Chapter One
The ache in his head was eclipsed only by the pain in his heart. Bleary-eyed, Dr. Jordan Peterson lifted his head from where he sat, slumped at his kitchen table, to stare into the void of his house. Empty bottles of vodka littered the table, alongside half-empty takeout Chinese food containers.
Still alone.
Each time he awakened, Jordan prayed the nightmare that played consistently in his head would cease. It was like that song played on the radio every hour you want to forget, but can’t.
“I’m sorry, Jordan, but Keith didn’t make it.”
How do you move on from the finality of the death of your love when you’ve promised him the rest of your life? After almost nine months he still didn’t have the answer.
The doorbell rang. Groaning with the effort it took to move his protesting body, and with his head pounding from another vicious hangover, he swallowed his nausea and shuffled to the front door of his town house. He groaned again as he squinted through the peephole at the sight of his best friend, Drew, with Drew’s lover, Ash.
Jordan’s chest tightened at the happiness on his friend’s face as Drew kissed Ash’s cheek, unaware he was being spied upon. God help him, but there were times in the past months that he almost hated Drew. Feeling guilty he’d even had those thoughts in his head, he yanked open the door to greet the two men.
“Damn, you look like shit.” Ash’s sharp gaze raked him up and down. “Ow.” He rubbed his arm when Drew elbowed him. “Don’t get mad at me, baby. You know he does. Look at him.”
“Can we come in, Jordy?” Drew’s kind smile strangely made him feel worse, not better.
He said nothing and pulled the front door wider for his friends, leaving them to trail behind him back through the house and into the spacious kitchen. Sunlight poured onto the terra-cotta floors and glinted off the glass-fronted maple cabinets. The kitchen was his pride and joy, and when he and Keith bought the brownstone, it had been the only room he cared about decorating. Jordan had always loved staring out of the large bay window as he relaxed with his cup of coffee in the morning.
“Did you have a party?” Drew tipped his head to the table, still cluttered with vodka bottles.
“Party of one, more likely.”
Jordan heard Ash’s muttered remark, and despite a throbbing head and a roiling stomach, he lashed out.
“Shut up, Davis.” He and Ash had never had the easiest of relationships, and even though Jordan knew how happy Drew was, the man still irritated the hell out of him.
“Why, Jordan? The truth hurts?” Ash’s voice, oddly enough, neither condemned nor derided him. Instead, it held an overall note of sadness, mixed with empathy that pulled Jordan up short. “You sit here, night after night, refusing our dinner invitations, as well as any social contact with Rachel, Mike, or even Esther. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing and why.”
Jordan winced. Shit. A kindhearted, sympathetic Ash Davis was almost worse than the usual sarcastic attitude he dished out to everyone. “I’m not in the mood for company; that’s all.”
“And I call bullshit on that. You’re still mourning Keith, and I get that, but that doesn’t mean you don’t go on living. When your only company since he died has been vodka or whiskey, you’re heading for disaster.”
“Jordy.” Drew slung an arm around his shoulder. “I’m worried about you. You’ve lost weight, skipped days at the hospital, and I was told that during surgery last week—”
“Are you checking up on me?” He pulled away from Drew, shaking with anger. “What the fuck, man? You’re not my goddamn keeper.” Humiliation, shame, and a sense of despair tore through him as he turned away from his two friends to go back and sit at the kitchen table. He ran his hands over the battered wood of the long farmhouse table. He remembered how happy he and Keith had been to find it in the small Pennsylvania town they’d stumbled upon one Saturday. Making love on top of it after lugging it up the stairs of the brownstone was a memory etched forever in his mind. He gripped the edge of the table to steady himself.
A few deep breaths settled him, yet he couldn’t face his friends.
For over thirty years he and Drew had been friends; the man knew him better than anyone else. People might think Drew Klein was sweet and easygoing, but Jordan knew the core of steel within his friend. Drew refused to back down if he thought he could help. True to form, Drew dropped into the chair right next to him, challenging and direct.
“Jordan. Look at me.”
It took an effort to tear his gaze away from the tabletop, but he inhaled a deep breath and smiled into Drew’s face. “What is it?”
Drew seemed taken aback that Jordan was smiling and not lashing out with his usual anger. “I’m not checking up on you. It’s common knowledge that you showed up to your first surgery since Keith died and had to wait an extra hour to start because you had the shakes.” Drew’s mouth thinned to a hard line. “Are you crazy showing up drunk for surgery? You could lose your fucking license, for God’s sake.”
“I wasn’t drunk. I was overtired and hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the day before.”
Behind him he heard Ash snort with laughter. “Are you fucking kidding me, Jordan? You can come up with a better one than that.”
“Fuck off, Ash,” he shot back. “I couldn’t care less about your opinion.”
“Do you care about mine, Jordy? Don’t lie to me.” Drew’s stare remained unflinching, his eyes soft and knowing. “I know you’re still having a hard time moving on from Keith’s death, but it’s going to be a year soon.”
“It’s only been nine months. God almighty, did you expect me to forget him already?” Horrified, Jordan swept his hand across the table, sending the empty bottles and food containers crashing to the floor. “Could you forget Ash so quickly? Keith and I were together for almost four years. Stop pressuring me to move on with my life. It’s over for me. There will never be anyone else.”
