Page 31 of Brutal for It
I wait thinking he’s going to give me some speech from his treatments and his sobriety. He doesn’t. He just leaves, shaking his head.
The days blur. I keep my word though, I show up to work.
Worksite. Drink. Clubhouse. Drink. Sleep. Drink.
I pick fights everywhere I can. With Crunch, with prospects, with anyone dumb enough to step in my path. Nothing serious, just enough to bleed off the fire boiling inside me.
Tank corners me one night after I mouth off at Tripp. “You think this is the way to fix it?” he growls, eyes hard.
“Wasn’t asking for a fix, Pops.” I snap back reminding him that while he may be my Hellions VP, he is also my damn dad. “Just trying to fucking feel something besides empty.”
He sighs, heavy. “She’s in your blood, son. But drowning yourself in whiskey ain’t gonna flush her outta your fuckin’ system.”
I slam my glass down. “What the hell do you know about it? You and mom, the great Tank and Sass. Ain’t neither of you ever walked away from each other once you claimed her.”
“Boy, you need to dry out. There is so much I put your mother through before she was mine. And the fact that she even granted me the second chance to even kiss her once again is something I’ll never take for granted again. You’ll see. Jami will come back and you’ll hold on tight, but dammit son, give her a good man to come back to not this fucking mess you are right now.”
“Fuck you,” I spit out wanting to challenge him.
He doesn’t answer. He just walks away. And that hurts worse than if he’d punched me.
At night, the bed is the worst.
I lie there staring at the ceiling, remembering the way she curled against me, the way she’d hook her cold toes under my calf to warm them, the way she sighed in her sleep like she finally trusted the world to leave her alone.
Now there’s nothing. Just sheets that smell faintly of lemon and sorrow.
Sometimes I imagine she’s still here. I roll over, reach for her, only to find empty air. That’s when I drink until I black out, because it’s the only way to make the ghost of her stop teasing me.
A week turns into two. Not a word from her.
I worry. Is she sleeping? Is she eating? Is she somewhere safe? I know she has money saved because I paid her well and never let her spend money on the house or groceries or anything but herself. I had Karma hack into her bank account and I know she’s spent some at a pay by the week extended stay place an hour from here. But I can’t get a grip on what she’s actually doing. How is she surviving? I even consider hiring a private investigator or sending a prospect to follow her just so I can ease the ache of not knowing.
The brothers ride out on a short run, and I go, but my head’s not in it. Every turn feels wrong. The road, which used to feel like freedom, feels like punishment. The roar of the engine is just another reminder she’s not at the back, arms around me, cheek pressed to my shoulder.
I stop eating. I stop caring.
One night, Crunch drags me outside after I pick a fight with a guy twice my size. My lip’s bleeding, my knuckles are raw again, and I’m half-laughing because the pain feels better than the ache in my chest.
“You’re gonna kill yourself like this,” he states, voice sharp.
“Maybe that’s the point,” I spit back.
His eyes flash. “Don’t you dare, Tommy. Don’t you dare let her leaving take you under. You’re stronger than this.”
I shove him. “You don’t get it.”
“I get it more than you think,” he snaps. “I lost Jenni once too. Damn near lost myself. But drinking yourself to death and throwing punches won’t bring her back.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because deep down, I know he’s right. But knowing doesn’t stop me.
Everywhere I look, she’s there.
The couch where she curled up reading.
The kitchen where she danced barefoot while cooking.
The porch where she leaned into me on summer nights.
