Page 26 of Sin City

Lifting my head to see where the cockroach is, I see that he is stumbling out of the room, heading towards the men’s room. I know for certain that there is a part of that hallway in that direction with no lights. I know this because not too long ago I was fucking my beautiful wife in the coat closet.

I march behind him, and once he comes to the barley lit hallway, I stalk up to him. I grab his shoulder to turn him to face me, then I rear back my right arm and my fist connects with his jaw. I hit hard enough to send him flying backward, falling on his ass. I crouch down to him.

“If I ever catch you around my fucking wife again or even breathing the same air as her, I will end you. You will wish that you were six feet in the fucking ground. You will not mention any of this to anyone or ruin Aria’s reputation. Do you understand me?”

He groans and nods his head.

“Good, now clean yourself up, you look like shit.” I stand, dust off my tux, and turn, leaving the dirtbag moaning on the floor. I shake my head, fucking useless.

If Aria, for one second thinks I am going to let her go or slip through my fingers, she is sadly mistaken because I will fix this. I will fix us. I still have three weeks left until the three months are up, and I will be damned if I fail.

I find myself standing outside the building that helped me in more ways than one when I lost my family at twenty-one, and when I got out of prison to help me get on my feet. Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door and try to compose myself because the energy coursing through my body is making the itch to drink stronger and stronger. I want to drink. I want to taste the alcohol on my tongue and to not remember my heart being ripped out of my fucking chest and smashed to a million pieces back in Seattle.

The door opens, and I lift my eyes to meet the amber ones in front of me.

Cracking my neck with my hands in my jeans pocket. “Hey, Alan.”

Alan opens the door wider and steps aside to let me in. Smiling at me, he nods a welcoming. “Hi, Jameson. Come on in.”

I step past him and make my way inside his simple two-story cottage style house that sits far back from the main road. The house is still the same as I remember it, and the smell of the woodfire stove that stays inside my nostrils, can never get out. The scent will stay on my clothes and skins for days.

I am staring at the array of photos on the wall, and I find the one that I have tried so hard to forget. The picture my eyes are drawn to is of my family and I at Kyle’s eighth grade graduation. Not even six months later was when my whole life took a turn and went to utter fucking shit.

“I am guessing why you showed up on my door with no call means you missed this old man?” This man I swear does not age at all. Alan is tall like I am with a full head of salt and pepper hair. He wears black rim glasses now that sit on the slant of his nose. There is now salt and pepper scruff along his jaw that matches his hair. His sleeves to his gray sweater are rolled up showcasing his praying hands tattoo on his forearm I did a few years ago. He shuts the door chuckling as he walks into the kitchen to grab me a glass of water.

Tearing my eyes off the photo, I make my way to the living room and sit down on the black leather sofa. Propping my elbows on my knees, I let my head fall into my hands, letting out a deep sigh. Man, I want a fucking drink so goddamn bad right now. I pick my head up and drag my hand over my face.

Alan comes into the living room, handing me my glass of water and he sits in his recliner, facing the window to the porch.

I am the one who speaks first. “I fucked up, Alan. I fucked up bad.”

His eyes widen and he clears his throat. “Do I need to call the––”

I cut him off. “No.” My voice is firm. “I got married to the most beautiful, sexy, smart woman on a whim.”

His brows furrow at me but does not say anything and lets me continue.

“Not the marriage part. That I got right. Finally, I got something right in my shitty ass life. But I never told her about my time in jail or that I drove drunk and put someone in a wheelchair. The one piece I should have shared knowing her history.” I take a minute and look up at the ceiling. “Her parents were killed by a drunk driver when she was a sophomore in college. And then she marries me. Me, who went to jail for seven fucking years because I was dependent on alcohol to solve my own demons from losing my whole damn family.” I set my glass firmly on the coffee table, and I stand up, “Itshould have been me. I should have been in that car that day, not Mom, Dad, or Kyle. Kyle was only fucking fourteen.Fourteen!” I go to sit back down and my voice breaks. “No wonder Aria left me.”

Alan sets his drink down on the side table next to him. “Are you done having a fucking pity party for yourself?”

My head snaps in his direction, and my brows furrow together. Is this mother-fucker serious right now? Am I done with my own pity party? I have no pity for myself because I am the one who caused this shit storm and now have lost the one person who might have loved me. I know that I am madly in love with Aria and have been since our first night.

“Jameson, you have come a long way from when you were twenty-one. You were grieving, and lots of people find the help with alcohol. You took a different route than most. It was hard for me too, to lose my best friend and to watch you go through what you did. You took ownership of your actions, and since then, you have grown as a person. As a man.” Leaning forward in his chair, he narrows his eyes at me and says, “Look at the goddamn businesses you have built from the ground up? You are fucking talented with your art of tattooing. Be fucking proud, son. Proud of what you have accomplished from crawling out of the darkness that you were in.”

“What do I do to get her trust back?” I ask in a rough tone.

He sits back in his chair and crosses his leg over his knee. “Jameson, let me tell you that woman of yours is not going anywhere. She just might need a little bit of time to take in what was just dropped on to her feet. But any woman lucky enough to catch your eye has already fallen in love. Trust me.”

I sit back and take in everything Aria makes me feel like I finally did something right, and she saw me for me. She cared about me. All I needed was to tell her, and we could have worked through it without dipshit-Greg coming in hot like the small dick man that he is. I know I need to prove to Aria that I am the man for her.

I will get mywifeback. A devil needs its angel.

Twenty-Two

aria

Ithasbeenjustshy of a week and half since the realtor gala, and Jameson has not tried to contact me once. I am surprised that he has not even left one message either with Jordan, an email, or even a text message. I am starting to think that maybe I did not mean as much as I thought I did to him. Maybe I was wrapped up in the idea of him and the marriage he was painting for us. The reality is that we got married on a whim, and I thought it was fake. That does not make a marriage work, though I have no idea what makes a marriage work as this is now my second failed marriage within a year. How pathetic am I at the prime age of thirty. No wonder I cannot keep a man. I need to close this chapter and focus on myself…again. I mean last time I said that I gained another husband…maybe I am not marriage material. Maybe Greg was right.

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