Osita sighed and lifted the glass of whiskey again, his fingers tightening around it as though it was the only thing anchoring him.
He took a long sip, then another, until the glass was empty. The burn slid down his throat, harsh and punishing, but he welcomed it.
Pain was easier than thought. Easier than sitting with the weight of what Anderson had said, easier than acknowledging the truth that had been staring him in the face for weeks now.
Anderson watched him closely, his brows drawn together. Nothing about this situation made sense to him anymore. The Osita Dike he knew didn't fall apart over women.
He didn't drink himself into oblivion. He didn't sit in executive lounges drowning in whiskey because someone wanted to leave. "Osita, if you really care about Thea," he said slowly
