I call my mother. She’s been so into the wedding planning, and with Tawny as the maid of honor… it’s a chance to confirm Corm’s theory.
“Hey, love, how are you?” Her tone soothes the frayed edges of my mind. Momentarily.
“I’m good.” I don’t want to alert her, so I choose my words carefully. “Can you give me Tawny’s number? I’m planning a surprise for Roxy.”
“Of course, I just spoke with her an hour ago. What a sweet girl.”
“Great. Send it to me, please.”
Not that I need to call anymore. There is no family emergency. Roxy is gone.
“I will. How are?—”
“Mom, sorry, I have to go.” I hang up.
Roxy is gone. She didn’t wait. I gave her space… and she took it with her.
I walk out of her apartment and don’t bother calling a car. I just wander.
She’s gone.
My phone is pinging in my pocket. I should look at it. But I know it’s not her. So what’s the point?
I walk for several blocks, testing the new feeling. The void. It hurt when I left her behind two weeks ago.
The current pain is a new level of agony. It spreadsthrough my chest and stomach, burning in my throat. I didn’t stay, and I lost her.
I step into a bar and order a double gin. Fuck the tonic. I down it and order another one. And another one. And another.
The numbness I count on never comes.
When I blink, a concierge is helping me out of a car. What the fuck? Did I black out? It’s a hotel. Our hotel.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I hear my voice.
Lights, murmur, a very, very long hallway, and then, finally, darkness.
My tongue is glued to my palate. The throbbing pain in my temples is deafening. I try to pry my eyes open.
Where am I? And why do I feel like the victim of a steamroller accident?
I sit up, the ground swaying, and… the contents of my stomach end up on the floor.
I plop back into bed, and the events of last night start coming back. Well, the events are kind of hazy, but the gaping hole in my heart… That fucker grew in proportion overnight.
No amount of alcohol could fill it.Maybe ever.
With closed eyes, I deal with my body’s protest against last night’s abuse. Glimpses of clarity penetrate through the suffering.
What if she didn’t leave me?
What if she’s doing exactly what she said she needed to do—thinking?
Hopefully, planning a future with me.
And if it’s without me? Then I still show up. For her. For the baby. Even if it kills me.
Certainly not like I did last night. Fuck. I need painkillers. Shower. Breakfast.
