Page 63 of Returning Your Love
That loss would wreck me more than a torn ACL ever could.
Chapter 22
Chaz
I’d lain in heaven, suspended in time while wrapped around Jamie’s hard body. Wishes to freeze that moment forever had whispered through my mind as I had become fully conscious. Hungover like never before and playing the sleeping idiot with morning wood had been easy.
Jamie had been tense, but it’d been at least five minutes before he finally pulled from my clingy limbs. I’d let him go, still feigning sleep, the scent of his musk thick in my nose from where I’d buried my face in his armpit. A body part I hadn’t known could cause arousalandcomfort.
Might be a new favorite place to linger if I could ever allow myself to seek out happiness.
The second he’d left the bedroom, reality crept into my throbbing brain, bits and pieces of the night before playing out in my head.
He’d taken care of me as no one had ever done, the same as I used to for Shelly when she went overboard with the booze.
I’d loved her in some ways but not the kind that could ever last a lifetime where happiness tended to shroud the bad. Perhaps a part of me did grieve her passing. I’d considered myheart while Jamie banged around in the kitchen, searching out emotion beyond pity for the woman I’d failed.
Beneath feeling shitty about myself, I was sad her life had ended at such a young age. We’d had some good memories that had been overshadowed by the rough patches of the past year. She deserved for me to focus on those rather than the negative as I tended to do thanks to childhood trauma. Overall, she hadn’t truly been a bad person. Just not right for me. We would have been better off staying friends, never crossing the line into a relationship that had been bound to fail from day one.
Because of me.
My head was a fucked-up place to lose myself in. Maybe I really did need help, some direction to get past this. If such a thing was even possible.
Jamie had cooked us breakfast, and even though my stomach wasn’t exactly happy with me, I would need sustenance for the long day and evening ahead.
Maybe a few shots of whiskey for courage after work too before heading to my parents.
Hadn’t been able to look at Jamie fully while sitting across the table from him. I couldn’t bear for him to see the true extent of my depression. I hadn’t lied the night before about not wanting to be here anymore. A magic wand to erase every single one of my failures would have come in handy, but I could be satisfied with at least being numb again.
Tears slid down my cheeks while I showered, longing to lean on Jamie in every way I could, making me feel like I wasn’t strong enough to stand on my own two feet like I’d been determined to do. He’d been my oak as a kid, and going through this shit without him was damned near impossible. It’d been difficult to stop myself from arguing when he’d said he would get out of my hair.
It would have been easy to accept his offer to run interference with my parents. Having the comfort of him nearby would have made dinner with them bearable, but I wanted him too much. Couldn’t be this weak around him, especially not in front of my dad who would easily sniff out my true feelings. No doubt, he’d give me shit for disrespecting my recently deceased wife and warn me not to spoil our name by moving on too quickly. He wasn’t a homophobe, as far as I was aware, but seeing as how he couldn’t be pleased, he’d find a negative to point out.
Babs had told me to lean on my friend in my time of need, but look where that had almost landed me. Clinging to him like an octopus in my bed would have eventually led to sated balls if he hadn’t pulled away.
But I wasn’t ready emotionally, no matter how badly I wanted him.
Not yet.
Work passed too quickly, but I couldn’t complain over the lot full of vehicles that kept me busy. Since I would be seeing Dad that night, I wrote out my loan check—three days early. Handing it over would keep him from having to stop by the shop next week after he left the office. Who knew…maybe being on top of shit would get him to say something kind to me for a change.
While I would have preferred having a couple of shots before heading to my parents, Dad had a bloodhound nose and would know if I’d been drinking, so I abstained.
Showing up sober had my guts in knots, but at least I had a check that might help things remain pleasant enough I could eat, thank them for their help with Shelly’s wake, then take off immediately afterward without issue.
Mom met me at the door promptly at six as I’d been instructed to arrive, kid gloves in place while offering a gentle hug. She avoided questioning my current level of grief.
I was so sick of the goddamn carefulness everyone took around me, like they thought I was some fine china or such shit. Sure, parts of me felt broken inside, but I wasn’t about to let the world see how poorly I handled my emotions when not numb. If only I excelled at fake smiles like my father.
Yet something else I couldn’t seem to get right.
“Dinner will be ready shortly,” Mom said as I followed her back the tiled entryway toward the pristine kitchen.
“Charles.” Dad greeted me from where he carved the chicken Mom had roasted for our dinner. He wore an apron over his starched shirt, his actions with the fork and knife precise like a chef’s.
The only thinghe’dever failed at?
Being a good father to his son. It didn’t get much worse than that, and I had to remind myself whenever those goddamned comparison thoughts crept through my mind.
