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Chapter 15
I’m an asshole. Everyone knows that. I know that. It’s just an accepted fact. But as the night wore on and I got more and more irrational and deeper and deeper into a bitter mood fueled with whiskey, even I knew I was being a mega-asshole.
But I couldn’t stop it. The only way to chase that feeling away was booze and it wasn’t working. I had been on edge, feeling like I needed to see Sophie. Like I needed to fuck her. Like that would fix this tornado that swirled inside me. Then she hadn’t texted me back and I followed her and there was Christian and fuck, there was Ali, and after that, I had no control.
No fucking control at all.
My intoxication level was higher than normal, but not gone enough to explain my behavior. Sure, I had slid past happy hour to holy hell levels, but nothing I hadn’t done before. What I was not known for was getting into physical fights. Not really. But when Christian pointed out Ali was back, my insides had twisted.
Then I had seen her. Looking all put-together, like any other blonde out for some fun at the bar. Like she hadn’t been AWOL from her son’s life practically since his birth. Like hey, no big fucking deal. Like she hadn’t destroyed my relationship with my brother and left my mom caring for her grandson.
Like she didn’t have a goddamn care in the world.
And I had looked at Sophie and I knew I was being selfish. It wasn’t right to keep her. It wasn’t fair to her to let her fall for me, when this was my stinking shit pile of a life. So I had lashed out, in anger and heartbreak and alcoholism, and I had tossed a table and punched my twin.
That crunch of my fist into his nose, the sharp sting of pain through my knuckles, the crack of his bone, and his grunt, all satisfied me, I’m not going to lie. I had been waiting two years to punch him, holding it in, and denying myself the pleasure of causing him pain. It was nothing compared to what he had caused me.
“What the fuck?” Christian yelled, rearing back, raising his fists to defend himself. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Yes.” I felt like I had. Like it was two years in the making, and having my relationship with Sophie collide with my past so awkwardly was more than I could handle.
So I swung again. This time he defended himself, blocking my punch. Then he got me in return with a right hook. It momentarily stunned me, but it didn’t really hurt. Nothing hurt compared to what he had done to me. And compared to the knowledge that I was no good for Sophie.
After that I felt nothing but rage and frustration flying out of me as I grappled with my brother, the ultimate sibling smackdown. We had been wrestling and fighting with each other our whole lives, but this was different. It was personal.
Arms grabbed me from behind and I kicked and fought and snarled, hearing myself cursing like a fucking wild animal or an inpatient at an insane asylum.
Then I realized this wasn’t about Ali. Not anymore.
This was about Sophie. I had fallen in love with her. I wanted her more than anything. But she deserved better.
When Christian and I were finally ripped apart by the bouncers, I didn’t see her anywhere. “Where is Sophie?” I asked Dylan, the other bartender, who was cleaning up the mess I had made. I was being cuffed by a sheriff’s deputy.
Dylan glared up at me from where he was squatting and sweeping up glass. “She left, you dick. Smart girl.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but I realized he had a point.
My mouth was dry and I had blood on my lip from where Christian had nailed me in retaliation. I could rage further. Or I could accept my fate.
—
I woke up in jail with the conviction I had fucked up beyond repair. The pounding head, the dry mouth? All familiar, all easily fixed with a cup of coffee and some aspirin. But it wasn’t every day that I rolled over, memories fuzzy, with that hard press on my chest, that knowledge I had done something extra stupid. I was still fully dressed, on top of the bedding.
It wasn’t the first time I was in jail, sprawled out on a bed in a small cell. But it was the one time I actually felt regret.
I had flipped a table onto Sophie.
Classy, Jordan. Fucking classy.
Rubbing my eyes I tried to remember why I had thought that was a good idea. Bottom line? It wasn’t.
Sitting straight up despite the fact that it made my gut tighten and my head spin, I tried to think. What was the last thing Sophie said? Something about not wanting to be there when I woke up hungover every day.
You know, like today.
Fighting the urge to throw up, I bent over and rattled the bars, seeing my twin in the cell next to me. “Hey, Christian. Wake up.”
With a sigh, he opened his eyes. “What?”
