Page 99 of Mine Forever
I don’t need her concern. I just need time to work Eden out of my system.
After cleaning up the pigsty formerly known as my living room, I showered, dressed, and made my sorry ass be productive.
Regardless of what went down, I have a life to live, things to straighten out.
I called the insurance company, bought a new truck online, and stopped at the local funeral home and paid the tab for Stan’s funeral, then went to the florist and sent a large arrangement to his family.
The accident might have been his fault, but it had been justthat—an accident. The family had lost their husband, father, brother. This time, my losses had been superficial.
Stan had sunk every dime they had into his shop, and while he did a good business, I also knew the family didn’t have much in the way of extra money to pay for a funeral. And life insurance took forever to come through.
It’s a fact I know well.
Since it’ll be a few days before my new truck is delivered, I extended the rental on Eden’s SUV and paid it in full.
That pain-in-the-ass little voice in my head likes to mock the masochist I am, telling me I only kept her rental so I could smell her perfume.
Little fucker.
I drove around, surveying the damage on the island, and decided to check on my properties.
Something I should have already done. Thankfully, they all came out unscathed, except for some tree debris in the yards.
Several times along my drive, I stopped and helped out where it was needed.
Anything to keep me busy, away from the house, and thinking abouther.
I’d worked so hard to build a fortress around myself, and Eden had waltzed in, wearing her four-hundred-dollar heels, and torn the walls down in just seventy-two hours.
Everywhere I look in my house I’m reminded of her.
Shit, I may have to move.
All in all, my day had been productive, but I didn’t feel any better.
After helping the high school baseball team clean up the field, I decided to head to Al’s for one drink to take the edge off before I go home.
I tried to stay straight for a night but the thought of going back home?
I can’t bear it.
Which is how I’m now drunk being a piece-of-shit customer to Al, who just placed a double shot and beer in front of me with a click on the wood.
I toss the whiskey back and hiss at the burn. It lands in my belly alongside the other shots I’ve had, but I’m beginning to get to the point where I no longer feel the comforting warmth spread through me like the first ones had.
How many have I had?
I try to count on my fingers, but I keep losing count when I get to three and have to start over.
“You’re on number five. But this one was a double so it’s more like seven.”
Nate appears on the stool beside me like he’s a fucking magician or something. I look around, my whiskey-and-beer-addled brain confused.
“Where’d the hell you come from? The wall?”
“Al called me to give you a ride.” Nate nods at Al. “Just a Coke for me.”
“Give me a ride. I don’t need a fucking ride,” I mutter under my breath. “What I need is a lobotomy.”
