[BL] A Marriage Ruled by Family, Saved by Desire-Chapter 48: Whiskey and Wounds

~Alistair’s POV~

Incoming Call: Andrew.

I stared at the display, my breath hitching in the middle of my wreckage. For a moment, I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to speak to anyone. But the thought of being alone with my own thoughts was even more terrifying. I needed a distraction to keep from drowning in the image of that positive test result.

I swiped the screen with a trembling thumb.

"Hello?" I said quietly, my voice sounding like it belonged to a ghost.

"Alistair? Finally." Andrew’s voice came through the line, warm and steady. "I’ve been trying to reach you, but you weren’t picking up. I was starting to think you’d already regretted giving me your number."

"I... I was just busy, Andrew. I’m sorry," I managed, my voice heavy as I fought to keep the tears from spilling over.

A brief silence stretched on the other end of the line. Andrew wasn’t a fool, he caught the tremor in my voice instantly.

"Alistair?" he asked, his tone sharpening with concern. "What happened? Your voice... You sound like you’ve just walked out of a war."

"It’s nothing," I said quickly, wiping a fresh tear from my cheek. "Just stress. A lot of family stress."

"I don’t believe that for a second," he said, his voice lowering into a worried murmur. "Listen, I’m about to leave the office. I was actually calling to see if you were free to meet up."

"I... yeah. That’s fine. I’d like that," I replied, clinging to the invitation like it was a lifeline, desperate for a distraction.

As we spoke, my phone vibrated against my ear, another incoming call from Alex. The buzz felt like a sharp jolt beneath my skin. I ignored it, watching as his name lit up the screen again and again, pulsing like a desperate, relentless heartbeat.

"Great," Andrew said, a note of relief in his voice. "I’ll text you the location. See you soon, Alistair."

"See you soon," I murmured before ending the call.

The second the line went dead, Alex’s name flashed on the screen again. I stared at it with cold, dead eyes. He didn’t deserve a conversation. He didn’t deserve an explanation. I hit the power button, plunging the screen into darkness, and threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

I thought about calling my mother. I wanted to hear her voice, to feel like a child again, protected from the world. But I knew what she would say. She would give me soft, gentle advice. She would tell me to be patient, to listen to him, to try to save my marriage. I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want to be told to endure anymore.

I drove until I found a boutique hotel far from our neighborhood, a place where no one would recognize me. I checked in under my maiden name, my hands shaking as I handed over my credit card.

Once I stepped into the room, the silence pressed down on me like a physical weight. I didn’t even glance at my phone. I sank onto the edge of the bed, letting the morning’s truth settle into my bones. A thought crept in, sharp and unwelcome, maybe it wasn’t just his mother who wanted a child. Maybe Alex wanted this too, and he was just waiting for me to confirm, knowing he could claim it was a mistake, and I would forgive him, because he knew how deeply I loved him. Tears began to spill down my cheeks again, unstoppable and bitter.

I picked up the room service phone and ordered a bottle of the strongest whiskey they had.

When the bottle arrived, I didn’t even reach for a glass. I sank to the floor by the window, leaning against the cool glass as the city lights blinked to life with the fading sun. I tilted the bottle back, letting the alcohol scorch my throat in a desperate, fleeting attempt to burn away the memory of his touch. I wanted it to fill the hollow in my chest, to numb the raw, aching space where my heart used to beat.

I was a broken man, slumped in a dimly lit room, nursing the remnants of a life I once thought beautiful. The pain cut so deep it felt like my soul was splitting in two.

The phone on the bed buzzed like a relentless insect. Alex had called again and again, each vibration a sharp reminder of the life I was walking away from. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. What words could bridge the chasm that had opened between us?

Then my phone rang again. This time, the name on the screen was different. Blinking through my drunken haze, my heart skipped a beat as I saw the caller ID: Mother-in-Law.

A jagged, hysterical chuckle broke from my throat, echoing off the empty walls. I stared at the phone as if it were a venomous snake. "What now?" I whispered to the shadows, my voice thick with alcohol and tears. "What do you want from me now?"

