The tears dripping off his cheeks only pissed him off more. But he couldn’t stop them.
All he could do was cry. And cry.
“Nick?” The word was soft. Low. Calm. “Nick Buchanan?”
The vodka put everything in slow motion. Spinning around. Jumping up. Running. None of that was going to happen. Instead he looked over his shoulder, holding up a hand to stop the blinding spotlight.
“It’s Sheriff Martinez,” the voice said, still calm. “You okay?”
He nodded.
The light cut off. A car door slammed. Followed by the jingle of keys.
He was going to be arrested now. For drinking and breaking in and vandalizing his father’s headstone… Because, like Diana, I’m a fuckup. “Fucking great,” he bit out as he fell, face-first, into the dirt and passed out.
…
Charity finished her box of Junior Mints and eyed the bucket of popcorn. If she was smart, she’d stop while she was ahead. Her night promised heartburn as it was; no point adding to it. Especially since the first movie was still wrapping up. But it was the movie’s fault she was eating her feelings. Nothing like sitting through a happily-ever-after chick flick to remind her of her situation—pregnant by a married man, living at home, keeping secrets from, well, everyone, and going to the drive-in movie theater with two teenage girls for entertainment. Who even knew drive-in movie theaters still existed? Whatever.
Bottom line? Her life was way more disaster flick than rom-com.
Bitter much, Charity? She took a bite of a red licorice twist and a handful of popcorn.
Her phone vibrated, and since it had to be Felicity or her folks, she answered it without bothering to check. “Hello?”
“Charity?” The deep rumble on the other end of the line had her sitting up in her seat.
She knew that voice. Braden Martinez, their brooding, hot sheriff. If she wasn’t pregnant and eating her body weight in junk food, she would happily show the man how fun being bad could be. She sighed.
“Shhh,” Diana hushed her from the back seat of the SUV.
“It’s Sheriff Martinez.” He paused, then added, “Braden Martinez.”
Like she didn’t know who Sheriff Martinez was. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I have your nephew with me.”
Nick. Considering he was supposed to be spending the night with her parents, this couldn’t be good. She slipped from her car, ignoring Honor’s and Diana’s hushing, and slammed the door behind her. “What’s happened?”
He sighed. “He’s drunk.”
“Shit,” she bit out. Not that getting drunk was the worst thing a teenager could do. “Where?”
He cleared his throat. “He was at the cemetery.”
She ran a hand over her face. “Is he okay?” Really? She knew the answer to that question. If he were okay, he wouldn’t be drunk at the cemetery. Unless that was something kids did for fun these days.
“Passed out.” There was a hint of amusement. “Some vandalism, though. He took a sledgehammer to his father’s headstone.”
“Oh God,” she moaned, her chest tightening.
“I thought, if you could come get him, maybe…” He broke off. “I’d be willing to let him off with a warning this time. Considering.”
She blinked. Was he serious? “But… Will you get in trouble?” she whispered.
“Only if you tell on me.” No denying the amusement this time.
“Thank you. Seriously, Braden… I mean, Sheriff Martinez. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” She hung up without waiting for a response. A glance at the massive screen told her they had a good fifteen minutes left in the movie. She yanked the car door open. “We’re leaving,” she said, returning the tinny speakers to the stands outside the windows and starting the car.