Page 68 of Redeeming Rabbit

By someone who demanded more than I could give.

Fuck my life.

I’d always known I wouldn’t be good enough for her, but I didn’t expect my inadequacies to cause this much pain. The marrow in my bones fucking missed her.

“If your dick needs attention, you should have gone home with Elenore,” Morse said, his words only rubbing salt into the wound.

“Yeah? Well, if you’re so smart, why don’t you go fix your own goddamn relationship issues? Bet you still haven’t worked up the balls to tell the widow you’re into her. What the fuck makes you think you’re qualified to give me advice?” Not my finest moment, but nothing chaps my hide like know-it-alls behaving as if their shit doesn’t stink.

“You know what? Fuck you.” He flipped me off and went back inside.

I knew I was being an asshole, but this rah-rah you-can-do-it bullshit felt a lot like toxic positivity. Clearly, I couldn’t do shit. All I wanted was for everyone to leave me the fuck alone and let me ferment in my swanky-ass bourbon. Besides, my current condition was at least partly Morse’s fault. The motherfucker had done his best to convince me I had a chance with Elenore. Had he kept his enormous mouth shut, I never would have gotten my hopes up, and this all could have been prevented.

What the fuck had I been thinking? I’d inserted myself into her life like I belonged there, like I was something more than a worthless mess.

The ground was only four stories down, and the daredevil in me mulled over Morse’s warning, wondering if I could survive the fall. As cowardly as I was, I’d never feared heights. Probably because I used to hide in a tree whenever Mom lost her shit.

Every time. Every goddamn time, Tad. You fuck up everything you touch.

Dulled by the alcohol, the memory of her favorite admonishment didn’t cut as deep as it usually did. I eyed the bottle in my hand, wondering how much I’d have to drink to forever repress the disappointment I’d become.

Beneath me, the third-floor emergency door swung open, and someone slid out onto the iron landing, holding onto both side rails and moving at a snail’s pace. The door slammed closed, and the newcomer stopped to look up at me. Sage. I swore, surprised to hear the curses echoed back at me. The club shrink had tried to talk to me frequently, but today, he looked like a man who’d drawn the short straw. Had I cared what he thought of me, I might have been offended.

“Mornin’, Sage.” I toasted him and glanced at the cloud-covered sky, grateful it wasn’t sunny. “Assuming it is still morning.” I didn’t know or care about the time.

“It’s almost noon. Feel like coming inside so we can chat?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

His hopeful expression fell into a frown. He’d tried, earning his good deed patch for the day, and now I fully expected him to go back inside and leave me alone, but he surprised me by climbing up. His pace was painstakingly slow, and he clung to the metal railing for dear life. I would have sworn he was scaling a deadly cliff face rather than climbing a ladder.

“What’s wrong?” I took another swig. Then, realizing the extent of his discomfort, I chuckled at his expense. “Does the shrink have an unresolved fear of heights he wants to share with the class?”

“No. I’m not afraid of heights, dumbass. I’m afraid of falling to my fucking death. And I doubt that this rusted piece of shit is OSHA-approved.”

“You know, you don’t have to come up here. You can always go away.” In fact, I really wished he would. If I’d wanted a drinking partner, I could have gone to the bar. “Kinda tryin’ to be alone.”

He reached my landing. Sliding across the platform, he spun and planted his back flat against the building. Releasing his breath, he nodded as if reassuring himself he was safe. “It’s too late. I’m here now.” Gesturing for me to hand over my bottle, he asked, “How about a drink?”

I considered the bourbon. “It’s my last bottle. Wasp stole the others, the goddamn thief.”

“I just want a drink, Rabbit. Come on. Give me that much, at least.”

He had climbed a ladder to annoy me, after all. I reluctantly handed it over. The bastard snatched it from my hands and took a long-ass pull before setting it on a ledge well out of my reach.

“What the fuck, man?”

“You can have it back after we talk.”

I frowned. “People like you are why I have trust issues.”

He nodded. “Good. That’s an excellent place to start our session. Where would you say these trust issues originated?”

I’d walked right into that one. Frustrated, I shook my head. The building spun, so I came to an abrupt halt. “I’m not sayin’ shit to you, man.”

“Okay, but can I ask why?”

What a moronic question. “Because I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed.”

---