rucksack when I got hold of it.

I turned on all the jets and closed my eyes as the hot water poured over me. The steam billowed around me, and the heat worked its magic on my stiff muscles. Bracing myself on the wall, I huffed a deep sigh and let the water rain down. I had