CHAPTER 21
Walsh
I look at Jorie’s latest text to me—Please just talk to me—and I can barely stand to read it. I should block her number, but the thought of doing that tears me up from the inside out.
At least twenty times a day, I consider calling Micah up and telling him to go fuck himself… that there’s nothing wrong with me being with Jorie. I want to tell him nothing has ever been more right in my life.
But I don’t, because I’m way too deep into my head with misgivings about everything. Micah is so fucking adamant that it’s wrong for me to be intimate with Jorie that he’s got me questioning my feelings. What if I only wanted to fuck her for the wrongness of it? I’m a kinky son of a bitch who gets off on taboo things. Is it possible that Jorie turns me on because it’s wrong?
And what if what Jorie and I have is nothing but sex? That’s how it was with Renee. Just fabulous fucking all the time. Now granted, what Jorie and I have together is about a million times more intense and personal than what I had with Renee, but still… what if I’m only addicted to the sex?
More importantly, could I ever look past the sex to the other things that Jorie needs? Family, children, and commitment? I’ve never wanted to have that with a woman, so what about Jorie is different?
Lastly, and still important to me, is that I need Micah’s forgiveness. He can say he isn’t all he wants, but he is my brother in every way that matters. Nothing has come between us before, and if I were to tell him to go fuck himself and take his sister for my own, I would never get the forgiveness I want.
No… need.
I need it because what I did was wrong from the beginning. In hindsight, sure… we should have handled it differently, but we didn’t, and Micah got tremendously hurt in the process. I’ve got to have that forgiveness from him or I’ll never be able to move on.
I delete Jorie’s text like I have the others she sent me over the past five days. At first, she called me. The voice mails were awful to listen to, but I did. I made myself hear her pain and let it score me deep like a thousand paper cuts to my soul.
When Jorie showed up at The Royale as I suspected she would, she caused an understated scene outside the locked door that led to the private elevator. I’d changed the code, and when she couldn’t get in, she slid to the floor and cried. My understanding from the direct report I received from Bentley was she sat there for almost half an hour before she finally left.
I also let that cut me deep, the pain in my chest excruciatingly brutal. But I didn’t let it sway me. Jorie would eventually move on and find someone who would love her right. That would have a genuine care for her heart. I kept the wall up around me and didn’t let her in, knowing that ignoring her pleas was the worst kind of cruelty I could bestow upon her and yet the best favor she could get from me.
I can’t give in. If I were to see her… talk to her… fuck, if I were to respond to a single text, I’d give in and tell Micah to go fuck himself.
And I just can’t do that.
That would be wrong, too, because he didn’t deserve what we did to him.
With a sigh, I roll off my couch and head over to my wet bar. Alcohol has provided some balm to the pain, but I have to get pretty drunk for it to work. Which is fine.
I have no desire to do anything else. The thought of The Wicked Horse repulses me, and I wrote to Jerico that I was canceling my membership. He emailed me back and tried to poke and prod into the issue, but I ignored him.
So I drink, get drunk, sleep, and go to work.
I repeat the process over and over again, and I’m wondering at what point it starts to get easier.
Five days running now since Micah caught us and demanded I stay away from his sister, and it’s just not fucking working.
I switch to the text I sent Micah yesterday. I’d hoped he had time to calm down, so I threw caution to the wind and reached out.
What can I do to fix this between us?
He’s not responded to me, and it makes me feel like utter shit. I expect it’s how Jorie feels that I’m not responding to her.
I pour myself a vodka on the rocks and take it back to my couch. Listlessly, I put my feet on the coffee table. I rest the glass on my stomach and stare at nothing, knowing I’ll drop even deeper into my morose thoughts.
My phone rings and I look down at it slowly. I want it to be Micah telling me everything’s all right. I want him to tell me it’s okay for me to love Jorie.
Sadly, it’s Bentley, and I tense up wondering if Jorie is downstairs.
“Hello,” I answer hesitantly.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Brooks,” Bentley says in his regal voice that’s pretty impressive. “But I have a Miss Elena Sanchez here to see you. She wanted me to advise you that if you don’t let her up, she’s going to, and I quote, ‘go apeshit and cause so much mayhem and destruction, your stock prices will drop’. What would you like me to do?”
I can’t fucking help the curve to my lips over her audacity, but truth be told… I expected this at some point.
“Go ahead and let her up, Bentley,” I tell him and then push up off the couch. I drain my vodka. By the time I have it refilled, Elena’s walking into my living room.
“Want a drink?” I ask her cordially as I turn her way.
“No, I don’t want a fucking drink,” she snaps at me with fire in her eyes. “I want to talk to you about fixing this shit. Jorie is devastated. She won’t get out of bed.”
My teeth clench, and my heart pretty much shrivels up into a painful knot deep in my chest.
“Micah’s been calling her and she won’t talk to him,” Elena continues. “I can’t get her to eat. She’s so depressed and I think… I’m worried she might harm herself.”
