20. Chaz
Chapter 20
Chaz
J amie didn’t react to my admission, and I reached for the whiskey to pour myself another shot, lost in my misery and the wish to escape it.
He tipped his glass back with intention and held it out for a refill.
I couldn’t be bothered with another dose of guilt over him drinking with me when I knew he preferred water to alcohol.
“I was so focused on succeeding and proving my Dad wrong that I ignored Shelly when she needed me most.”
Failed in knocking her up too, but I wouldn’t ever admit that humiliation to another soul.
I eyed the amber liquid in my tumbler, the whiskey loosening my tongue. I’d had zero intention of even talking about my dead wife, but here we were, and I was well on my way toward drunk off my ass.
“Hard work equals success was my motto,” I continued to spill my guts, “but I forgot to pay attention to the most important thing that mattered—my marriage.”
“Her death wasn’t your fault,” Jamie murmured. “And the grief might be making you feel like you have to escape permanently, but I want you here. Can’t live without my best friend, Chaz. Lots of people would be devastated if anything happened to you.”
I slammed back the shot and poured another, ignoring his words. “I was stupid to think it would ever work.” Jamie didn’t know I spoke of marrying Shelly when I’d desired but couldn’t have him, but I’d come to realize with every passing hour as my sorrow grew that I didn’t deserve the happiness I’d always hoped for.
Those days, like my wife, were long gone.
Even if my childhood dreams came true, I would eventually let him down like I did with everybody else. I couldn’t stomach that heartache becoming reality.
“I ignored the red flags. Worked harder to prove my worth rather than paying attention to what Shelly needed from me. Hell.” I huffed an unamused snort. “If that isn’t the definition of failure, I don’t know what is.”
“You aren’t a failure,” Jamie argued, but I was beyond hearing thoughts other than my own toxic ones loaded with self-hatred.
“You’ll never convince me otherwise, so don’t bother,” I muttered and drank another shot.
We sat quiet for a few minutes while I wallowed in the shit of my existence. The worthlessness of being here. Everything I had managed to fuck up.
“When I tore my ACL, I thought my life was over,” Jamie said, reminding me of the other shitty thing I had in my brain—secret thankfulness for that injury that had brought him home to me.
Jamie could share his pain if he wanted, but no amount of whiskey would make me uncover my feelings over his early return. He’d hate me if he knew I hadn’t been all that upset by the news his career had ended.
“It took months of therapy to get my head set straight. Coming back here made me face parts of my past I’d feared. Regretted.” Jamie released a heavy exhale. “I’m slowly learning we can go on after our hopes get completely crushed.”
Did he think that was what Shelly’s death had done to me?
It had never been my dream to raise a brood of children with her, but I would never admit to that either. It’d simply been what had been expected of supposed high school sweethearts from a small town. I’d chosen second best and had gone along for the ride rather than speaking up about what I yearned for or where I saw my life in fifty years.
Sacrificing my love in believing it would never be returned had been my ruination.
I swigged straight from the bottle, my eyelids closing.
“Have you considered talking to someone, Chaz?”
I shook my head. Hadn’t he heard me when I said I didn’t want to? Guilt upon guilt caused my body to feel heavy, but there was no escaping its weight, and no therapist could ease or erase that shit.
Leaning back, I rested my head against the couch, whiskey bottle in hand between us. Thoughts sloshed around, attempting to wade through the mud in my mind, but the blessed alcohol made them just as intoxicated as I was.
My friend numbness had returned, thank fuck.
“What’s the smile for?” Jamie asked, his voice fuzzy in my ears.
“I’m drunk,” I slurred, not having realized my lips had tipped upward.
“You’d better be for how much you drank.” He pried the bottle from my fingers, but I couldn’t be bothered to care.
I’d gotten where I’d hoped to be, which was well on my way to oblivion, where self-critical and negative reflections couldn’t reach me.
“Remember the first time we tasted whiskey?” he asked.
