I punched the cheeky motherfucker in his smug face, revelling in the shock in his eyes and the hot blood that spurted from his nose.
Instantly, other men were shoving me away from him, men I’d worked with for years.
“What the fuck, man?” Lennie grunted, his hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. “Hey, Rossi.”
I was panting, ready for a fight. I wanted to kick the shit out of that kid for speaking to me like that.
“Why don’t you go home?” Mase suggested from the other side of me. “Chill the fuck out.”
I glanced at them both, my heart racing as Ryan jumped to his feet
“You stupid motherfucker! You’ll pay for that!” Ryan was the one being held back now.
“What’s going on?” a voice boomed from above us, and dread filled my gut.
Shit.
Alan.
“He just fucking punched me!” Ryan told him, jutting a finger at me. “He’s been drinking. He’s a fucking mess, boss.”
I saw myself through Alan’s eyes, a grown man being held back by his work colleagues, stinking of whiskey and punching people.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Get off the site, Rossi. Unpaid. I don’t want to see you back here until you’ve sorted yourself out.”
Rage filled my gut.Unpaid? I could do better than this anyway. I’d been working in construction all my life. I had experience. I needed an understanding boss. Not this shit.
I shook the men off me. “Fuck you. And fuck your job.”
“Alright, Rossi,” Alan said, shaking his head in disappointment.
What was it with everyone looking at me like that?
I flipped him the bird and stormed out, fury making me tremble.
This was all because of my fucking stupidity. I climbed into my hire car and slammed the door, spying the bottle of whiskey in the footwell.
Honestly? Fuck it at this point. I started the engine and began the drive back to Enzo’s, swigging from the bottle on theway. It numbed the pain, and the burn in my throat took my thoughts away from Lila.
I couldn’t think about Lila. I scrunched my eyes shut for a second, trying to block out the sight of her smile, the way she’d snuggled against me at night.
Why did I fuck that up?
And more importantly, what could I do to get her back?
I wasn’t signing the fucking divorce papers, that much was for sure.
The impact of my car hitting something was fucking shocking to say the least. The airbag blew up in my face; the whiskey bottle was knocked from my hand. The roar of twisted metal filled my ears, and the side of my head screamed in pain.
Someone was yelling.
Then I passed out.
When I came to, I was in the hospital with a pretty nurse staring down at me like I was the scum of the earth.
“Good, you’re awake,” she said crisply, handing me a cup of water. I went to take it, but my hand stopped in midair, a clanging sound alerting me to the handcuff on my wrist.
