“I’m fine. I need a stiff drink and a hot shower. Maybe a massage. Truthfully, the rest of this shit is up to my lawyers. It’s bullshit, so I’m not worried.”
“You sure about that?”
I stopped in my tracks, my suit wrinkled and heavy on my shoulders. “Pat, I didn’t do a damn fucking thing. I may be an asshole most of the time, a pain in the ass to get along with, and whatever else everyone says about me, but drugs? Really? No. Just no. That’s not me, and you know it. Jesus, I hope to fucking Christ you know that. I have kids, who I take care of, by the fucking way. I wouldn’t get involved in something illegal.”
Not going to lie, the charges humbled me a tiny bit. Everything I’d ever worked for, all the shit, namely Bexley, I’d given up in the name of Federal Stars Hospitality Supplies—a lifetime of sacrifices were on the line. I hadn’t spent years sucking up to CEOs to peddle soaps, shampoos, imprinted cocktail napkins, and luxury manicure kits to hotels and resorts, just so I could lose it all because of some bullshit charge.
“It’s just you’ve been off, you know, for a while. That’s all. I know you have a shit-ton of pressure.”
“Pressure,” I whispered to myself and nodded. “I can handle it. I’m a big boy, Pat, made my bed and all that crap. My marriage went to shit, so the fuck what? It happens to fifty percent of marriages. We all knew that would happen to mine. Don’t you dare question my integrity, though. All I have left is the company and my kids. Why the hell would I do anything to risk it? Fuck, I have to figure this out because I’m all the kids have.” Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I ripped off my jacket and slung it over my shoulder.
Pat nodded. There was nothing left to say. He shouldn’t have said anything. Mike had probably gotten under his skin.
“Sorry for losing my cool. Thanks for bringing the car. It’s been almost two days in this hellhole. I have to get out of these clothes and get some rest.”
I wasn’t positive, but it felt like he patted me on my back and then let me go. I’d become so used to not being touched or consoled or loved by anyone lately, I’d forgotten what it felt like.
Anyway, what the hell would Patrick understand about my situation?
He was old money, married to even older money. One richie betrothed to another in a business union—like mine was. His biggest stressor was not drinking too much after eighteen holes, so he could go home, tuck his kids into bed, and fuck his wife. Missionary-style, of course. That was the only thing on the menu with good old Sally Sutton.
Poor Patrick. He should be worried about himself, not me.
Actually, I should shut my inner trap.
I was the saddest sack of them all, carrying a torch for a girl I could have called mine, but tossed aside instead. At least I honored my mom’s wishes. She died successful in her pursuit to make my life as miserable as hers was.
Caught up in the past, I no longer cared that I smelled like shit or was shaking for a drink. Once I’d dropped Pat off at his house, it was late, and I turned my car toward the last place I should ever go. Unable to control the urge, I only put her and me at further risk of controversy and speculation.
But all this thinking of sacrifices and past ghosts made me reckless.
I didn’t have any fucks left to give, so I put my foot on the gas and went where I’d wanted to go for years. Without hesitation.
I made the drive from memory. I’d done it many times before, but this time I wouldn’t only be driving by, slowing as I passed, and moving on. This time I was stopping.
Although, once I got there, I turned into a major limp dick. Not literally. My goods worked fine. Conjuring up an image of Bexley left me at half-mast. Unable to make myself knock on the door, I simply slumped down on her front stoop, in front of the stupid house she’d bought with him.
Leaning my head against the door, I remembered her soft eyes and even softer heart. The way she loved me was like no one else ever had, not my bitter mom or my power-hungry dad. Definitely not my often controlling stepmother. Like I said, no one. The closest I ever had was the housekeeper at my dad’s place, and she didn’t meet me until I was past the gangly stage.
Bexley Rivers adored my condescending ass. She brought out the best in me, and I’d tossed her out like garbage.
God, my mom. Who wants to ruin their kid’s life?
If I had to do it all over again . . .
That’s how I fell asleep—my head on Bexley’s cheap welcome mat, my back to her even cheaper door, wrinkling my suit even more.
It was the best night’s sleep I had in over a decade.
As the sun began to rise, my eyes popped open, and my mind was already racing. By some stroke of luck, I didn’t get caught sleeping on Bexley’s front stoop, and I thanked whatever god there was for that small favor.
Quickly, I hightailed it to my car before someone could see me, my phone buzzing like crazy in my pocket. I waited to answer until I was pulling away from the curb in my car, the call transferred via Bluetooth to its speakers.
“Hey, Mike,” I said to my oldest friend, trying to act normal, whatever the fuck that was in this current state of hell. I glanced in my rearview mirror, relieved
