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Isaac nods and smiles at me as I walk in, and there's already a beer waiting for me as I take my usual seat at the bar. I lift it to him and tip it back, downing it quickly. He arches a brow, but then pours me another.
“I thought you had dinner tonight with the in-laws?” he asks, while I nurse the second pint more slowly.
I snort. “Yeah, all the more reason to get drunk.”
“Don't you have work tomorrow?” he asks, soft lines crinkling around the edges of his warm brown eyes.
“Your point being?”
He huffs. “Glad you're not teaching my kids.”
I grin because his kids are little entitled shits who get away with everything.
“You and me both.”
Isaac and I go all the way back to primary school. He’s my only real friend, and he was the first person to warn me against starting a relationship with Marissa—which is kind of funny, considering his wife, Amanda, is Marissa’s best friend. At first, I thought he was being stupid, but now, I think I get it. If things end badly between Marissa and I, Isaac will be forced to make a choice he really isn’t going to want to make. I can handle losing my wife. God, I think part of me reallywantsthat, but I can’t handle losing my best friend too.
The dark thoughts leave me throwing back the last of my beer and motioning Isaac for another. He arches an eyebrow at me in a classicare you sureexpression, and I nod.
With my glass full again, I stare into the slight foam on top, wondering how the fuck my life went so off the rails. The scent of the bar feels more like home than my actual house; the hoppy beers, the sharp sting of hard liquor, the stink of unwashed bodies and abject sadness all culminate in an unforgettable fragrance of depression.
“That bad, huh?”
My friend’s apologetic tone leaves me annoyed. I don’t want his pity. I want an easy way out of the shitstorm that has become my life, but that’s impossible. Dragging a finger through the circle of moisture left on the wooden bar top, thanks to the condensation on my cold glass, I avoid his stare. Maybe that way I won’t see the pity engraved in his features.
“Worse,” I grumble.
I don’t want to talk about my shit life and the ugly situation I’m in any more than that. My wife is a nightmare, and she’s ruining my life, end of story. Even the thing I hoped would get me out of this—divorce—stands to only make things worse…an outcome I didn’t consider possible. Yet here I am, staringworsein the face.
As if he senses my hesitance to talk further, Isaac changes the subject.
“Looking forward to poker night? I already talked to the guys and we’re still on.”
I chuckle darkly. “You mean am I looking forward to taking your money?” Isaac has the worst poker face I’ve ever seen, which is impressive for a former undercover detective. He was in the force for nearly ten years when he gave it up to buy a bar. His wife got sick of never knowing for sure if her husband was going to come home and Isaac respected that. I can’t imagine having that kind of connection with someone, where you’d give up everything for them. I certainly can’t imagine having it with Marissa.
“Fuck off.” Isaac chuckles as he moves up the bar to fill someone’s drink; a sad old woman with a face like Play-Doh left to melt in the heat of summer.
Our monthly poker games are the only night I feel close to normal. It’s us and a couple of other friends and we drink beer, bullshit, and take Isaac for what he’s worth before calling it a night and heading back to our respective lives. The brief respite is welcome, especially given how bad things have gotten.
I finish my drink as Isaac makes his way back toward me.
“Another?” he asks, his tone clearly judging my life choices. But he’s not living my miserable life, so I don’t give a shit what he thinks.
With a nod, I watch him refill my glass with a sympathetic shake of his head.
* * *
My phone buzzes again.It’s been vibrating non-stop for the last half hour. I fish it out of my pocket and groan. There are more missed calls than I can count, along with a handful of messages from Marissa. I don’t need to read them to be sure they’re full of abuse and threats. I down another beer and feel strong enough to face the firing squad.
“Guess I better get back.”
I throw some cash on the bar, wrapping myself up tight in my coat as Isaac leans across the bar and pockets my keys. “I wouldn’t be a friend if I let you leave with those,” he points out. I open my mouth to argue, but then I close it, knowing he’s right.
“Fine,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow on my way to work.”
“Good luck,” he calls out as I wander out of the bar.
CHAPTER2
