Chapter One
Sunrays pierced the blinds and invaded Jared Scott’s bedroom. Like shards of broken glass, the light stabbed his eyes, and he groaned. He jerked the pillow from under his head and pressed it over his face to block the intrusion. The haughty motion and subsequent drop of his head increased the intensity of pounding against his temples. His whole head for that matter.
He moaned and rolled over into a pile of self-loathing. For all his intentions to clean up his act, he continued to fail miserably. How long had it been since he’d promised Evan and Janie he would quit drinking? Three weeks? Four? The constant hammering in his head prevented him from coming up with a solid answer.
Eyes closed, he knocked the pillow aside. The day wouldn’t wait for him to recover from a hangover. He’d made his choice, and now he’d have to suffer the consequence—and suffer he would. Mentally preparing himself to open his eyes, he counted to ten. When the beams hit his pupils, he blinked several times until his eyes adjusted.
He grumbled a few words, unintelligible even to himself due to dryness of his mouth. His tongue was ten times its normal size, or at least that’s how it felt. He rolled over onto his side and propped up on his elbow. Stretching out his other arm, he fumbled for the bottle of water on his nightstand. He twisted off the cap and downed the entire bottle.
The tepid water did nothing to relieve his case of cottonmouth. With a sigh, he laid back down, letting his arm hang over the bed. He let the bottle slide from his hand and fall to the floor. It made a soft thump on the carpet, but in Jared’s current state, the thud magnified to the sound of a jet engine crashing a roof.
Enough is enough. He couldn’t continue this way. Somehow, someway, he had to find a way to move on. To fight the memories without the aid of alcohol. It sounded so easy. So simple.
“Ghrrumph,” he snorted.If only.
His phone rang from somewhere on the floor. Though tempted to let it ring until his voicemail answered, he couldn’t ignore Evan. His three best friends—Evan, Wyatt, and Janie—each had a personalized ring tone, so he pushed against the dizziness that rolled over him when he sat up, and again when he leaned over.
The phone continued ringing from the pocket of his jeans he’d worn last night. Jared gripped the bed’s edge to keep from toppling over as he reached for the pants. He grabbed his cell and answered it. Tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.
“You there?” Evan’s voice came through the line.
Jared swallowed and tried to talk again. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“Can you still make the tux fitting today?” A trace of irritation edged Evan’s words, and Jared had a suspicion his friend wasn’t oblivious to his activities last night.
“Yes.” Jared held the phone away from his head to check the calendar app. “Ten o’clock, right?”
Evan confirmed the appointment time. “It’s quarter after nine now.”
“I’ll be there, don’t worry.” He ended the call then stood up.
After stumbling a few paces, he found his balance and plodded into the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of generic headache meds from the top of the fridge and emptied two pills into his hand. Popped them into his mouth and chased them with a fresh bottle of water from the fridge.
The sequence happened often enough that it could almost be called a habit. Guilt seeped into him, knowing this path had to stop, but he couldn’t think about that now. He had less than forty-five minutes to pull himself together, clean up, and get to the menswear store.
He covered his mouth through another yawn as he prepped the coffee maker. Letting it brew, he returned to his bedroom and grabbed a clean pair of clothes before heading to the bathroom. Hot water wasn’t a luxury he could afford in his condition. He needed the ice-cold treatment to break the morning-after fog.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed dark roast coffee greeted him after his shower. He poured a cup, inhaled a deep breath as if he could take in the caffeine through his lungs. Steaming liquid, undiluted with sugar or creamer, burnt the tip of his lip. He blew into the cup twice before taking another sip.
Once the remainder of it cooled down enough to guzzle, he downed the rest in a single gulp. He returned to the bathroom and ran a comb through his short hair. The cropped cut made his sandy blonde hair appear more of a light brown.
His normally vivid blue eyes were dulled by the bloodshot white surrounding them. He grabbed a bottle of drops from the sink counter and squirted each eye. With any luck, they’d clear up by the time he faced Evan. He wasn’t in the mood for the disappointed brow-raises.
If he wanted that, all he’d have to do was look in the mirror. No one could be more upset with his behavior than he was, but he didn’t know how to change. He envied Wyatt, Evan, and Janie. They’d moved on with their lives and had found happiness and purpose.
Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he find that ever-elusive peace?Because you haven’t sought out the Prince of Peace. He shook his head. God wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Why should He? Jared had nothing to offer Him—or anyone else.
He was the reason Mike was on that helicopter. If he hadn’t goofed off the night before the mission and sprained his ankle, Mike never would have been on that flight. Sure, he could admit he hadn’t directly caused Mike’s death, but that admission did nothing to assuage his guilt. He was still responsible for Mike being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That burden sent him to a dark place he couldn’t escape. He hated his weakness, despised himself every morning he woke up feeling like he’d had a losing collision with a freight train. Yet in the veil of night, he found comfort in the arms of a bottle.
For a few brief hours, he didn’t care about anything. He laughed and cut loose. Freed his mind from the haunting memories and washed away the guilt.
Made poor decisions.
He left the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Disgusted with himself, he stomped to the kitchen and filled a travel mug with the remaining coffee. Grabbed his keys off the counter and walked outside.
His truck wasn’t in the driveway, and he stifled the urge to curse. Too drunk to drive and his designated driver nowhere to be found, he’d taken a taxi home last night—one of the few good choices he’d made lately.