I slumped against the bedframe, tears streaking my face in fresh lines. I already knew what she would say: "Alistair, son, I’m not breaking your home. I just want Alexander to have what’s his."

I screamed, my voice breaking under the weight of anger and sorrow. "You won! Why aren’t you celebrating? Are you calling to make me feel bad? To make sure I felt every bit of it? You should be rejoicing, you cruel woman! You finally got what you wanted!"

A broken sob tore from my chest as I buried my face in my hands. "Don’t call me. Nobody should call me. Just leave me alone."

The phone fell silent, only to buzz again a few minutes later. This time, it was Henry—one of our mutual friends. I stared at the name, already knowing the script. Alex had probably reached out to him, frantic and desperate, and now Henry was the designated peacemaker. I didn’t answer. I didn’t want a mediator. I didn’t want "perspective." I just wanted to disappear.

Just as my hand closed around the bottle, my phone vibrated again. But this time... it wasn’t Alex. It wasn’t his mother.

Incoming Call: Andrew.

My thumb hovered over the screen. I needed a voice that didn’t carry the weight of the Montclair name. I swiped right.

"Alistair?" Andrew’s voice carried genuine concern. "I’m sorry, I got tied up with some unexpected work. I’m finally free now."

"It’s fine," I murmured. The room felt like it was spinning, but the cold clarity of my heartbreak remained.

"I can come pick you up," Andrew offered softly. "Or we can meet somewhere convenient. Where are you right now?"

I went silent, the weight of the whiskey making my head heavy. "I... I can’t come out tonight, Andrew. I can’t do it."

There was a pause on the other end, the kind of silence that meant he was reading between the lines of my broken voice. "Alistair... you don’t sound okay. You sound like you’re hurting." He hesitated, then spoke softly. "If you don’t mind... can I come to you?"

I stared at the empty bottle, then at the door. I needed someone, who wasn’t tangled in the lies. Maybe all I needed to get through the night was a presence that didn’t feel like betrayal.

"Alright," I murmured, my voice trembling. "You can come... I’ll send you the address."

"I’ll be there soon," he promised.

The line went dead. I stared at the dark screen for a moment before typing out the hotel address and hitting send. I didn’t know if I was making a mistake, and in that moment, I was too broken to care.

Time became a blurred, liquid thing. When the knock finally came, it sounded like it was coming from miles away. I had to fight against the gravity of the whiskey to even sit up, my head spinning as I forced myself toward the door. I was undeniably, dangerously drunk, but my eyes were wide, fixed in a glassy, haunting stare.

I fumbled with the lock and swung the door open.

Andrew stood there, tall and imposing against the sterile light of the hallway. The scent of his expensive cologne rushed in, a clean, woody fragrance that felt like an intrusion in this room of stale grief. He was smiling, a small bag clutched in his hand, but the expression faltered the moment his eyes landed on me.

I stepped back to let him in, but my legs had turned to lead. I swayed, the floor tilting beneath me. Andrew moved quickly, dropping the bag on a side table and closing the distance between us in two strides. He didn’t say a word at first; he just looked at me, his brow furrowed with a deep, focused concern. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

He reached out, his hand steady as he lifted my chin to meet his gaze. When he touched my forehead, his palm felt like ice against my skin.

"Alis," he murmured, his voice low and gentle. "You’re burning up. You’re running a fever."

He didn’t wait for a reply. Sliding an arm around my waist, he steadied me, his strength the crutch I desperately needed. Slowly, patiently, he guided me toward the bed. I was almost there, nearly ready to surrender to the darkness, when my foot snagged on the edge of the rug.

The world lurched. I tripped, my weak knees buckling completely. I didn’t fall alone. As I went down, I took Andrew with me, my hands clutching at his shoulders for a grip that wasn’t there.

We landed on the mattress with a heavy, muffled thud, a chaotic tangle of limbs and heavy breathing. I was pinned beneath him...