CHAPTER ONE
“Honey, you look lonely over here,” came a voice that sounded far away and muddled to Jim’s ears. Or maybe it was in his head because when he looked up from the drink in front of him, the source of the voice seemed just as distant and blurred. With a slow grin, he said, “I am lonely. But aren’t we all?”
The giggle that followed sounded like Christmas bells, and the voice slurred, “Can I offer you some company? My friend and I would love to sit with you for a while.”
Jim waved—not quite hearing her or caring what she wanted. He turned back to his drink, drowning in the haze of drunkenness. The charges for the gunfight had been dropped, based on a lack of evidence against Jim and his brothers, as well as improper police procedures. However, it was little solace to be on the outside, considering Susan wouldn’t answer his calls or texts and didn’t even seem to be at her apartment.
She was probably staying with her mother, hoping to avoid him until he gave up looking for her. He hadn’t even found her visiting her father at the hospital. The older man wasn’t in good shape; Jim had spoken to him briefly in his search for Susan, and upon leaving, Jim had come straight to the clubhouse and doused his pain.
But he wasn’t going to stop here. The more he drank, what he’d done wrong in the past and what he had to do now to make things right became clearer. Images of the times he had let his late wife down plagued his thoughts, reminding him that he hadn’t changed as much as he intended since then. He’d obviously disappointed Susan, and now, he had to prove to her that he intended to do better. He had to convince her to love him—even if he wasn’t a saint.
Even Trina had given him that. As weak and disapproving as she was, there had been times Jim had really known how much she loved him. She’d stayed with him during the worst of times, even if it meant being hyped up on pain pills. Of course, that brought back more bad memories than good.
He remembered finding Vicodin in the cabinet. “What’s this?” he’d asked, showing her the bottle.
Trina had been in the kitchen, cooking, and she had given him a tired smile. “I went to the doctor for my back. Remember, I hurt it a few days ago, twisting funny while I was mopping? Anyway, he told me to take those when I was in pain and gave me some exercises to do to strengthen the muscles.”
He'd let that go, but a month later, she had another excuse, and Jim had started a fight. “Are you becoming an addict, Trina?” he’d accused.
“You would think something like that, considering the company you keep. Your boys may not run drugs, but every other gang around here does, and I’m sure some of your supposed friends partake.” She’d ripped the bottle from his hand. “These are legit, Jimmy. Maybe you should spend less time with your illegal practices and more time with your old lady that you claim to love.”
He'd walked away, headed to the clubhouse, and passed out in the back room. He’d gotten into a fight the next morning with one of his brothers who had later left the club, and he’d had to get stitches where the guy’s ring had cut into his forehead. Trina showed up at the hospital, crying and apologizing. She had told Jim how much she loved him and that she just wanted to take care of him. In those moments, Jim forgot all his concerns, and all his anger at Trina and the rest of the world dissipated. All he cared about was Trina’s gentle, loving touch.
There were hands on Jim’s shoulders, massaging them. For a moment, he smiled, forgetting where he was and thinking that, maybe, Susan had come to her senses and decided she missed him. However, it didn’t take long, even through the desensitization caused by nearly an entire bottle of whiskey, to realize that it felt different. There was no love, no tenderness. Definitely not Susan.
“Who are you?” he asked, his ears pounding with each word he spoke.
He heard the giggling again, two voices. One whispered in his ear, the breath reminding him of peppermint schnapps, “Honey, we’re here to take care of you. We’ll do whatever you want.”
A second body was somewhere in front of him. His vision was wavering in and out, as she leaned forward and shoved a hand in his crotch. “Seems like you need a helping hand, sweetheart.”
That he did. “Well, it’s good there’s two of you cuz I’m not small, and it takes two to handle me.” He could tell from the laughter that he’d said something wrong, but he didn’t care, as they managed to sneak under his arms and help him to his feet. They stumbled along, and he couldn’t quite see where they were going, but one of the women pushed open a door, and next thing he knew, Jim fell on a bed.
Something in the back of his mind toyed with him, and he was just too far over the line to be able to identify it. He was on the verge of passing out, which was probably the best thing. Still, the little idea festering in the depths of his psyche plagued him; but, finally, it came to his mind.
When he still had Trina, if he’d hurt himself, she’d come back to him, always loving. Now, he knew what he had to do. Susan was a paramedic. It was her job to take care of injured and ill people, and she couldn’t ignore someone hurt or sick. If he could just find a way to hurt himself so that he ended up in the hospital and had to take an ambulance in, Susan would have to pay attention to him. Wasn’t there some sort of code of honor in the medical community?
That is the answer, he thought, laughing. Then, he lost himself to the heavy drunkenness.