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“There must be trouble in paradise if you’re here looking like that, wallowing in whatever it is you’re wallowing in.” Duke lit his cigar.
Judge walked over and dug in his bag for another sugar cane and popped it in his mouth before sitting opposite Duke on the couch. He’d smoked about three packs of cigarettes since his father had passed and he realized just how much he missed him already. Coupled with losing Michaels, Judge wasn’t dealing with the stress too well. But he was trying to get back on track. He looked at the muted television and watched Sports Center with closed captioning.
“All right. So we can’t fuck anymore, but we can still talk, right?”
Judge looked at Duke. Maybe he needed to talk to someone, but he didn’t want to make Duke feel shitty.
“It’s cool, man.” Duke took a shallow inhale. “I’m not gonna cry.”
Judge chuckled lightly. Duke got up, poured them both two fingers of Scotch, and sat back down, waiting for Judge to talk. After putting back his first glass and the refill, Judge spoke in a pained whisper. “I fucked up, Duke. I tossed him aside like he meant nothing. Now he wouldn’t take me back if I begged.”
“You sure?” Duke exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Have you even tried?”
Judge steepled his hands in front of him and listened to what Duke had to say.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Michaels stared at the phone for another hour willing it to ring again, but it didn’t. Judge’s whisky-rough voice had powered through his phone’s speaker and gripped his heart tight. He wanted to say so much, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Then when Judge said he only wanted to know if he was okay, Michaels hung up. Love and hate jumbled up inside him. He couldn’t take it. He knew Judge didn’t want him, but he couldn’t hear him say it again. He looked out the window of his family’s cabin. A large one-story log-cabin style home that was completely modernized on the inside because none of them could do without Wi-Fi or a Keurig and damn sure not without satellite television. So the outside looked classic. Rustic logs and cobblestones. And the inside looked twenty-first century.
He was required to text Day every two hours, which was getting on his nerves, too. He said he was on suicide watch until further notice and if Michaels didn’t text, then Day would drive out there. Michaels would rather text than deal with anyone. He knew Day was kidding about the suicide thing, but Michaels had seen enough depression to know that he was drowning in it, so he wouldn’t fault his team for wanting to be sure he was alright. He would be the same way if it were one of them in his situation.
He’d showered and made up his room with new linens. He had a four-poster king-size bed in his room, but his pride and joy was on the private deck that his room opened right on to. Outside, he had a queen-size canopy-covered bed. It looked like something out of a romantic island resort. The large awning protected it from weather but the mattress was huge and completely weatherproof. All he had to do was go out there and put linens on it. When the sun set on the lake it was breathtaking. He used to spend so much time out there, well into the evening, reading and fantasizing. He’d turn on his overhead lights and listen to the sounds of the forest to his right and watch the moon glisten on the blackness of the lake. Now it all seemed too much. It hurt. He’d always wanted to bring someone special out here to see this part of him. He’d wanted to bring Judge, wanted to let Bookem chase the squirrels and rabbits on their land behind the cabin.
Michaels went to the linen room and carried the silky white sheets outside and started making the bed up. He didn’t know how long he’d hide away from the world and its cynical ways, but if he stayed a while, he needed to retreat to his deck oasis. After everything was perfect he went back inside and closed the double doors to his side of the deck. He looked at his watch and hurried to his phone to text Day.
“I’m still alive.”
“I know.”
Michaels shook his head. If he didn’t eat soon he really would be dead… from starvation. He turned on an audio book and went about making a pot of spaghetti that would be way too much for him to eat. When he was done he went into the wine cellar and chose a medium-bodied red Chianti. He sat silently while he listened to Patterson’s latest thriller, opting to forgo his romance novels for right now. No need to rub salt in the wound.
