“It’s worth a shot. Plus, if you’re the nanny, I’d get to see my grandchild again.”
I sighed. “Mom, I know things went south after Chloe. But Roman made his choice. He doesn’t want any part of our family anymore. He was broken when Chloe died.” I paused, my throat tight. “We all were.”
“I know,” Mom whispered. “I-I just wish…Please, all I’m asking is that you consider the job. Even if Roman has pulled away, maybe he’d still take you on. He adored you, Sasha. Just like Chloe. If he has any compassion left in his heart, he’d want you to be part of Sophia’s life. Please…”
“OK,” I whispered, swallowing hard. I did want to get away from all this shit in my life. Plus, I knew Chloe would want my family in Sophia’s life. After her death, Roman cut off everyone, including his friends. Grief was a fickle bitch that didn’t seem to stop destroying lives.
It destroyed a hell of a lot of lives that day, from Chloe to Roman to my family and me.
Maybe this could be the little bit of that silver lining we all needed.
At this point in my life, I was willing to try. Not just for my parents and me, but for Chloe. I knew she’d want us in her daughter’s life.
It was worth a shot.
TWO
ROMAN
“Ididn’t build this company from the ground up, so worthless little shits like you could come along and fuck up all my hard work!” I yelled at the useless piece of shit quivering in front of me. “Get your shit and get out of my building. You have ten minutes before I send security to show you out, so I wouldn’t waste time saying goodbye. Now get out of my office.”
I watched as the twenty-something-year-old kid stood and ran across the room. Just before the door slammed behind him, I would’ve sworn I heard a whimper. I rolled my eyes as I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk. I found the smooth glass bottle without even looking. I took the bottle of whiskey from the drawer and uncapped it before bringing it to my lips. The warm liquid spilled into my mouth, instantly bringing about a tingling sensation that turned to fire once swallowed. I welcomed the burn and followed up one drink with another.
My eyes landed on the framed photo of my late wife, which rested on the corner of my desk.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I grumbled to the picture.
She had one of those smiles that could mean different things at different times. Sometimes a smile meant that she was happy, sometimes it meant she thought something was funny,and sometimes it just happened when she was silently judging you, like in that moment. I could almost hear her tell me that I should’ve gone easier on that employee. She would’ve said he was just a young kid still learning. She also would’ve told me that it wasn’t appropriate for me to be drinking on the clock.
“You’re not even here, so you don’t get a say anymore,” I told the photo. I brought the bottle back to my lips and took another swig. I blew out the fire in my breath and replaced the cap on the bottle.
“Fine, have it your way,” I muttered after swallowing.
I knew people would think I was crazy for talking to a framed photo of my dead wife, but it wasn’t something I did in front of others. No, if people surrounded me, it was more like a conversation I had in my head. I knew it wasn’t her, but it helped to keep the pain at bay… For the most part.
What it didn’t help with was the loneliness at night. I just made it my nightly mission to get completely drunk off my ass before going to bed. I didn’t sleep. I knocked myself into an alcohol induced coma every night, only to wake up the next morning and do it all over again. It had been four years, and I still hadn’t learned how to live without her. Some days, I thought I’d never learn. I thought I’d be destined for misery until the day I died, and because of that, many of my choices remained questionable at best.
I’d had a run of good luck when it came to business. The deal I managed to land the day she left me was enough to get my tech company off the ground. I gave myself to my work, buried myself in it to keep the pain away. The first year was rough, but one investment changed everything. We went from barely breaking even to raking in millions, and it had all been downhill from there. My dream had come true, but the cost was too great. The money, the business, the home, it wasn’t worth anything without her.
My life was empty, void of anything that held any real meaning, except for my daughter. I was a shit father, and I knew it. I was so shitty that I didn’t even deserve to call myself a father. I avoided that girl at all costs. She deserved better, but I couldn’t look at her. Every time I did, all I could see was my wife: how happy she was that day before she left for her final ultrasound.
I closed my eyes as I traveled back to the night before that day. I remembered how it felt to hold her against me in our bed, the way her heat sank into me. I could feel her firm ass wiggling against my groin, and my dick began to ache. I could remember the feeling of her soft lips and how sweet they tasted. I could practically hear her labored breathing and her moans and gasps as I was inside her. My heart began to race, and I became breathless as more and more of my body came alive because of her.
I forced my eyes open, and rage poured throughout my body, killing any spark that may have been inside. I didn’t like feeling alive, not when I couldn’t live with her by my side.
I grabbed the bottle again, even though I’d put it away, and I took a large gulp of the liquid. I took another and another before relaxing back into my leather desk chair. I looked at the calendar mat that was beneath my hands. I counted back three weeks. It had been three weeks since I’d gotten laid. I could tell the itch was starting to gain traction once again.
I hated having to be with other women, but I was a man with needs after all. To make up for the guilt I felt, I made sure not to enjoy it. I treated it like a transaction, and it took me months after her passing to do that: fourteen months, one week, and four days to be exact. I couldn’t bring myself to go out, have fun, or actually try to find someone I may be interested in. So I did what most men would do: I paid.
I always thought a man had to be really fucking pathetic to pay for sex, but after my wife passed, I understood it. I needed aservice, and, well… it was like any other if you thought about it long enough. If you went for a haircut, you paid the stylist. If you went to dinner, you paid the restaurant. Hell, even if you went to a doctor for a headache, you paid just to get told to take a fucking Tylenol. So why should having an orgasm be any different? Once I could think of it that way, I at least kept my balls from hurting.
I pulled out my cell and typed out a text to my usual girl. Her name was Casey, and she was professional in every sense of the word. She knew how I liked it; she was a stickler for protection, and she got regular health screenings.
ROMAN: I need to see you tonight.
I dropped the phone onto my desk before running my hand through my dark hair. It felt like I was losing my grip on reality, and I wasn’t sure how long I could keep living that way. I didn’t know any other way, though.
CASEY: I’m sorry, Roman. I already have plans.
