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"Man, I can't believe it," he keeps saying. "Can't fucking believe I'm going to be a father."
James Newton is a few years older to me, but he's still a huge fucking kid. We've been working at the same company for a few years now, me just as the delivery guy and him as one of the newest partners. His wife Corinne and he have been trying to have a baby for a while now, and it looks like the time is finally here. Looking at my buddy's eyes and the pure joy displayed in them makes me wonder if I'll ever be this excited about the prospect of having a child.
I don't think so.
"Congratulations, man," I say as we sit down at the bar. "Can't believe this is actually happening. I'm going to be uncle fucking Mason!"
"And you won't be able to curse around her," he warns me.
"Her?" I lift my brows in wonder. "Didn't know they could find out the gender so early on."
"It's just a feeling." James is smiling wide as he orders a round of drinks for us. Scotch. "That reminds me, I brought you something."
"Now you're making me look bad," I joke. "I haven't got anything for you. Making me feel like a prick."
James laugh and pulls a bottle from a paper bag.
"Got this from the in-laws. I want you to hold on to it for me," he tells me, emotion getting the better of him as he hands the bottle over. "It's Scotch. I want you to keep it until the kid turns eighteen. Then, we can have some together."
"You know I should be the one giving you a bottle, right?" I remind him, and we both laugh. Truth be told, I'm kind of touched he thought of me as the keeper for this bottle. "Of course, man, I'll hold on to it. To your baby girl!"
We drank ourselves into a stupor that night, and coincidentally, it was one of the last nights I spent with James for a long time after that.
I got promotion after promotion, and ended up getting offered a job to handle the Italian branch of the company, while James moved up north with his family. By the time his wife gave birth, we'd grown so far apart he never even called me. I found out about the little girl, Cara, from another co-worker.
We stayed in touch sporadically over the years. A birthday message here and there, a Christmas card once in a while. No phone calls or texts. The odd Facebook message.
When I was in town, James found out through a mutual friend. His invitation to his daughter's birthday party seemed more of a chore than an exciting occasion. But I'd heard of James' wife passing, knew he was having a hard time, and I decided to pay a visit to my old friend.
It had been good catching up with him, and we had fun remembering moments from all those years ago. He even asked me about the Scotch, and I promised him I was still keeping it safe.
I don't remember whether I told him about Luca or just-about-to-be ex-wife. I forgot every fucking detail of that day after I set my eyes on Cara for the first time. And then everything else went out of the fucking window, my only intention getting Cara into my life. And it worked like a damn charm.
I open the Scotch and drain it down my throat. One sip, two, three, four, five. It burns my throat and I keep drinking until the pain takes over my broken heart. At least this one's fucking temporary.
HOURS LATER, I drag myself from the dining room table and head upstairs. The door to the gallery mocks me, hanging wide open. The faces of all the women I've painted laugh at me from the walls, becoming my downfall in the very end.
I walk inside the room, barely able to stand on my feet. My fingers graze the surface of the paintings Cara's father has ruined. The only ones that really mean anything to me. Ruined.
I head for the ones on the wall, looking at the women Cara thought were her competition. The women she thinks I betrayed her with.
All of them, all eleven, were for practice.
All of them knew what was going to happen.
That I was in love with someone else, waiting for her. Even then, I loved her. I just didn't fucking know it.
I look at the portraits on the walls, remembering each and every woman fondly. The very first one only two weeks after Cara's sixteen birthday. She taught me how to turn punishments into unbearable pleasure.
I go through all the muses this way, thinking about what each one of them has taught me. All in preparation for Cara, so I could be the best master she could wish for. So I could be the right man for her. To lessen the blow to her dad, to make her fall in love with me more - because I was so fucking paranoid about losing her, even then, when she wasn't in my arms yet.
I start picking at the surface of the paintings, getting my hands dirty with the dried-up paint. When I can't destroy them sufficiently that way, I take matters into my own hands, just like James did. I punch a hole in every one of the canvases until there's nothing left of the paintings on the walls. I break the frames, smash them on my knee, break them on the ground. I don't stop until the whole gallery is ruined.
I don't need it anymore. It was all for Cara, but Cara is fucking gone.
I pull out my cellphone and dial James' number, even though I know they're on the plane back right now and there's no chance he'll see my call. I let it ring repeatedly, over and over again until the shrill dial town is making me lose my mind.
I feel the loss of Cara everywhere, my head, my heart, my fucking limbs. I miss the weight of her on top of me, the way her head fit into the crook of my arm. She's been gone a mere few hours and already, I'm losing my damn mind.
"What's going on?"
I turn towards the source of the voice, for a moment certain that I'm imagining the figure standing in the doorway. But as my eyes come into focus I realize it really is him.
"Get the fuck out," I snarl at him. "I can't deal with your shit right now."
Luca hesitates before approaching me slowly. I collapse against the wall, my back sliding down until my ass hits the ground. I cover my face in my hands and Luca sits down in front of me.
"What happened?" he asks simply.
"She's gone," I tell him.
It's all he needs to know. It's all that matters, really. Cara is gone and she isn't coming back.
"Shit, I'm sorry." Luca does sound genuinely sorry, and I'm surprised he's actually capable of any kind of emotion.
I look up at him and find him staring at me with bloodshot eyes. He's not drunk though, not like I am.
"What happened to you?" I ask him.
I choose to overlook the fact that he technically shouldn't be back at the house after I kicked him out a few weeks ago. I didn't care where he ended up that night, after treating Cara the way he did. But now that he's back, I'm almost relieved that he's in one piece.
"I found her," he tells me simply, and I give him a blank stare.
"Found who?" He looks into my eyes and I see the pain in his gaze, the answer so obvious it makes me sigh out loud, saying, "Oh, Luca."
"I was surprised she lives so close by," he says conversationally, but a single look at him explains how hurt he is by this knowledge. "Did you know she was only an hour's drive away from us?"
I hesitate for a second before nodding. I can see my admission has hurt the young man even more.
"How did you find her?" I ask him, and he runs a hand through his dark hair.
We really do look alike, even though we're not related. I wasn't much of a father figure for Luca either, and I never gave a shit about it. But seeing him so vulnerable now makes me wonder how much of his fucked up personality is really on me.
"I've been looking for a while now," he admits. "I just... I guess I wanted to see if she had any interest in seeing me. Maybe making things right."
"I'm sorry, Luca," I say roughly.
I don't tell him he could've asked me. Don't tell him she stopped paying for him ages ago, that she never even responded to my calls when I wanted to talk about him. She's written us both off, for good.
"It's okay," he says. "I guess we've both messed up, haven't we?"
I laugh bitterly at his words, wondering how much he actually knows. He must've figured out Cara was special to me -
it was why he was picking on her, after all. Maybe it was to get my attention as well, I don't know.
"You really shouldn't be here," I tell him coolly. "Not after what you did to Cara."
"I know." His voice is weak, for once. "I wanted to apologize to her. I know I can't really say or d anything that would make it better. I never meant to hurt her, I swear."
I look up at him, realizing I don't even know him after all these years. But I think he's telling the truth.
"Okay," I say quietly. "We need to talk, anyway. But I need to get to bed first."
We both know I'm lying, that I'll spend the next few hours tossing and turning. I also know I'll be dialling James' number the whole time, hoping and begging that he'll pick up. That he'll change his mind.
