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“They want me inside. I don’t know what to say. I’ll call you the minute I’m out but promise me you won’t do anything stupid, please?”
“Charlotte…”
“Lex, please?” she pleads in desperation.
“I promise.”
The call ends, and I’m no closer to feeling any better after my talk with Charlotte. I need her, right now, to calm my flaring temper. As minutes pass while standing on the busy street, I head toward a bar a few blocks over, avoiding work, eager to numb the pain.
Inside the bar, I begin to drink myself into a stupor, time lost on me as I toy aimlessly with the peanuts in the bowl. There are a dozen messages on my phone and missed calls, but the only one that mattered is Charlotte’s.
Charlotte: Our daughter needs us. I’m on the next flight to JFK.
“Bartender, pour me another,” I call, then lower my head.
“Look, buddy, you’ve had a few.”
“What the fuck do you care? Do you know who I am?”
The young guy rolls his eyes, disrespecting my authority. My thoughts travel back to Will and all the times I demanded he sort Amelia out for her reckless behavior. Her underage clubbing and the countless conversations I’ve had privately with him over my concerns with her well-being. All of this was acted with trust, trust in which he broke without a single thought.
“This is the last drink.”
The final glass of scotch is served to me.
But I don’t care. I’ll find a way to continue numbing the pain because I have no choice.
My little girl is gone.
I know Amelia is staying in our penthouse, Charlotte warned me earlier. She doesn’t say another word, the two of them inseparable since the moment she arrived. I purposely keep my distance, drowning my sorrows inside my office with another bottle of scotch.
The liquor turns into a vicious seed, and when my temper flares beyond my imagination, I smash the bottle against the wall in a fit of rage. Everywhere I turn, all I hear are Zuckerman’s words torturing me with its truth.
In the darkness of the night, I crawl into bed, lying beside my wife. Her scent feels like home, my fingers itching to touch her, yet I restrain.
The bed shuffles, and almost as if she feels my pain, knowing exactly what I need at this moment, she strokes my cheek with a gentle touch.
“We’ll get through this,” she whispers beside me. “She needs us, Lex.”
“You didn’t see the way she looked at me,” I choke, closing my eyes to rid myself of the memory. “With so much contempt.”
“She’s young, and she’s in love,” Charlotte murmurs, moving her body close to me, blanketing me in warmth. “We were just as foolish as she is. If anything, we were worse. We had more at stake. You were married. I was a teen. Amelia is an adult now, and mistakes will be made. We just need to love her, guide her in the best way possible.”
Love? There was no mention of love. I thought they were supposedly fucking. None of it matters anyway, each thing just as bad as the other.
“Promise me, Lex, you’ll let her get through this in her own way.”
“You want me to sit back and do nothing?”
“I want you to step out of the equation for just a moment. She’s at a crossroad in her life, don’t push her to make a decision because you think it’s right.”
I don’t say another word, closing my eyes shut to allow sleep to numb me. What only feels like minutes later, a cough expels violently like I’ve swallowed a bunch of razor blades. Beside me, Charlotte is fast asleep, undisturbed by my noise.
My eyes are shut tight, and I’m unable to ignore the fire clawing up my throat. Water, I need water. Crawling out of bed, I stumble to the bathroom to drink a glass of water, attempting to clear the burn inside my throat.
It all comes back to me like a recurring nightmare.
I grab my phone on the bedside table and send Jeff, our lawyer, a text message. A few minutes later, the phone buzzes in my hand as I answer it quietly.
