“You’re twenty, not forty. You can make the best of it.”
“I can come visit you in California,” he said.
“You could…”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Can we talk about this when it’s not midnight?” I asked. There wasn’t enough wine in my water cup for this conversation.
“It’s nine for you,” Wes countered.
“And I have a broken phone in my hand, an entire bottle of wine in my stomach, and a bruise on my hip that needs attention.”
“You playing those games again, Henny?”
“What games?” I asked, finishing the remnants of wine in the cup. “Can we talk later this week? When I’m sober and with a functioning phone?”
“You know I had to explain to Mom what arnica was.”
The cup fell out of my hand, bouncing off my leg and landing on the floor. Thankfully I’d emptied it, because the last thing I needed was a wine stain on the what-used-to-be-white carpet.
“How doyoueven know what arnica is?” I asked, before thinking better of it. “Actually, I don’t want to have this conversation right now.”
“I think it’ll go over better for you if you have a little buzz.”
“Never then.” I pushed to my feet, bending at the waist to pick up the empty cup. The wine went straight to my head and by the time I’d righted myself, I was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. My thoughts swam and my joints felt like they’d been well enough lubricated that I’d never have an ache or groan in them for the rest of my life.
Shuffling to the kitchen, I tossed the cup into the sink, not even feigning surprise when it clattered against the counter instead of sliding into the basin.
“Don’t forget you said we could talk about this later.”
“I’ll call you when I get my phone sorted,” I promised Wes. “Even though you’re an adult and I can’t stop you from taking a vacation to California if that’s what you want to do.”
“Hotels are expensive.”
“Oh.” I flicked off the light in the kitchen and rested against the wall. “I’ll talk with you later, Wes. Go to bed.”
“You go to bed, Henny. You need it.”
Wesley disconnected the call and I let my phone fall out of my hand onto the floor. It wasn’t like the broken screen could get any worse. With my shoulders against the wall and the room spinning like a tilt-a-whirl against the backs of my eyelids, I took as much of a steadying breath as I could muster. I’d wanted to shower, but the energy had left my body as soon as the last drops of wine entered it, and I knew I’d be lucky to make it to my bed.
“You can do this, Hendrix,” I told myself, shoving away from the wall. I was a forty-two year-old man who made almost a quarter of a million dollars a year. A bottle of wine shouldn’t knock me on my ass like this.
I did manage to make it to the bedroom, thankfully. And I managed to get my pants off, but that was as much as I had in me. I fell asleep half-dressed, half on the bed, dreaming of home.
Wherever that was and whatever it looked like.
Because, when I woke up, I didn’t remember it at all.
CHAPTERTWO
Miles
I didn’t thinkmy neighbor was a prick, but he sounded like one, and that made me want to spank him, but I knew that wasnota socially acceptable reaction to having an asshole living next door.
He probably wasn’t even an asshole, to be honest.
Not a prick. Not an asshole. Not a dick. But I got the vibe he liked to do things by himself and for himself, and that sounded pretty lonely, so maybe he was just miserable.
