“You two are going to make the new guy throw up all over the Venetian rug,” Vanessa called out from across the room.
“I would… I would never…” The assistant was clearly panicking.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” Vanessa muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose, “but I miss Chloe.”
Chris and Jules didn’t even turn to look. Vanessa’s dramatics had become part of the routine, and even Jules—despite how hard it had been to start something with Chris while he worked with his manager—had come to like her. Vanessa would neveradmit it out loud, but she cared about Jules right back. She was like the grumpy old aunt: difficult to handle, sure, but absolutely indispensable for the family. They all laughed. Jules’ hands moved to Chris’ face, and she kissed him again. This one lingered. Then she pulled back, and her eyes caught her watch.
“Shit,” she shot to her feet. “We’re late.” She frantically looked around the room for her purse. It sat on the couch opposite Chris’ chair. She grabbed it quickly. “Liam! Nova!” She called out toward the other room.
“We’re already at the door, Mom.” Liam’s voice was a mix of boredom and smug punctuality.
Jules couldn’t help but smile at her son’s tone. Of course, he was already at the door, with shoes on, backpack in place, waiting like a tiny adult. She was usually the same way, but Chris and Vanessa’s morning show had derailed her enough to make her forget she had only come into the room to grab her bag and leave. She leaned down, gave him a quick kiss on the neck, then waved back toward the manager and the still-shaken assistant.
“Bye, bye, bye…” she called as she made her way to the door.
“Bye, Blaze…” Chris chuckled. Then louder, “Bye, kids. Have fun!”
“Bye, Dad?—”
20
CHRIS
My eyes shot open like after one of those dreams where you feel like you’re falling off a building, and wake up the second before you crash. My chest was heavy, my breath uneven, and sweat was clinging to my skin even though it was literally snowing outside. Maybe it was my body grieving the scene my brain had lived, and I would never actually have it.
It took me a few minutes to calm down enough to convince my body to move.
Terrible idea. Everything hurt. But most of all, my head. Heavy, like someone had replaced my skull with concrete. The clock beside my bed said 5:00 PM. Which meant I’d only managed, what, seven hours? I’d passed out at around 10:00 AM after a long night of drinking and partying with?—
Who the fuck was that guy?
I couldn’t remember his name. Could barely remember getting home. I had this vague memory of calling Vanessa and asking to cancel everything on my schedule for today. She was pissed. Rightfully so. I’d been flaky and more distracted than usual for the past… Twenty-three days. I didn’t need to count. I knew it exactly because it was exactly twenty-three days since Jules last replied to any of my texts.
I reached for my phone, sitting next to the clock, and unlocked it. Her thread was already open, of course. Getting drunk and scrolling through our messages had basically become a routine at this point. I still couldn’t figure out what I’d done. But there it was—at least ten unanswered texts since then. Some drunk, most pathetic, all ignored. The notifications popped up. Missed calls. Mostly Vanessa, a few random women, and… an unfamiliar number. Not saved. But something about it felt familiar.
Could it be her? Maybe she’d called to explain.
Pathetic, really, how fast hope showed up.
I tapped on the number and hit call.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Someone picked up, and I held my breath. Like if I made a sound, it would scare her off.
“Hello?”
A woman. But nother.
With no hesitation, I hurled the phone across the room. It cracked when it hit the wall, scattering in pieces across the hardwood floor. My face burned. Anger. Sadness. Shame. And something else. That gut-deep emptiness that had made itself known before, but since meeting and losing her, it had become unbearable.
“Fuck!” I shouted, like I could release some of the tension inside. It didn’t. I looked over at the dresser next to the door. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat there, like it had been waiting for me.
Well. I was obviously too sober already. And it was almost night, so… socially acceptable. I pushed myself off the bed and grabbed the bottle on my way to the bathroom.