I did—but didn’t want to reminisce over memories that would do nothing but send me spiraling even deeper into the depression I’d been battling.
“I almost admitted my feelings for you that night,” Jamie said, seemingly determined to discuss us.
Fuck.
My stomach turned over with sudden violence, and I rolled off the couch, intent on crawling back the hallway to the bathroom.
“Shit—Chaz. Hold on.” Jamie grabbed my arms and eased me upright on noodle legs.
“Gonna puke,” I mumbled, hating that he had to hold me when I needed distance.
We stumbled forward, and I lurched toward the bathroom, wishing I could purge myself of emotion as I did the contents of my stomach all over the toilet, wall, and floor.
Minutes or maybe an hour of hacking later, my cheek rested on the toilet seat as I lamented the alcohol gone from my system that meant thoughts and emotions would return sooner than I wanted. But not yet. My vision still swam, the spins keeping me company.
“You ready for me to tuck you in now?” Jamie asked from behind me somewhere.
“She was going to divorce me,” I said without intending to, but Jamie would never know why. I couldn’t stand the idea of him realizing exactly how badly I’d failed her. “That’s why she went to Berlin. Meeting with a lawyer then celebrating her future freedom with Tara in Boston.”
Or maybe she’d planned to be with her lover the whole time. That was probably who she’d been with whenever she’d spent the night in Berlin anyway.
I couldn’t rouse two fucks to give about that though.
Whatever his name, he’d made her happy, and I was still thankful she’d finally experienced the joy of seeing a positive pregnancy test after dozens of heart-wrenching disappointments. But now she would never hold that child. Kiss its chubby cheeks. Shower it with love like she’d always dreamed of doing.
Tears ran down my cheeks. I’d wanted that for the woman who used to be a good friend. We both could have moved on with that existence without turmoil. Divorced, her remarried and living the dream she’d always wanted. Me and the love of my life eventually becoming more than best friends. Everyone getting their happily ever after.
The grief over what could have been fucking sucked. Even intoxicated, I couldn’t escape my emotions.
Jamie sat behind me, his hand heavy on my shoulder, assuming I cried over the loss of my wife, but there was a shit ton more to my tears than her death.
I took comfort in my friend’s proximity, the warmth of his hand through my shirt a sturdy pressure, assurance of not being alone even though I could have sworn that was what I wanted before I’d started to drink hours earlier.
The ache in my chest intensified. Why couldn’t I just hide for the rest of my life where no one had to witness my weakness?
“Need to piss and go to bed.” I sniffled, attempting to stand up on wobbly legs so I could escape him.
Jamie clasped my arm and helped me to my feet. “Okay?” he asked when I swayed, wrestling with my zipper.
“Huh?” I asked, still drunk off my ass even though there was jack shit left in my stomach. “Fucking jeans—buttons broke,” I slurred, my eyelids fluttering shut. I stumbled sideways, felt myself falling, and he grabbed hold of me again to keep me upright.
Passing out would be great right about now.
“Jesus, Chaz. Lean on me.”
Unable to do anything else, I did as told.
Jamie made short work of my button and zipper. “You got this?”
I snorted, having no fucking clue what he’d even asked about.
Jamie fished my flaccid dick out, and I emptied my bladder when he told me to.
“You’re the best,” I mumbled when I realized I lay on my bed, my shoes tugged off by his large, capable hands.
Jamie didn’t respond but continued to strip me down to my boxers. “I’ll leave some water and Tylenol on the bed stand.”
I hummed my appreciation, my eyes refusing to stay open.
“I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”
“Don’t go,” I mumbled as drunken darkness tugged hard on my body and mind.
“I don’t plan on it.”
“ Stay .” I tried again to tell him what I wanted.
“I said I would, Chaz,” Jamie muttered. “Just close your eyes and sleep.”
“Want you. Here.” I managed to pat the mattress next to me before sweet unconsciousness slid over me like a warm blanket on a cold night.