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What the fuck had I done?
I ignored the pounding on the bedroom door and stayed seated in the same chair in the corner I’d claimed an hour ago.
Just like I knew it would, the door swung open and Jack filled the frame.
“What the fuck?” he growled.
I was too far gone in my regret and guilt to answer. For once the guilt gnawing at my insides wasn’t over what I’d done to Barb. It was Atlee’s wounded eyes and tears that ate at me. Ugly words spoken in fear.
“She’s gutted,” Jack told me something I very well knew. “Totally undone.”
“Yep,” I muttered.
“Yep? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What do you want me to say, Jack? That I’m a fucking asshole? That I’m too weak to admit I love her because I’m deathly afraid I’ll fuck up again and hurt her? That I’m better off alone and she’s better off getting rid of me now before that hurt digs deeper until she’s drowning in it and I can’t pull her out of it?”
“That’d be a good start,” he said and pushed away from the frame and came fully into the bedroom. “There’s no good way to say this—”
“Now’s not the time, brother,” I warned.
“Barbara’s pain was not caused because of something you did or didn’t do. The only thing you’re guilty of is wanting to give her what she wanted. You are not the first enlisted man to leave his wife in the middle of family issues and you won’t be the last. You’re smart, but you’re not all-knowing. And I say this with an abundance of empathy—there is a difference between the blows life hands us and depression. You cannot miss something you didn’t know you were supposed to be watching for.”
“I’ve heard that line before—”
“Yet, you’re so goddamn ego-driven you think you’re right and everyone else is wrong. I won’t insult you by telling you I understand what you went through because I can’t begin to imagine. But you know I damn well understand loss and the guilt that accompanies it when you wish you could’ve done something to stop it. Whatever you said to Atlee fucked her up. She loves you and you turned her feelings for you against her because you’ve been itching to drive a wedge. Well, you did a bang-up job, boss. You drove that knife deep.”
Jesus Christ.
What had I done?
Panic choked me as Jack left the room.
Leaving me gasping to catch my breath.
TWENTY-THREE
I had to get out of Vegas.
That was all I was thinking about as I stood in front of Martin’s door.
I’d been summoned.
I couldn’t muster up a single feeling about being called back to the den of debauchery. The pain lodged in my chest acted as a barrier. Nothing, not even my normal distaste for Martin, was able to break through.
“Miss Levine.” George appeared with a tight smile.
Someone’s mood hadn’t improved.
Well, fuck him, my mood is shit, too.
“George,” I greeted and stepped past him.
My heels clicked on the marble floor. I saw Martin lounging on the couch with a newspaper in his hand.
An actual paper.
Funny, I didn’t think anyone actually touched those even though they were delivered daily.
