“You also didn’t have to take her choice away, either.”
I study him for a moment. “What are you talking about?”
He shakes his head as if I’m daft. “You never told her you’re in love with her.”
“So?”
His blue-brown eyes grow with disbelief. “So! You didn’t give her an option to make an informed decision. You didn’t have to ask her to stay, but you could have told her how you feel about her. Then you two could have made a decision,together.”
“It doesn’t matter, now. She won’t talk to me.”
“You’re just going to take it lying down?”
“Nothing’s resolved, Lars. Our lives are still pulling us in two different directions.”
“Realign that shit!”
Lars is pissing me off with his pestering. Why doesn’t he fix his own damn life?
“Where’s your ‘soul’?
Lars jumps up with enough force to knock over the barstool.
“I have no clue.” He leans in with fury simmering in his iris’. “But know this, if I knew, I wouldn’t be hiding behind the bar like a big, scared ass baby chocked full of excuses.”
Lars could be right but how would that translate? Find someone I trust enough to run the bar? What would I do in California? What if I made all these changes, and it’s not what she wants? I cannot ask her what she wants; she’s not answering her phone. I’m about ready to pull my hair out when I see a stunning, black woman headed my way. She looks as heartbroken as I feel.
“You look like you need my drink of the week. It’s the heartbreak special. I call it Fuck Valentine’s Day.”
* * *
Jason
I wake up the next morning with a hangover from hell and a barrage of text, picture mail, and video message from Carlee. Apparently, I’d gotten shit faced with my new friend Caris over shared heartbreak and sang karaoke.
I grimace once I play the video. I’m not embarrassed I did karaoke. I’m embarrassed by the song selection and how I outwardly looked as lovesick as I feel on this inside. There has to be a better alternative to this, but I’ll figure it out tomorrow.
I know there’s a lot about his life that Lars doesn’t mention since he’s come to Houston, and I tend to avoid asking questions, but something tells me this is a recon mission I want him on.
Sinking back in bed, I call the huge asshole.
“What?” he answers.
“Hey, man. Are you at Hotspot right now?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Do me a favor. Go in my office.”
“It’s locked.”
“I have a feeling that’s not a problem for you.”
I hear some rattling in the background. “I’m in.”
“In the back of my bottom drawer to the right, there should be a white envelope—”
“Full of credit cards? It should be in a safe, dumbass.”
