“Because getting into a fist fight with your best friend doesn’t scream immaturity,” I sarcastically point out.
“Second, I came by for a reason. I didn’t want you to hear about it through the town gossips.”
He doesn’t continue because Daniella comes walking over, her high heels click-clacking on the paver stone as she carries a tray with two cans of soda and my ham and cheese hoagie footlong.
“Need anything else?” she asks me as she sets the tray down.
“No, thank you, Danni. Once I’m done here, I’ll come find you. Can you go ahead and print out the stuff Aurora sent over?”
“Yes, sir.”
She says that to get a rise out of me, knowing I hate that formal moniker. Daniella gives me a cheeky wink and departs without another word.
When I turn toward Mike, I’m surprised to see him staring after her as she walks away. Maybe he is interested after all.
When he notices me noticing him looking, he quickly averts his gaze. Taking my hoagie, which has been neatly cut in half and wrapped in paper, I bite into it.
“So, what has the town gossips all up in arms this time? The Franklin boys cow tipping Mr. Cooper’s cattle again?”
Mike pops the tab to his soda but doesn’t drink it. “Chase came into the bar last night.”
I stop chewing. Mike plays with the aluminum tab, wiggling it back and forth until it breaks off.
“He, uh… he wants to talk. Says he misses us and hates how things are between us.”
Mike pauses for my reaction. I give him none. It’s been five years and not one word of apology from my ex-best friend.
“He and Amelia are over. They broke up.”
And there it is.
I drop my sandwich back on its plate. “In other words, he couldn’t be bothered to seek us out until she dumped his ass. And now, he wants to be friends again? Fuck that and fuck him.”
Silently, I’m fuming. Asshole. What an asshole. He doesn’t get a free pass to come crawling back because he’s no longer screwing Amelia.
Then a thought occurs to me, and I go from fuming to livid. It’s too much of a coincidence that Douglass mentioned suddenly “running into” Chase at the Hopper Springs gas station. I know where he lives and works, and that particular gas station isn’t anywhere near either.
A rush of rage and jealousy intermix until all I can see is red. First, he took my fiancée, and now he’s trying to take Douglass. Historywill notrepeat itself. Hell no. Not happening.
“You know what? That’s a great idea. I think it’s time he and I have a little chat.”
Mike side-eyes me. “Jordan, whatever you’re thinking of doing. Don’t. I’ll be honest. I miss him. In a perfect world, I’d let things slide and welcome him back with open arms. But I won’t do it because what he did is inexcusable, and my friendship with you is more important. You’re my family, man.”
“You’re mine too.”
Sitting back, I tip my face up to the sky. I’ve lost so much already. People who I love. What I wanted for my future. My dreams. And I’m floundering as I try to traverse my way through a life that has felt foreign to me for way too long. I want more. I want to find my place. I want someone to share my life with. A woman who will love me unconditionally and look at me like I’m her everything. I want to do something good using the wealth I’ve been privileged with. I want this fucking empty hole in my chest to go away.
And I’ll be damned if I allow Chase or anyone else to steal those dreams from me again.
Chapter 21
Sitting behind Grandpa Jack’s mahogany executive desk in his old leather high-back chair, I stare at the photograph encased within a gold leaf frame. Sunlight filters in behind me from the large, double-paned window that takes up almost the entire wall and shines a spotlight on the picture of Jack, me, and Mom that was taken in the gardens a year before she was diagnosed with breast cancer. We look so happy. A small nuclear family of three. My toothy, teenage smile showcases that I lived life without a care in the world, not knowing that soon, my world would no longer exist, and I would be left to survive without the two people I loved the most. Then the shit with Amelia and Chase happened. The drinking and depression. I lost even more.
With an unsteady hand, I pull out the bottom right-side drawer of the desk, lift out the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and set it in front of me. I stare at the amber liquid contained behind the iconic black-and-white label. I don’t know why I keep it in there. Perhaps as a reminder. A warning of how far I fell when I allowed alcohol to take over my life because I wanted the pain to go away. Because I didn’t want to feelanythinganymore.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I look up to find a very angry Daniella standing in the open doorway, file folder filled with papers clutched in her left hand. She marches over in her ridiculously high heels, throws the folder on the desk, and rips the bottle away from me. The liquid sloshes around inside its thick-glassed container, her fingers blanched white from how hard she’s gripping the neck.
