He roared into the night, slamming his fists into the ground. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
He’d done it a-fucking-gain. He’d lost his best friend to his own goddamned selfishness. Now he might’ve lost the woman he loved. Her words had seared through his chest and ripped out his heart. The pain in his chest beat in rhythm to where his heart used to be as he admitted the truth to himself.
He dropped his head to the ground, curling in on himself.Bree.
He hated this fucking day. He’d forgotten. Actually forgot what day it was. He wouldn’t have even remembered if a guy on the trip hadn’t made an offhanded remark about the date. He’d hated himself in that moment. Hated that he’d forgotten he was the reason Tony was dead. Hated the happiness he’d been living for the last few weeks when Tony wasn’t alive to be happy at all.
Bree hadn’t deserved what he’d said. He’d just wanted her to leave. Not see him like that — wallowing in his misery. He was such a fucking asshole.
Her pain had resonated with every word she spoke, ripping through his heart like razor wire tearing through skin. He’d let her down. Broke his promise to take care of her.
He stumbled back into the house and collapsed face down on the couch. Tomorrow. He’d make it up to her. Apologize. Grovel. Anything to erase the agony on her face. Anything to have her back in his arms. To make good on the promise he’d made her.
The steady, painful throb at the base of his skull woke him. Bright sunlight streamed in the windows and he covered his eyes to add a layer of darkness. His cheek was wet and he lifted his head off the puddle of drool.
He wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand and rubbed across the scrape. “Ow! Shit.” He rolled onto his back, and his stomach rolled with him.
“Fuck.” He bolted for the bathroom, kicking at empty bottles littering the floor. He purged his stomach, then rinsed his mouth. Sinking to the floor, he leaned against the wall next to the door.
He propped his elbows on his knees and fisted his hands in his hair.
Bree.
Fuck.
He banged his head against the wall. His watch showed nine thirty-three. Groaning, he heaved to his feet and went to find his phone.
He scrolled through his contacts until he found her work number. Holding the phone to his ear, he stared at the mess of his living room. The ringing sounded like a firehouse bell vibrating in his ear.
“Physical therapy. May I help you?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Dr. Marks, please.”
“I’m sorry, sir, she’s out sick today. May I take a message or have you speak with one of the other doctors?”
He grabbed at his hair again and paced back and forth behind the couch. “No, thank you. I’ll try back tomorrow.”
“Fuck.” Pulling up his favorites, he called Bree’s cell.
“This is Bree. Leave a message.”
“Fuck!” Leaning his hands against the back of the couch, he hunched over, dropping his head between his outstretched arms.
He heaved a sigh and stood. Thumbing through his contacts, he stared at the name his thumb hovered over. He pressed the name.
“You’re a fucking asshole.” Denise hung up. Well, Bree had talked to her. He dialed again.
“Are you shitting me right now?” If phones could click anymore, he was sure she’d have slammed hers down. Inhaling deeply, he dialed again.
“Meat grinder, motherfucker.”
One more time. “Denise, let me—”
“Not on your fucking life.”
That was a lie. He was going to keep calling until she told him where Bree was.
“Denise, please. She’s not answering her phone.”
