Chapter Thirty-Three
ALLEY
PRESENT DAY
Matt sits up, holding it together better than I am. “What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I whisper into the room. The words just… hang there, heavy and suffocating.
I thought we were done with this. I thought we’d won the battle. Things were good. They were actually good again.
I’ll admit, there was damage, wounds we were still healing. But we were working on it. We were moving forward. I was happy. I felt hopeful. But now? Now I don’t know what I am. I’m not sure if I feel anything at all. No, that’s not true.
Anger. That’s what I feel. Pure, seething anger. It’s not even directed at a person. Not Jensen. Not Christy. Just… life.
I’m mad at life.
I guess I’m mad at myself, too. For not being able to help him. For staying, for leaving, for—I don’t know. For not being enough.
“Is there anywhere you want to go to look for him? Anywhere you think he might be?” Matt’s eyes lock on mine. “I’ll go anywhere. Call anyone. Just tell me what you need from me, and it’s done.”
A self-deprecating laugh slips out, followed by a sigh of defeat.
“You mean check a back alley? The bar? God forbid he’s at an AA meeting.
” I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time looking for him.
All I can do is wait for him to come home, whenever that may be.
” I stand abruptly. “I’m getting some water. You want anything?”
“A beer,” he says somberly.
I walk to the fridge, grab a beer, and fill a glass with water before heading back to the living room. I hand Matt his drink, then set my water on the coffee table.
Across the room, my phone lies face-down on the floor—right where it landed after my tantrum. I walk over and pick it up, inspecting the screen for any damage. None. Good. The last thing I need is a broken phone.
An unread message from Michael lights up on the home screen. I swipe it open, anxious to see what he has to say.
Michael
Dad’s stable for now. They’re taking him back for more testing. Try to enjoy your night with Jensen. I’ll keep you posted.
Oh, thank God. He’s stable for now. I let that soak in, a sliver of relief making it a little easier to breathe.
“Is that Jensen?” Matt asks as I start typing.
Ok. Thanks for letting me know. And for being there with him.
“No,” I say, lowering the phone. “It’s Michael. My dad’s in the hospital. Something’s wrong with his liver. He called earlier, on my way to dinner, to let me know.” I let out a dry laugh. “It’s been a day.”
“Ah, shit. I’m sorry, Al. Is he gonna be okay?”
I press my lips together, trying to force a smile. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
I walk back to the couch and fall into it beside Matt. “I should be booking a flight to Chicago, but I can’t even find my fucking husband.”
Matt huffs out a laugh. “Why does it make me feel better when you say the F word?”
His comment draws a small laugh from me too, and it feels… good. “I don’t know. Because you’re a bad influence?” I reach for my water, stealing a glance at Matt. His once-grim expression softens—just a little.
He chuckles. “Someone’s gotta be. You’re too good.”
A small smile curves my lips. “Thank you,” I say softly. “For coming over. For knowing I needed someone.”
He tilts his beer toward me, and I clink my glass to it.
“Of course. I’ll always be here for you.” He takes a sip, then adds, “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Yeah.” I exhale a long breath. “Me too.”