Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Now there’s nothing. Just sheets that smell faintly of lemon and sorrow.
Sometimes I imagine she’s still here. I roll over, reach for her, only to find empty air. That’s when I drink until I black out, because it’s the only way to make the ghost of her stop teasing me.
A week turns into two. Not a word from her.
I worry. Is she sleeping? Is she eating? Is she somewhere safe? I know she has money saved because I paid her well and never let her spend money on the house or groceries or anything but herself. I had Karma hack into her bank account and I know she’s spent some at a pay by the week extended stay place an hour from here. But I can’t get a grip on what she’s actually doing. How is she surviving? I even consider hiring a private investigator or sending a prospect to follow her just so I can ease the ache of not knowing.
The brothers ride out on a short run, and I go, but my head’s not in it. Every turn feels wrong. The road, which used to feel like freedom, feels like punishment. The roar of the engine is just another reminder she’s not at the back, arms around me, cheek pressed to my shoulder.
I stop eating. I stop caring.
One night, Crunch drags me outside after I pick a fight with a guy twice my size. My lip’s bleeding, my knuckles are raw again, and I’m half-laughing because the pain feels better than the ache in my chest.
“You’re gonna kill yourself like this,” he states, voice sharp.
“Maybe that’s the point,” I spit back.
His eyes flash. “Don’t you dare, Tommy. Don’t you dare let her leaving take you under. You’re stronger than this.”
I shove him. “You don’t get it.”
“I get it more than you think,” he snaps. “I lost Jenni once too. Damn near lost myself. But drinking yourself to death and throwing punches won’t bring her back.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because deep down, I know he’s right. But knowing doesn’t stop me.
Everywhere I look, she’s there.
The couch where she curled up reading.
The kitchen where she danced barefoot while cooking.
The porch where she leaned into me on summer nights.
She’s gone, but she’s everywhere.
And it’s killing me slow.
One night, I sit at the bar long after everyone’s left. The place smells like smoke and spilled beer, and I nurse my fifth glass of Jack.
Tripp slides onto the stool next to me. He doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there, the silence heavy.
Finally, he says, “You gonna let her ghost run you outta your life, outta this club, or you gonna get your shit together?”
I glare at him. “She’s not a ghost.”
“She might as well be,” he says evenly. “You let her walk out without a fight, and now you’re letting her keep walking away on repeat every day you don’t get up and act like yourself.”
That hits harder than any punch.
I slam my glass down and storm out before he can see my face crack.
At home, I open the ring box again.
The diamond catches the light, and for the first time, I don’t see her smile. No, I see her tears. I see her hand pushing it back into mine. I hear her voice: Let me walk out that door.
My chest caves in. I sink to the floor, clutching the box like it’s a lifeline, and I finally let the sobs rip out of me.
Raw, ugly, broken.
I cry until my throat’s raw, until my body aches, until I pass out right there on the kitchen tile with the ring pressed to my heart.
The spiral doesn’t stop.
But now it’s not just anger. It’s grief. Pure, relentless grief.
And no amount of whiskey can drown it. No fight can bleed it out. No ride can shake it loose.
I don’t know how to live without her.
And I don’t know if I want to learn.
Ten
Jami
The hotel smells like bleach trying to cover mold.
The carpet is scratchy, the bed squeaks if I even breathe, and the air conditioner rattles loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Not all of them, though.
Not the ones about Tommy.
Everywhere I turn, he’s there. His laugh. His hands. His voice telling me I’m his home.
And I walked away.
I keep telling myself I had to. That he deserves better. That I can’t drag him through the filth of what I’ve done, what I’ve been. I can’t make him carry me through another relapse.
But every night I curl up on this lumpy mattress, and the silence eats me alive.
Jenni showed up the day after I left.
I’d been sitting in the parking lot with my head on the steering wheel, trying to decide if I had the strength to check in, when her car pulled up. She got out, eyes wild, hair a mess, like she’d driven straight through from home. I climbed out of the car so she didn’t have to lean down to talk to me. She’s my sister and the Hell I’ve put her through, yet, she still shows up for me. She always shows up for me.