Chapter 45
When the hell did I become so fucking pathetic?
I used to be pretty cool in high school. I was the star of the football team, I had lots of friends and the cute girl next door had a crush on me. Life was really good.
But my glory days are obviously over.
Now, here I am stumbling down a quiet Los Angeles street at 3:00 in the afternoon, drunk off my ass and irreversibly miserable because I’m a dunce schmuck who blew his second chance with the only girl that’s ever mattered.
I shouldn’t have let her leave my sight that day. I should have sat her down and forced her to hear me out. I should have explained it all, then and there. But I was a coward. I told myself that I’d let her cool off overnight and that I’d make things right with her the next day.
But she left town in the middle of the fucking night.
I haven’t seen or heard from her since. Her loyal-as-fuck friends are concealing her whereabouts and when I called Daniel, he made it clear that he’s more interested in kicking my ass than in helping me find his sister.
After Sammie left, I was wasting away in that sad, old house on Thornbush Lane. My brother finally put his foot down and swooped into Reyfield, dragging me back to California to stay with him.
I stagger up the walkway to Maxwell’s condo, the heaviness of my shredded heart weighing me down. Despite my bleary vision, the head of bleach blonde extensions hanging from the rail-thin, tattooed frame leaning against the side of the building is familiar. Disturbingly familiar.
“Keeland!” Rhys races toward me with open arms, a cigarette perched between her fingers. She collapses against my chest, her bristly fake hair scratching my neck. The noxious scent of her hazardous perfume mixed with cigarette smoke claws at my lungs, sobering me the fuck up. Quick. She fake-cries against my shirt. “Oh, Keeland! You’re finally back!”
I hold her by her shoulders and eject myself from her smothering embrace. “How the hell did you find me, woman?” I cling tightly to the neck of the vodka bottle in my paper bag. Maxwell is away for the weekend with some model chick and this Grey Goose is the only companion that I’d been banking on tonight.
“Baby…” Rhys says trying to bring her paw to my cheek. “You’ve gotten so thin.” Her voice is heavy with concern. She’s a great actress. If she hadn’t ruined my life, I’d probably be convinced that she gives a fuck about me.
“Why. Are. You. Here. Rhys?” I enunciate each word so that she can understand me.
She furrows her eyebrows at me like I’ve asked a ridiculous question. “I’m here to take you home. With me. To our son.” She drops her cigarette to the pavement and crushes it with the pointy toe of her shoe.
My heart softens at the mention of that awesome little boy. I’ve missed that kid. “Where is Ryan?”
She hesitates, her eyes darting away from me. “With Charles,” she says quietly.
And just like that, all the reasons why I hate this woman come rushing back to me. “He’s with Charles? The man I nearly killed. Because of you.” I look at her and I honestly can’t remember why the hell I thought I was so in love with her.
Her mouth flaps open and shut as she searches for an excuse.
That’s when I snap at her. “Get out of here, Rhys!” I shout. “We have no business with each other!”
She sounds indignant as she chases up the walkway after me. “I’m your fiancée,” she proclaims. “We have a son together.”
I spin around and narrow my eyes at her.
She speaks tenderly now. “Keeland, everything that we had, it’s still right here –” Rhys puts her hand over her heart, “—waiting for you.”
I spit out a laugh. Man – she’s a good actress. She should be famous with a gaggle of Oscars by now. I’m still trying to figure out why she couldn’t book a casting to save her life.
Regardless, I no longer want to be another filament in this woman’s web of crazy. I step into her face. “You lied to me. You cheated on me. Then, you left me to rot in jail. Get the fuck out of here before I lose what’s left of my good sense and pay you back for the shit you smeared all over my life.”
She stands there, eyes red, bottom lip quivering. “But Keeland –”
“Get lost!” I smash the liquor bottle into the building’s brick façade to show her that I mean business. The paper bag tears open, and vodka and glass splash to the ground.
Rhys jumps, startled, before taking quick steps away from me. “This is the last time you will ever see my face, Keeland,” she says threateningly from the edge of the curb.
I turn toward the building’s main entrance, sober and pissed that I’m sober and pissed that I just wasted a perfectly good bottle of vodka on Rhys Lawson, that disgrace to women everywhere. She’s standing on the sidewalk, yelling out that I’m making a big mistake by letting her go and that I’ll regret it for the rest of my days.
“Good riddance,” I mutter under my breath as I push through the front door of the condo.