He had nothing.
Cole glared at the blank piece of paper in Jane’s carriage and scowled. No inspiration. No leadings of what to write. Just a headache the size of Mount Liberty. And a beautiful blonde beside him who hadn’t mouthed more than seven words to him over the past four days.
Nothing had evolved from all the information he’d given to Sterling. Jeffrey denied ties to the man who’d attempted to assault Elissa. And furthermore, Jeffrey had released a statement informing the public of his marriage to Doris Green. What motive could he possibly have against Elissa and Cole, except for the will? A will neither one of them had.
Cole had tried to reconcile with Elissa over the course of the week, but she had been distant and cool. Not cruel. But closed like a flower in the rain. All connections with her seemed severed with no chance of renewing anything—not even a friendship.
Agitation pressed his lungs. He needed air. He needed … something. He slapped his hat on his head and stood. “I’m breaking for lunch,” he announced to no one in particular. The wall clock read ten o’clock. He wasn’t hungry. But he was extremely thirsty.
“Lissie?” Father’s head poked out of his office like a turtle from its shell. “Can you come in here, please?”
She sighed and pushed back her chair. The half-completed ledger laughed at her as if it knew she couldn’t concentrate with Cole’s sudden disappearance. He still owed her father an article and had no business quitting for lunch so soon. Where’d he gone to? She shrugged the concern away. Cole Parker didn’t need her. Didn’t want her. He’d only shown interest in stealing her ideas and heeding Father’s orders. With a frown, she gathered her notebook and headed into the office.
“What is it?” She spoke in her most polite voice. Ever since her time at Howe Springs, she hadn’t been angry with Father, or really even Cole, but the hurt still scratched at her heart, and that would take a while to mend.
He closed the door and pressed a hand against the wood, his head lowering. “I found a buyer for the Review.”
Her heart sank. “Can nothing be done?”
He shrugged, his shoulders barely lifting as though he carried an enormous weight. “We’ve not generated enough profit to cover the expenses.” His scrubbed a wrinkled hand over his ashen face. “I’ve failed.”
Compassion overtook her. Remembrance of Father weak and pale in that hospital bed clouded her mind. “You can’t take the burden. It’ll exhaust you.” And he needed his strength. “I’m sorry for the outburst the other day at the house. I wasn’t thinking, and … while I was disappointed you created the contest only to have Cole spy on me, I’m not angry. I should have considered your health over my feelings.”
“Lissie.” Father set a hand on hers. “The contest is not a hoax. I’m still expecting an article. And yes, I may have invented it as a means to keep you out of trouble, but I know your talent. I wanted you to feel as if you’d earned your place and not that your old man was throwing you a bone. Cole is a worthy opponent, but between you and me, I think you can take him.”
She gave a faint smile. “I’m an adult. I don’t need a man to follow me around. I can take care of myself.”
“Believe me. Cole wasn’t forced. He seemed all too eager to have any and every opportunity to be near you. And I confess, there may have been a bit of match-making on my part.”
Elissa’s jaw swung open. “Father!” Why would he take on such a role? He’d never meddled in her personal life before. Not like she had much of one. But then, “Did you want me and Cole to get together so Cole could run the Review in the future?”
His eyebrows spiked, and his head jerked back. “No. That wasn’t in my mind.”
“It’s just that you’ve always had me write articles under a man’s name. Why have you fought against me all this time? What’s so wrong with being a female journalist?”
Father scratched his cheek. “Lissie, if I gave you that illusion, I apologize. I’m never against you. I think you are more than adequate for any position, including publisher.” He sighed. “But I fear you won’t have any opportunity to prove it.”
Squeezing his hand, she inhaled a calming breath and forced a smile. He needed her to be strong. God would see them through.
“Sell the Review,” she whispered, pain screaming from every word. Heartbreak was occurring in many forms this week.
Failure.
The word wrapped around Cole’s heart like barbed wire and squeezed. How many times would he botch things? Hurt the people he loved?
He ground his jaw and pounded his fist against the cold retaining wall outside the apartment building. The brick allowed no mercy, skinning his knuckles, blood welling to the surface. But he welcomed the pain.
Elissa had never realized the love he held for her. She only thought he’d taken advantage.
He tightened his grip on the object he could get arrested for.
Did anything matter anymore?
His entire reason for returning to Pittsburgh was gone. He’d lost his second chance with Elissa. He wouldn’t expect a person like her to offer him a third.
As for the Boston Globe? He hadn’t heard a word from them concerning her articles. A lump formed in his throat, and he worked to swallow. Cole had wrecked the relationship over nothing. When, or even if, he would get the chance to explain, it’d be too late. The feelings she’d harbored for him would be extinguished. Ashes from a love they could have shared.
He tucked the bag under his arm and sprinted up the stairs to his apartment, his mouth parched, his heart heavy.
The whiskey peddler had informed him this bottle had been imported from Canada, undiluted. Strong. Exactly what he needed. By this time tomorrow, he’d be in oblivion.
He closed the door, locking it. Ripping the brown paper away, he gazed at the amber bottle. Torn.
Perhaps this one mess-up wouldn’t pull him down that road again. What could one mistake do? He pressed a finger to his chin, the bruising from his fall no longer visible, but the memory hadn’t faded. Waking up in his own urine and vomit. Chilled. The eerie awareness of the alcohol’s poison invading his blood. Seeing Elissa’s face in his mind’s eye and wanting to tell her the words he’d never felt worthy enough to say.
Words he’d still left unsaid.
He tightened his grasp on the bottle. Why? Why had he left her in doubt of his heart for so long?
He sank onto the chair.
God.
Knuckles wrapped around the bottle’s neck, he asked for help. Help to see beyond the moment. Help to overcome the pulsing desire to drink.
Not in my own strength. “God, I need yours.”
He didn’t feel a thing. Not an overwhelming force gripping his heart. Not even a shift in mood. Weakness and defeat clutched his brittle will. He could numb the surging emotion in several swigs. His hand tightened on the glass, thumb skimming the metal cap.
But this was where failure had reigned before. Maybe he needed to step out in faith, even when his senses screamed for satisfaction.
With a shout, he lifted the bottle and hurled the thing. It struck the fireplace, shaking the mantel, taking down Cole’s science test. The glass shattered, and liquid spewed. He lunged across the room, rescuing the paper before the leaking whiskey destroyed it. The edges were wet, as was the back of the frame.
He withdrew the paper and turned it over, surveying the damage.
Writing—not his own—stared up at him. Shelby’s.