Page 203 of The Fire We Make

Ace shook his head. “You need to get your money back. Don’t wear that shit around me again. Matter of fact, get out my face, I’ll email you.”

When the associate stayed frozen in his seat, Ace bucked at him then. “Go!”

He scrambled out of his seat and gathered his belongings before leaving Ace’s office at a near sprint.

Ace rose from his desk and went over to his bar.

The past 24 hours since Joy had been gone made him understand Jrue more and more. Drinking scotch at noon was the only thing that numbed the cocktail of rage and sadness that stuck to him.

Joy had reached into his chest and snatched out his heart, taking it with her back to Houston. He’d been stumbling around for a day, bleeding out with a hole in his chest where she belonged.

He picked up one of the already used glasses, going through them faster than his staff could come in and clean them, and poured himself two fingers. He lifted the glass to his lips but paused halfway when he spotted the deep red stain in the shape of lips at the rim.

Joy’s lips.

Ace’s chest ached as he stared at it.

He squeezed the tumbler so hard, cheaper drinkware would’ve shattered. When it didn't, he chucked it against the wall with a roar, making the crystal shatter into hundreds of pieces and single malt scotch stain his walls and floor.

The destruction didn’t make him feel better like he’d thought, so he threw another glass, then another until the floor was littered with pieces and the only way to achieve his original goal was to drink directly from the bottle.

And he did. Heaving, with a heavy heart, he chugged the liquor, welcoming the burn. He’d welcome any external pain that would dumb the one he felt in his chest.

“Mr. King is everything o⁠—”

“Get out!” Ace yelled without looking back at Jess.

She squeaked out a shocked gasp then retreated, slamming the door behind her.

Good, Ace thought.

It was time he remembered who he was. Joy had fucked with his mind, making him think he was someone worthy of loving. Introducing him to something he hadn’t even known he’d wanted, then snatching it away like a thief in the night.

He couldn’t blame her though. She'd warned him from the start that she wasn’t good for him. He’d ignored her and every bright red flag she threw up, thinking he could save her the way she’d saved him.

Ace was man enough to admit when he was wrong.

He wasn’t sure how long he drank and threw things.

All he knew was that when the door to his office opened again, he looked up and the room was dark, the sun having left him just as she had.

Various sets of footsteps crunched atop the broken glass and rustled discarded papers but Ace didn’t move, instead clinging to the nearly empty decanter of liquor and his lighter like they were his life rafts.

“Damn, did a tornado hit this bitch?” Von asked.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jrue hissed.

“What? I’m just saying, this motherfucka is tore up.”

“Shut up fool,” April smacked her lips. “Ace… Are you okay, brother?” she asked in a soft voice, moving towards him slowly like she was approaching a wounded wild animal.

Ace couldn’t move his head or open his mouth to speak. He was successful in numbing his body but his heart and mind still cried out in pain that hurt worse than any training he’d endured.

“Ace…” August called to him when he didn’t answer.

Ace opened his mouth tentatively, like he was trying to make sure the command would translate from his brain to the muscles in his jaw. He licked his dry lips, his eyes trained on the chair across from his desk. If he squinted hard enough, he could almost see her sitting there. One leg crossed over the other. Curls falling over her shoulders as she pored over a case.

“She left me,” he managed with a croak.