AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I threw what was left of the bottle across the room, and it shattered against the back of the door.
If I walked over to clean it up, I’d surely cut my feet. So fuck the Crown, too. I’d get another bottle. I scrunched down and stretched out on the couch.
three
Alone in Denver
According to my watch and the time zone differences, Midnight Hunt was on stage at Daily’s Place at the stadium in Jacksonville. A nice venue.
And why the fuck was Ziggy being such a brat? And why did my life revolve around that thought?
The second question was easier to answer. I wanted more out of him, and Ziggy wasn’t likely to be able to commit to that. He was a free spirit, and I loved that about him as much as I hated it. He was sweet whiskey and loud motorcycles. ConcertT-shirts and tight jeans made up his wardrobe. And he was unapologetically everything I never was but always wished I could be. Not hard to see why I was so enamored of him. But that wasn’t reality.
Could I change that? I tapped his number on my phone, and of course, it went to voice mail. He was on stage right now. When it picked up, I spoke. “Uh…it’s Coleman, Zig. I…wanted to say…hope the show goes well tonight.” I tapped off.Lame! What the fuck was wrong with me?
Brandy—that’s what I needed. I got off my comfy couch and went through the kitchen with its cherrywood cabinets and into my game room. That used to be my favorite part of this house. It had a wet bar, which I made a beeline for to pour me a snifter of golden bliss, but it also had two game tables, pool and air hockey. On the other side of the tables was a seating area facing a big screen over the fireplace. Nearly every room in the house had a fireplace, including the main bathroom ensuite. It felt like a luxury when I bought the place but now, I hardly used any of them. In fact, I hardly used most of the house. It was almost heartbreaking how I thought this place would be full of people, both clients and friends, but it never was. No, the business had changed too much.
Glass in hand, I climbed up to the top of the pool table and sat cross-legged. I sure would like to fuck Ziggy on this table, or vice versa, I didn’t care. But he had never been here either. The majority of our relationship had been me chasing him, and here I was again, leaving him a voicemail. Caving first. Fuck! I threw my phone into the kitchen and watched it slide across the floor and under the fridge. What the fuck was wrong with me? And how often was I going to have to ask the question before getting my shit together?
I sipped my brandy. I was lonely. All alone in this big ass fucking house. It had seemed like the perfect idea atthe beginning of my career. Back then, I was crisscrossing the country, booking tours, signing bands, networking, and schmoozing. Now though, I had a team, and everything could be done on the phone for the most part. And the parties and entertainment I had imagined would happen here, never did. No, instead, I was left sitting in this big and fancy empty house in the middle of the country. All-fucking-alone.
Alone.
And Ziggy would never come here. When he wasn’t touring, he was in Miami recording. I had no future with him, no matter how much I wanted it.
There was only one thing to do. I threw the snifter toward the kitchen and watched it shatter like my love life against the cabinets. Great. I wasn’t going over to clean that up since I was barefoot. And I hadn’t even drank the whole glass. But what I did drink was still warm in my throat and belly.
Stretching out, I lay on my back on top of the hard table. I’d tried not to care, but I did. And deeply. I was pathetic. A successful, good-looking, not yet middle-aged—but getting close—man still in his prime—very much in his prime, thank you—fighting back tears on top of a God-damned pool table in a fancy house in an expensive neighborhood in the suburbs of Denver.
Alone.
The next morning, I woke to the sounds of cleaning and the refrigerator being moved. And a stiff back. I groaned as I got off the fucking table and bent over to stretch.
“Mr. Hicks, sir.” Victoria came over and handed me my phone.
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tip well for all this…” I waved the phone toward the brandy mess. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got this, Mr. Hicks.”
Victoria had been my cleaner for years, and she would never call me Coleman, no matter how many times I asked. I gave up. Sometimes, the battles weren’t worth fighting.
“I think you might have a voicemail. I heard it ringing when I came in.”
“Thanks, Victoria,” I muttered, peering down at my lock screen. It was after ten in the morning. The sun hadn’t woken me because the dark curtains were almost always pulled over the windows to keep the pool table from bleaching out.
I swiped the screen and waited for it to recognize my face. A few seconds later, it popped up a notification. I did have a voicemail. I clicked over to see it was from Ziggy. Well. Part of me didn’t want to listen to it. He was probably telling me to fuck right off. But the bigger part had to hear it. But not in front of the cleaning team. “Is the glass cleaned up?”
“Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Hicks. It’s safe to walk through here.”
“Thank you, again.”
“No problem.”
I gingerly tip-toed through, just in case. I knew she’d vacuum and double-check later to make sure she got it all. She was thorough and kept my place in tip-top shape. I really needed to sell this behemoth.
Upstairs, I debated on going into my office or my bedroom. The latter won out since I needed a shower, desperately.
The room was large with a huge king bed built for two, but had only ever had one in it. Like everything else in this house. I chose to skip the bed and sit on the chaise lounge by the fireplace. Leaning back, I opened my phone again and tapped the message.