“What?” I yell at Elena as the glass of vodka falls from my hand and thuds on the carpet. I move toward the elevator. “You think she could hurt herself and you fucking left her alone?”
Elena grabs my arm. “Well, no… Jorie would never do that. But the situation is dire, and I need you to act.”
“What the fuck, Elena?” I snarl at her as I jerk my arm away. “Is she okay?”
“Um… well, she won’t leave the apartment and she really isn’t eating. She’s completely heartbroken.”
“Do you think she’s going to hurt herself?” I enunciate each word slowly and with simmering anger.
“Of course not,” Elena admits. “She’s not that far in despair, but she is really, really in the pits. You need to do something.”
“That is not fucking cool to throw that shit at me,” I growl as I push past her and pick up my empty vodka glass. I ignore the soaked spot on the rug and pour another.
“You’re just going to sit here and get drunk while Jorie is in pain?” Elena asks from behind me.
“Jorie will move on,” I mutter.
“No, Walsh… she won’t. You were it for her. There is nothing else.”
I didn’t think that shriveled knot in my chest could hurt worse, but it does. I take a huge swallow of vodka and let it warm me from within.
“Don’t you love her?” Elena asks me quietly.
I don’t answer out loud, but inside, it’s a resounding yes. I’ve loved her for decades and then some. I’ll continue to love her decades into the future.
“Do you?” Elena presses.
“It’s complicated,” is all I’ll admit to, as I walk up to the windows looking out over Vegas.
“Fuck yeah, it’s complicated,” she proclaims with exasperation. “But complicated doesn’t mean unfixable.”
“Micah has to cool down first,” I say distractedly. “I’ve got to fix it with him first.”
“No,” Elena says angrily. She marches up to me, positioning herself between me and the windows with a hard glare. “You have to fix it with Jorie right now. She’s the most important.”
I know she’s right about this but, sadly, I can only believe that really fixing this means I give her up. Fixing this means I sit down with her face to face, apologize to her and let her rant at me. I sit through begging and pleading and declarations of love, and when that’s all over, I have to tell her we can’t go on.
At least, I think that’s how it has to be fixed.
Fuck… I don’t know what needs to be done except that alcohol lets me avoid the hard answers. So, I take another solid slug.
After I swallow, I turn the tables on Elena. “Let me ask you a question, and you answer me honestly as the person who probably knows Jorie best in this world.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly.
“What if I told you right now that I couldn’t give Jorie what she really wanted? Marriage, children, a home to share with me. Would you still want me to try or let her move on?”
Elena swallows hard, and I can see it’s a bitter pill by the look on her face when she admits, “I’d want her to move on. Those things are too important to her.”
“You have your answer then,” I tell her softly. “I can’t give her those things.”
This, of course, is a lie. I could easily give her those things because I love her. But with shit so fucked up with her brother, it does no good to even consider those possibilities.
Elena just stares at me a moment, and then says, “Let me ask you a question, and then I want an honest answer from a man who has seen all the beauty Jorie brings to life… how bleak is your life without her right now, and do you think it will get any better as you ‘move on’?”
Jesus… the worst question of all because it forces me to put me as a priority, and I just can’t. I’ve fucked up so many things, hurt people I care about deeply, and if I answer this question honestly, that means I have to stand up and take what I want.
I’d have to be a selfish fuck to do that right now.
I lie to Elena because I’ve found I’m very good at it lately.
I tell her what she needs to hear to let this go, and hopefully to help Jorie move toward a happy existence without me. “I believe it will get better. Every day that goes by, I’m getting a little more peace about this.”
Elena’s head tilts as she takes this in. I hold my eyes locked to hers and don’t blink. I’m absolutely bluffing, but I have an amazing poker face.
Finally, I see sadness fill her expression and her shoulders sag. “Well, okay then. Maybe Jorie needs to move on.”
I grit my teeth hard so I don’t admit to my lie, and just nod at Elena. She turns and walks out of my apartment without another word.
Grabbing my vodka, I head back to my couch, resume my position before Elena interrupted my brooding, and call Micah out of desperation. Not surprised when I get his voice mail.
At the tone, I leave him a message. “Micah… please know I’m so sorry for lying to you about Jorie. I know you think it’s wrong for me to be with her, but she’s not my sister. She’s someone I care about… deeply. What you saw in the club… that’s not all there is to us. It’s how it started… really by accident. It was a masquerade event, and we didn’t recognize each other. I swear to fucking God, we didn’t know. But when I did—”
Beep.
“Fuck,” I yell out to my empty apartment as I stab Micah’s phone number again so it rings.
I continue my message when I hear the tone. “When I realized it was Jorie, I couldn’t contain what I was feeling. I guess that night I got drunk and rambled on about her to you… well, I think deep down, I’ve always wanted her. I’m sorry, brother… and you are my brother. I hope you remember that. Please, please call me so we can talk this through. I want—”
Beep.
I curse and throw my phone across the room. It hits the wet bar and I hope the goddamn thing is broken. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to call Jorie next.