Page 81 of Fallen Rook

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tom

For the next week, I was a mess.

The guilt was everywhere. On the walls. In my car. Hitting root deep inside me.

I’d hurt people before. I’d killed before. And I’d done some shit most individuals could hardly stomach. Though it broke something fundamental inside me, I was never this affected. I didn’t want to be wrapped around some kid’s little finger. Especially considering I was about to betray him in the most horrific way.

I wasn’t lying when I’d said we were toxic together. No matter what violent acts I’d committed in the past, they were premeditated, out of grave necessity, and a part of protocol. Nothing was spontaneous or driven by emotion.

Until him.

I was doing both of us a favor.

To myself, by returning to my flatlined existence, void of feelings, chaos, and moral quandaries.

To him, by not carrying on an affair when I knew I would send him to prison for life in a matter of weeks.

And yet I couldn’t, for the life of me, stop obsessing.

The morning after what happened, I emailed my psychiatrist and got an urgent prescription for my meds. Also booked out sessions for the next month. I threw out all the alcohol in my apartment, vowing to never touch another drop. Not even the odd beer while watching a game of football.

I did all the right things.

So why did I still feel like shit?

I sat in my office and stared down at my phone, re-reading our last text exchange.

Me: I wanted to apologize again for the other night.

Me: If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.

Me: At least tell me that you’re okay, and I’ll leave you alone.

Kid: I’m okay. Now do your part and GTFO of my life.

I wanted to tell him I hadn’t been smiling since we stopped texting. That I could use one of his masterpieces or silly childhood pictures to brighten my day.

But that went against the rules I’d reinstated.

We were done. For his sake as much as my own.

“Where are we with the Camorra informant?” Zeke burst into my office without as much as a hello.

I looked up from my screen, frowning. “Still need to process it with McMahon.”

“That was two weeks ago.” He plopped onto the seat in front of me. “What’s the holdup?”

I can’t get myself to screw the enforcer over.

“Admin backlog.” I clicked my laptop shut.

“Admin, huh? That’s a new one. You can walk and chew gum at the same time.” Zeke raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with my excuse. “Process the paperwork. I want to wrap this case and clear it off my desk. I already told you, management is disinterested in the Camorra case now. You’re not even supposed to be working on it.”

And indeed, I wasn’t. I’d pushed it to the bottom of my slush pile, prioritizing everything else instead.

I jerked my chin. “I’ll get it done.”