Page 133 of Fire and Ice

The burn of the liquid did nothing to assuage the paralyzing pain in his chest.

His vision blurred now, as he realized his tears were coming faster, his racking sobs sounding foreign to him as his chest started to heave against an excruciating torment. He poured more whiskey and drank it back almost choking. But it would not ease the anguish.

"Come back," he heard himself whisper brokenly.

"Maia, please, come back to me."

***

The MDI offices were in an uproar—or rather Jack's executive assistants and his secretary. He had been MIA for almost two days. He had not called in, had not been responding to calls, text messages or emails. Derek, was beginning to worry. The first day after he and Maia officially broke up, Jack appeared normal—too normal. Derek was too pissed at both of them to talk to him.

Then yesterday, Jack did not show up for work. Derek assumed that the reality had hit him and that he didn't feel like facing anyone, or maybe even that he had gotten back with Maia. It was still unlike him not to call in. And then today, it was the same thing. No Jack, no calls, no emails.

Laurie Stone had begged Derek to go check on her boss. She had witnessed, first-hand, Jack's erratic behavior in the past few weeks, and would prefer to have Derek handle their CEO. Some contracts needed to be reviewed, and there was an upcoming meeting with the DoD that needed preparation.

Luckily, he had a spare keycard to Jack's apartment. As he waved it on the elevator's scanner, he punched the floor for his penthouse, he prayed that his friend was there and not floating in the Potomac. Derek snorted when that last thought crossed his mind. Jack wouldn't commit suicide. If he was indeed floating in the Potomac it would be more likely that Maia had put him there in a fit of rage. Oh Christ, what the hell was he thinking? They were his friends. Whatever: friends shouldn't put him through this.

When the elevator door swooshed open, the stench of whiskey hit him. The apartment was a mess. Drawers were open, chairs overturned, shattered glass on the floor and an unconscious Jack, lying butt naked—fortunately face down—on the couch. Jack moved slightly as Derek approached, so he knew his friend was just sleeping.

"Christ!" Derek muttered as he waded over clothes and other items to get into the bedroom and rooted through Jack's drawers to pull out some sweatpants. He went back to the couch, bent down, and started tapping his friend lightly on the cheek.

"Get up, you dumb shit," Derek muttered irritably.

Jack opened one eye and mumbled, "Go away."

"Not on your life," Derek snapped, hauling Jack up to a sitting position and tossing the clothes at him. "Put this on!"

"Lower your voice," Jack hissed but did what Derek told him.

"Of all the idiotic and irresponsible things to do, this takes the cake," Derek said angrily. "What the hell is wrong with you? What are you? Eighteen?"

"She left me," Jack mumbled.

"That's not what I heard; she said you tossed her out on her ass."

Jack's eyes widened. "You talked to her? What did she say?"

"Fuck if I tell you. You said you had your shit sorted out and then I hear you pull this stunt."

Jack grabbed Derek's collar. "What did she say?"

"Why should you care? Well, she said it was good riddance and she'll rot in hell before she lets you close to her again." Derek was embellishing of course but smiled inwardly in satisfaction when Jack winced painfully. He deserved that.

"Did you tell her I was angry?" Jack asked. At Derek's silence, his brows knitted together and he said furiously, "You didn't even defend me?"

Derek sighed. What a fucking mess.

"What do you want, Jack?"

"I want her back," his friend replied simply as if he hadn't just thrown his girlfriend out of his apartment.

"Oh, you want her back?" Derek mocked. "You think it's going to be that simple? This is Maia we're talking about, not some debutante bimbo you can string along with your dick. And you know that if you do get her back—and that's a big IF—you can't pull this shit again."

"I know that!" Jack snapped and winced as his apparent hangover was still affecting him.

"Then be prepared to grovel, my friend," Derek said with some relish. "Or to shovel. Because you'll either be getting her back or digging your own grave."

Jack grimaced at his friend's words.

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