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The waitress brings back a couple shot glasses and a brand new bottle of Jack. “Y’all need anything else…” she says with a deep southern drawl and winks at Max, “…my name’s Lace.” Max flashes a smile.
“We’ll let you know, Lace. Thanks.”
I’m already opening and pouring the drinks before their short conversation is done. I don’t hesitate to down a shot. The quicker I can get drunk, the quicker I can stop this feeling of heartbreak. The sting from the liquid running down my throat is a slow burn that I crave right now, needing to erase Addison’s words that repeat in my head. Max watches me pour shot after shot. He takes one every now and then, but for the most part he watches.
As I’m bringing another shot to my lips, he says, “She didn’t mean it.” I toss the drink back. The sting is starting to numb. Unfortunately, the pain is still there. I slam the shot glass down on the table and hang my head. Squeezing my eyes shut, the words still slice through me like a double-edged knife.
I sigh and look up. “How do you even know what she said,” I spit out.
“Sydney and I were outside the room.”
“Fucking great. It’s so awesome that everyone knows that my dad killed Addison’s mom.” Sarcasm drips from my voice as I pour and down another shot.
“Aiden, no one else heard. I already knew. Sydney didn’t, but I’m sure Addison would’ve told her at some point.”
“What were you doing there so early?” I can feel the effect of the Jack as my words come out slower.
“I was there to find you. I have to go back to New York for some business.” Max pours himself a shot, wincing as it goes down. I’m jealous of the burn. This numbness is a joke. I’d rather feel the sting because the only thing that’s numb is my throat.
I slam my fist on the table. “I can’t fight anymore,” I say. Addison’s words are my biggest fear. She’s right. My dad is a part of me, and if she can’t look at me without seeing him, we’re done.
Max raises his eyebrow at me. “When have you ever backed down from a fight?”
“This is different,” I say with resignation. “Addison’s right. We’re not meant to be together.” I toss back another shot, having lost count. Max runs his hand across his jaw; I can tell he’s thinking what to say. Brother, there’s nothing to say.
I look around the bar. Lace and the woman bartender are leaning against the bar, looking in our direction and talking. The bartender smiles wide when our eyes meet. I return a lopsided smile before looking back at Max.
“I think you need a break away from everything,” he says, shifting his gaze to the girls and back to me. “I have a case up in Washington. It’s surveillance only. Four months max. You can take a personal leave of absence, especially since you were just shot three weeks ago.”
The thought of leaving Addison makes my stomach twist. Which pisses me off more is because I don’t think I have a choice. I can’t stay. She doesn’t want me here. I’m a fucking man; I should have some sense of dignity. Maybe it is a good idea to get out of dodge. I’m a fool though if I think time will help me forget Addison. She’s embedded into my heart. It’ll take a lot longer than four months.
My lips start to feel numb, so I push the shot glass away and lean back against the cracked pleather cushion. I look up at the ceiling looking for answers. They always say stuff is written on the walls. Instead, a dirty, yellow ceiling looks back at me.
“I’ll go. What else do I have to lose?” I say, sighing and looking back to Max. He nods. “When do I leave?” I slur.
He smirks as he pushes the Jack farther away from me. “Wheels up in three hours.”
Panic rushes through me about leaving Addison. “Fuck!” I slam my head down on the table. “Why can’t my heart just go numb?”
“Aiden,” he says. I lift my head and push myself back up to a sitting position. “I don’t think for a damn minute that this is the end of you and Addison. But you’re going to need to get your head straight and let her have some time to heal.”
I cross my arms. Can’t he see that the more time that goes by, the more obvious it is that the world is working against us? It scares me to think what it might throw at us next if we stay together. So why am I panicking about leaving Addison? I should already be packed and on my way back. Man up, Roberts.
“Fuck. Let’s go,” I say, stumbling out of the booth.
A few hours later, with a headache from hell, I lean my seat back and watch from the airplane window as Texas get smaller and smaller. Regret bubbles up from inside of me. I shouldn’t have left. What if she’s looking for me, wanting to apologize? She’ll never forgive me for leaving in her most desperate time of need. I rub my hands over my face and remind myself that she hasn’t reached out to me. It’s not like she’s lost my phone number.
“It’s not forever, Aiden,” Max says, sitting across from me, looking at me over his computer.
“I just need to accept that it might be.” The harsh reality hits me like a brick wall. It might be over and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. I need to move on. I will always love Addison, but she’s right; Fate didn’t mean for us to fall in love. “Are you going back?”
He nods. “Make sure she’s okay?” I ask.
“I’ll keep you informed, brother.”
“Can you give her something?”
He nods again. I pull out a random receipt from my wallet and write on the back of it.
