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 withhim.
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 that the block was still quiet.
“What the fuck, dude?” he yelled. “I’ve been calling you nonstop. Then Pat says he brought you your car, and you didn’t even call me back. What the hell is going on? You don’t trust me anymore?”
Daring another glance in the mirror, I took in my bloodshot eyes and bed head. It wasn’t a good look. “I needed some time to think, and when it comes to you, everything is tied up with her. You know that. I can’t talk to you without thinking of her.”
God, I feel like shit.I decided coffee first, shower second.
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Mike spat out. “The police haul you off, it’s all over the news, and you don’t call me? What the fuck, dude?”
“The charges are bogus, and you know it. I may be a greedy ass, but I didn’t do what they said.”
“You know what? I don’t know shit. You’ve been so off lately, Prescott.”
“What the fuck is it to you, Mike? Patrick said the same thing. I haven’t been off. Distracted, maybe, but not off.”
Flicking on my blinker at the last second—the last thing I needed was a ticket—I turned into the drive-through of the Beanery.
“Pat’s right. You’re married, and then you’re not married, going after loose women in Vegas. And now you’re implicated in some major crime. What the hell is up with you?”
“One sec,” I told him, then spoke into the speaker. “Large coffee, black.” The cheerful voice on the other end gave me the total, and I pulled my Porsche around to the pickup window.
“Where the hell are you?” Mike demanded. “What are you doing out at this time of day, buying coffee? Jesus, dude, you just got out of jail a few hours ago.”
“I’ve been ... out,” I said, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel while I waited for my coffee.
“Out where?”
“Thinking.”
“Aston, please don’t tell me you were where I think you were, because that’ll confirm what Patrick and I know. You’re whacked. Fucking whacked up.”
