And even now, after too many whiskeys to count, that one word has me spiraling.
Fuck!
Taevin miscarried a baby—ourbaby—and I wasn’t there for her. Why didn’t she tell me? How the fuck can we get a real second chance when the odds have been stacked so incredibly against us all along? Not only does she have cancer, is grieving the loss of her ability to carry her own children, and all along she was holding this secret loss of ours hostage.
Yet, here I am sitting at a bar drowning my sorrows while she sits alone at my house.
I’m such a fuckup. Even knowing that, it doesn’t stop me from ordering another whiskey.
My drink is set in front of me on top of a coaster before the bartender turns to the customer that just sat down beside me.
I’m bleary eyed at this point, but as I turn my head, I take in the figure and squint. Huh, that’s weird because the woman looks a hell of a lot like my best friend’s wife.
“Hi, can I get a club soda, please and thank you?” When the bartender nods, I don’t miss the way his eyes make a slow perusal down her chest.
Eyes up, motherfucker, I think to myself.
“Kenna? Is that you?” I question, squeezing my eyes shut, not entirely sure I’m seeing things correctly right now. Because there’s no way my best friend’s wife is sitting at a bar in a dress that looks like she’s trying to get picked up, and very obviouslynotwearing her wedding ring on her left hand.
Yeah, that’s right. I’m not too inebriated to miss out on that glaringly obvious detail.
“Jackson. Oh, hey,” she says, apprehensive as she looks over her shoulder like she’s trying to see if others have caught her out on the prowl like I just have.
What the fuck is going on right now?
Instead of asking her that, I try a more composed version. “What are you doing here?”
“Just, uh . . . you know, grabbing a drink.”
“With who?”
“M-myself,” she stammers, and even in my drunken state I can tell something is up.
“M&M, you’re going to have to answer slowly so I can understand because I’m fucking turned up at this point, but, respectfully, what the fuck are you doing here by yourself without your wedding ring on?”
McKenna’s eyes widen before she glances down at her left ring finger, almost as if she’s just now noticing her ring is missing. Good, I hope all she did was lose it.
She runs her fingers over her left hand almost as if she needs to feel it to believe it’s not there. “Oh, I must’ve left it in my jewelry box at home.”
“Uh huh, and I’m just sitting here having celebratory drinks by myself for shits and giggles,” I deadpan, narrowing my eyes.
When she just stares at me, I ask, “Shouldn’t you be at home with your husband and kids?”
The words have barely left my mouth before a strong hand comes down on my shoulder and grips it a little too firmly for my liking. “I’m going to need you to apologize to my wife, Jax. Best friend or not, you shouldn’t talk to her that way. If she wants to have a night away from me and the kids, she has every right to do so. In fact, I encourage it.”
I turn sluggishly in my barstool until I’m facing Griffin. “G? Oh, hey man, I didn’t realize you were here. I thought I was being a good friend by confronting your wife before she went home with another guy.”
Griff pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “Liquid courage really makes you say stupid shit, J.”
Realizing I haven’t apologized to Kenna yet, I swivel back to face her. Too quickly, apparently, because I have to grip onto the bar to steady myself. “Sorry, Kenna. I know you’d never cheat on our guy. I mean, just fucking look at him. He’s like the ultimate DILF and you’re like—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Griff growls, cutting me off.
Throwing my hands up in surrender, I ping pong my eyes back and forth between them. “I won’t. Anyways, I’ll let you two love birds get back to your date night. I’m sure you don’t want a sorry motherfucker like me to bring down the vibe.”
“What’s wrong, Jax?”
“What isn’t?” I’m quick to retort.
