Page 91 of Kings Against the World

There’s no repairing what was broken between us. I’m better off staying dead.

I pull into the parking lot of Corner Spirits, the first liquor store that I happen to come across once I’ve managed to escape Newport.

My boots crunch over cracked asphalt as I head inside. Fluorescent lights flicker from above the dusty shelves that are stocked with products I suspect are way past the expiration date. I stop in front of the row of whiskey bottles in the beer and liquor aisle and grab some of the cheap stuff. Heritage Barrel, twenty-five ounces for seven bucks.

It’ll get the job done.

At the register, a couple stands ahead of me, tangled up in each other. The guy’s hand rests low on his girl’s hip as she laughs at something he whispers into her ear. It’s the kind of easy affection I’ve always craved from a woman. That kind of bond where you’re each other’s world even when you’re out in the real world. You’ve only got eyes for each other.

Something inside me twists, sharp and heavy, but I shove it down. No point wanting what’ll never be mine.

I pay in cash and haul my bottle back to the bike, the engine rumbling under me as I ride down the highway. Newport’s lights blur far behind me, swallowed by the dark stretch of road. Twenty minutes later, I pull into the lot of a cheap motel called the Sea Breeze Inn. The sign’s missing a letter and the paint peels from the walls like dry, dead skin. Though it’s a far cry from anything breezy or inviting, it’ll do for the night.

The room smells of mildew and stale cigarettes, but it’s a place to drink myself blind. I dump my duffel on the bed, pull out the whiskey, and tear off the cap. No glass in sight, I snaga paper cup from the bathroom. The liquid trickles out of the bottle into the paper cup, the smoky scent hitting my nose.

But I don’t take the shot like I planned to.

I can’t bring myself to do it as I sit back and stare at the paper cup, feeling like I’m at a crossroads. I can take the shot, get fucked up, go on another bender at some bar or strip club like I’ve done countless times.

…or I can actually try to do better. I can get over the fucking mental block that exists in my brain, telling me I might as well keep messing up since I’m already a screw up.

Nobody else decides that but me.

I have total control of myself. I’m the one who determines whether I keep fucking up and repeating the same cycle over and over again.

If I take this shot, I’m doing what I’ve always done. I’ll end up in the same place. How many times do I need to go down that road before I get my shit together?

Mind still not made up, I reach into my duffel and feel around for my phone charger so I can get the battery life back up. My fingers brush against a torn scrap of paper. I tug it out to see what it is and my heartbeat doubles once I recognize the handwriting.

Zoe’s number scribbled on the paper. She’d jotted this down when she’d shown up to my trailer in Pulsboro. I couldn’t find my phone from the blackout haze I’d been in the night before and she wrote it on a scrap of paper instead.

I should toss it in the trash.

Our time together was over three months ago. It’s a period from the past that needs to remain there.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about her, but here I am, staring at the numbers like some desperate asshole who doesn’t know how to let go.

I sink onto the bed, running my thumb over the worn edges of the paper. My mind drifts back to the nights we spent together. The good and the bad. Moments I’ll never forget, even if I didn’t realize at the time how they’d live rent free in my head even months later.

Zoe always stood her ground and it drove me fucking crazy. But it was also so fucking addicting that I couldn’t get enough. She challenged me and I challenged her and we collided in the most brutal yet satisfying way.

With some work and effort, I got her to relax a little, and in time, she had me straightening up. She made me want to do better and clean up my act. She was trusting me to be her partner during her investigation and I wanted to meet that standard. Show her I could be relied on; I could be the one person she opened up to…

Her laughter always felt so earned. So did the small moments of vulnerability she showed me, where for once she let down those impossibly high walls, and let me in. My eyes close as I remember her touch, and how she’d kiss me back just as deep as I was kissing her, like she needed it as much as I did.

I know I shouldn’t. She’d be better off without me dragging her down. But my hand moves on its own, grabbing my phone and punching in the numbers from the scrap of paper. My pulse thuds in sync with every ring.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then a click.

“Agent Rodriguez,” answers a male voice.

I blink, thrown off. “Uh… I was… is this Zoe Strauss’s number?”

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