“No fucking way,” he grumbles, then crunches his way through a slice of bacon. “I’m done wasting my time on her. That’s five years of my life I won’t ever get back.”
“So you were separated longer than you were together?”
“We were. Crazy, right?”
“Yeah, crazy,” I agree. We eat in silence for several minutes before I finally have to ask the question I’ve been wondering. “Is she the reason why you were on the roof the other night?”
“No,” Nash replies without hesitation as he finishes off his eggs. “I was in a shitty place already before I got the paperwork. Didn’t think I could feel even shittier, but I guess I could.”
“Are you still feeling…shitty?” I ask. “Like in the drunk and walking on a roof with a gun kind of way?”
“No,” he says again, this time meeting my eyes across the table. “I wasn’t going to kill myself. Jumping to feel the pain was just a stupid, fleeting thought when I wasn’t thinking straight. I hadn’t slept or ate in days. I was numb to everything and needed to feel something, even pain. There was more alcohol in my system than good sense. Honestly, I didn’t even realize how idiotic what I was doing was until you scared the shit out of me and I nearly fell.”
I actually believe him. Which is why I tell him, “Sorry. I had no idea…” I trail off rather than lie. I went up there looking for him, but I didn’t know what he was doing.
“I don’t miss her,” he adds. “I think I just miss the thought of her. She was supposed to be my wife, through thick and thin, no matter what. I guess I convinced myself that, if I kept our vows, then eventually she would realize we belong together and come back to me, however long it took. Should’ve known love at first sight was bullshit.”
Wow. I have to blink away the tears before I can speak again after hearing that brutal honesty.
“Do you think she’s moved on, you know, with someone else?”
“Probably,” Nash replies with a shrug of his shoulders. “That seems like the most logical reason for why she finally filed for divorce. She’s met someone and wants to spend her life with him instead of me.”
“I bet he’s a total twat and not even half as hot as you are,” I tell him honestly, which has his lips lifting in an almost smile.
“I bet he’s rich,” Nash replies. “Which is apparently more important to her than looks or personality.”
“And he’s probably convinced himself that she loves him, even though she doesn’t, not really. She’s just using him,” I mutter to myself.
“Poor fool.”
“Don’t feel bad for him. He doesn’t deserve it,” I say.
“So, you think he knew she was married when they started seeing each other?”
“Absolutely. Fuck them both.”
“Fuck them both,” Nash agrees, holding out his nearly empty glass for me to clink with mine.
For a moment, I think we’re actually making progress, becoming friends and helping him get over his ex. But then Nash gets up from the table, takes his glass to the sink and then pulls out a bottle of Heineken from the fridge even though it’s not even noon.
Standing up to gather up our plates to clear the table, I sigh heavily and tell him, “Nothing good ever comes to alcoholics.”
“I’m okay with that,” he replies before he heads for the sofa and plops down on it like he’s not planning to leave anytime soon.
Chapter Six
Nash
After a distraught Tinker Bell finally leaves my apartment, looking like a sad puppy dog because I’m drinking before lunchtime, I grab my phone and call Malcolm.
“Yeah,” he answers.
“You could’ve warned me that you recruited my high-strung neighbor to annoy me before I woke up and found her about to burn down the building. I’m guessing you gave her my key.”
“I did,” Malcolm agrees. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, I guess. She cleaned my apartment and made me shower before I could eat. Then, we had breakfast together, and she somehow got me talking about my feelings.”
“No shit?” he replies with a bark of laughter.
“It’s not funny!”
“Sure, it is. And don’t act like you don’t appreciate the company. I would be there giving you hell if I didn’t have an MC and businesses to run because my right-hand man is fucking MIA.”
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I just needed a break from everything.”
“I get it,” Malcolm says. “Just don’t take too long.”
“I won’t,” I promise him.
“And be nice to Lucy. The girl hasn’t had it easy.”
“How would you know?” I ask him.
“I just do,” he replies. “Which is why I have to say it – don’t even think about fucking her.”
That comment catches me off-guard since Malcolm would usually encourage me to screw anything that walks if it means ending my three years of celibacy. In fact, I assumed that was what he had in mind by hiring her after he mentioned having her come up to my apartment and blow me.
“I’m not thinking about that,” I reply, and it’s mostly the truth. There were just a few seconds this morning when I imagined fucking her mouth to shut her up. That doesn’t really count, though. “She’s not my type. You know I’ve never been into obnoxious, pocket-size girls.”
“Good. I’m paying her to cook and clean, not to be your blow-up doll.”
“I find it hard to believe that you’re paying her for anything, you cheap bastard.”
“Hell, me too,” he agrees. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work. Take care of yourself, and keep your dick out of Lucy!”
“Fuck, I will!” I agree before we both end the call, not knowing what the hell that was about.
Unless…Malcolm is trying to use some form of reverse psychology on me. Does he really think that telling me not to sleep with a girl will make me want to sleep with her?
He’s out of his mind if so, because I will never see
