Page 57 of Imperfect Player

Fuck if I don’t need one right now.

Grabbing my wallet, I make my way out of my condo and straight to the lobby.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Ethan?”

I turn to the man who’s questioning me. The smile on his face fades when he sees me.

Thurstan. My doorman for the past five years. He’s seen it all. Knows it all. Probably better than I do. He was sober for it. I wasn’t.

“Just have to run a quick errand.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He raises an eyebrow.

How the fuck does he know? And why in the hell does he care? This is my life. My problem.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

There’s a liquor store two buildings down. I haven’t stepped foot in here in ages.

“Mr. Ambrose, long time no see.”

“Hey, man. Can I get your—”

“Top shelf whiskey?” He laughs. “You think I could forget? You were my best customer.”

Yeah, I bet I was. Best customer. Biggest alcoholic.

He grabs a bottle from behind him, places it in a paper bag, and sets it on the counter. Grabbing some cash, I toss it on the counter. It more than covers the bottle and hopefully his silence.

“Hope to see you again soon, Mr. Ambrose.”

“One time stop, but thanks.”

Just this once. Just to dull the memories—my parents, the group home, the foster families that didn’t want me anymore than my parents did.

I just need to get the thoughts out of my head, and I’ll be fine. A drink and a good night’s sleep. That’s all I need.

When I walk back into my building, Thurston does nothing more than offer me a small, sad smile. Fuck him. He has no room to judge. He doesn’t know what my life has been like.

I grab a glass out of the cabinet and fill it to the brim.

I just need tonight. Need to get this fucking letter and the memories that it dredged up out of my head. Then I’m done. I won’t drink again.

I make the promise to myself.

I raise the glass to my lips.

My phone dings.

Everly’s face appears on my screen.

I set the glass down and pick up my phone. I read the message from her.

Everly: Today was perfect. That kiss was perfect.

And I’m so utterly imperfect it’s not even funny.

The reminder of the amazing day we had, the kiss we shared. The thought that for the first time in my life I was going to go for something more, for her. All of it became overshadowed by this stupid fucking letter. A letter from a man that doesn’t matter.

---