Page 111 of Imperfect Player

I’ll admit, it was a struggle. In order to take the test, to make it to the photo shoot, and make Everly proud, I needed to be sober. Being sober was a lot fucking harder than I remember.

Still, I managed. I made it through the shoot, even did a pretty damn good job with it based on the compliments that Yolanda was tossing my way. Then I made it to the hospital. A quick swab was all it took. Thirty seconds of my life. That’s it. Now I sit here, waiting for what feels like an eternity.

Everly: Where did you disappear to?

Me: Had an errand.

Everly: Oh, okay. Great job today by the way.

Granted it’s only in text, but the feeling is still palpable. She’s nervous, worried about me. She’s a fucking mess, and I’m the one making her this way.

Me: All the credit goes to you.

Everly: I don’t look nearly as good on camera as you do.

Me: Better.

Everly: Awe.

Me: Why don’t I make all this up to you? Come for dinner tonight?

Everly: Really? Are you sure?

Me: Positive. I want to cook for you. 8 good?

Everly: Sounds great.

Me: See you then.

I’m about to set the phone down when it begins to ring in my hand. The number is unfamiliar. No contact associated with it. The hospital. It has to be.

“Hello?”

“Hello. May I please speak with Ethan Ambrose?”

“This is he.”

“This is Lenore from Remington General Hospital. I’m calling with your results.”

“And? What are they?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not a match.”

“Fuck!” I shout as I disconnect the call.

Frustrated, I throw the phone across the room. To my surprise it doesn’t break, just lands hard with a thud.

All of this for nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

I grab the bottle, not even bothering with a glass. Why? I know what’s going to happen, how much I’m going to need to drink to erase this most recent nightmare from my fucking mind.

A mind that’s simultaneously trying to convince me to call Everly. To be with her. To let her be with me—to make things better.

She makes everything better.

Call her, Ambrose. Quit being an asshole and call her.

The bottle in my hand pulls harder though. The pain in my chest tells me even Everly isn’t strong enough to soothe the ache.

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