***
"You sure you're okay, man? We're worried about you." Damon's voice filled up the living room as I had him on speaker phone.
"Yeah. I'll get it over it, man. I just thought this was my turn. That it was time to breathe again."
"Kendal. It is time. Go after her and explain yourself. You didn't set this shit up. You didn't know-"
"Stop, okay? I love that you care about me, but I'll be okay. Someone else will come along in a few years and she'll be the right person." My words got lodged in my throat. Dana was the right person. She was my woman, the one I wanted to make love to every night and hold until we grew old together.
I could see us building a house and having kids. Becoming the type of couple that other's would become jealous over. We'd have something they didn't have. We'd have what they all wanted.
What I wanted. Deep, intense love.
"What can I do to fix this for you? I'll go talk to her."
"No, Damon. We've been friends for a long-time man, and you're all I've got. Please stay out of this and let it die. I'll be okay. Just give me time to heal." I rubbed my chest over my t-shirt and walked toward my liquor cabinet. "I'm going to figure out what to do about Heather and Mark at work and then we'll see where we go from there."
"You always have a job with me. Any type of job you want. I'll create it for you, man."
"Now who's being the pussy?" I smirked and knelt down in front of the cabinet. I had a few old bottles of liquor tucked away.
"Call me what you like, but let me fix this shit. I hated seeing you torn up at Mandy's funeral and now this? You deserve a break."
"Yeah, maybe." I pulled out a bottle of Jack. "I'm going to let you go. Jack and I have a date for the evening. He's pretty good about helping me forget anything and everything."
"Stay at home if you're going to drink."
"Thank you, Mother." I snorted and dropped the call. Damon was rarely over protective or up in my business, but I understood why he was now.
I mean, shit... what else could go wrong?
I could lose my job, but that didn't seem to matter too much at the moment.
I could die in a house fire.
"Yup." I dropped down on my couch and opened the bottle, taking a long drink and growling as it burned its way down my throat.
Ana Young. Why hadn't I put that shit together? I could have saved both me and Dana a ton of heartache.
"Are you okay, baby?" I whispered to the air as I closed my eyes. "Are you hurting like I am? Broken by how fucked up this is?"
I'd have given anything to find her and drown her in apologies, making love to her with a passion that would burn her forever. I needed her tucked against me, yearned for her scent, her softness... her.
I groaned as I sat up and took another long drink from the bottle. The warmth rushing down my chest was merely a sign that I was alive physically. Emotionally, I was moving toward being nothing more than a shell of a man.
How many losses could one person sustain before they let life have its way with them? Before they just give up caring? Quit fucking trying?
Pulling out my phone, I fingered through the texts between us from the month before, each one causing small sobs to rise in my chest.
I wasn't worthy of love. That was the conclusion I was left with. I'd chosen my career, and now I could drown in the sorrow that came with a decision like that.
A few more drinks from my bottle, and I had enough liquid courage to dial her number. I leaned back on the couch and let out a long sigh as it rang four times and went to voice mail.
As always, I listened to the sound of her voice and dropped the call the minute the phone beeped. There was nothing to say that I hadn't already said. A day would come soon when I would dial her number and it would come back as a disconnection notice. She'd get sick of seeing my digits on her phone and realize that moving on was the only safe thing to do.
I sat there a few more minutes, drowning in my sorrows before getting up in search of my guitar. I hadn't played since Mandy died, which wasn't too far in the past. The act of strumming out a few chords was quickly becoming associated with depression and loss in my life. Neither of which were things I wanted to be reminded of.
After running through the four songs I knew by heart, I got up and walked toward the back door. With my guitar in one hand and my bottle of Jack in the other, I walked out on the back patio and sat the bottle down.
"I hate you," I whispered to the guitar and grabbed the handle. Anger burned through me where sadness was only a few minutes before.
Fury at my situation. At my loss.
"Always loss with me." I lifted the guitar above my head and beat it against the railing of my back patio until there was wood splinters covering the ground. It should have made me feel better, but of course it didn't.
It was the last gift my mother gave me before she died.
It was all I had left of her. She should have left it to Mandy.
I closed the door behind me and let out a sardonic laugh. Everything had been taken from me because of my indiscretions early in life. Nothing I'd done in my younger years had gone unnoticed, and now it was time to pay the piper.
Nothing could shift the course of darkness my life was headed for.
Not even breaking the rules.