Chapter 4
Chapter Four
JENSEN
The restaurant’s dimly lit—candlelight and low music, the kind of place you take someone when you’re hoping to get laid afterward. It’s romantic as hell, and most of the tables are filled with couples. Definitely the kind of place Alley would love.
I’m here with Matt—and I am most definitely not getting laid tonight. But we couldn’t come to Zermatt and not eat here. It’s Michelin-starred, and Matt has a thing for hunting those down everywhere we go.
As we follow the hostess to our table, I nudge him. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, would you mind reaching out to your tattoo guy? See if I can get a consult when we get back?”
He glances at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”
“Alright, man. I’ll message him now. How soon you talking?”
We slide into our seats as the hostess pours water into our glasses and tells us our server will be over shortly.
“As soon as possible.”
“Could be a while. He’s usually booked months in advance.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Just whatever you can get.”
“Okay.” He pulls out his phone, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re serious. You always said you’d never get one. What are you wanting? Maybe he could squeeze you in if it’s something simple.”
“I want a full sleeve.”
He looks up from his phone, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “No you fucking don’t.”
I nod, chuckling. “Yeah, I do. I want a reminder, a permanent commitment to staying clean. Something that I can see every day. I even had a friend in rehab who’s an artist help me plan it out. He sketched a rough draft. But I know your guy’s really good, so I’m sure he’ll make it even better.”
Matt’s covered in tats—two full sleeves, a full leg, and pieces scattered across his chest, back, and side. He’s been going to this guy for years.
“Shit. You’re serious.” He starts typing. “That might be harder to squeeze in, but I’m pumped about this. I’ll see what I can do.”
Matt’s fingers move fast over his phone. When he says see what I can do, what he really means is throw some money at it until it happens. I could tell him not to bother, but it’d be pointless. He’s going to do it anyway. That’s just who he is.
“I know it’ll probably take a few sessions so just whatever he has. Even if it’s piece by piece.”
Matt sets his phone down. “I bet he can do it all in three or four. You’ll have to show me the sketch when we get back.”
Our server walks up and introduces himself. “What can I get you two to drink?”
“I’ll take a whiskey neat,” Matt says.
“I’ll just stick with water,” I tell him.
Alcohol’s no longer an option for me. My counselors told me to stay away from it for at least a couple years—give my brain time to rewire. I honestly can’t remember the last time I went for a nice dinner and didn’t order a drink.
Matt glances over. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, man.” He looks back at the server. “I’ll just have water.”
“No, he’ll keep the whiskey,” I say, then turn to Matt. “You don’t need to do that. What, are you never going to drink around me again? Come on, that’s not realistic. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Someone might as well enjoy.”
He did this last night too—started to order a drink at dinner, then changed his mind. It’s fucking stupid. I don’t need this to be a thing.
It’s our third day here. After Matt picked me up, we spent a day exploring Lucerne before driving to Zermatt last night. It’s killing me not to ski, but I can’t risk it—my knee or my sobriety.
We’ve done a lot of talking and catching up.
It’s been good. I’ve actually had fun—something that almost feels foreign.
I don’t even know the last time I laughed like this.
I mean, sure, there were laughs in rehab, but that’s not the same as sitting around with your childhood best friend, shooting the shit and making dumb jokes.
The first few minutes of the drive were a little stiff—the usual so, tell me about rehab stuff—but after twenty minutes, we were laughing and reminiscing, just like old times.
I’ve mostly talked about treatment, and he’s filled me in on my family, new projects at work, and everything I missed while I was gone.
I haven’t brought up Alley yet. I didn’t want this whole trip to be about her, even if she’s constantly on my mind. I wanted us to get back to our old rhythm before I mentioned her. And now feels like as good a time as any.
“Hey, on the bright side, Alley won’t have to be the only sober one at parties anymore, right?” I take a sip of my water, casually feeling him out with the mention of her name.
A server drops off Matt’s drink.
“Right.” He picks up his whiskey and takes a slow sip. “You planning to see your mom before Christmas Eve?”
Seriously?
He’s just going to sidestep that like I didn’t just bring up the woman I love? My wife? He did this on our calls too. Every time I mentioned her, he’d skim past it—short answer, quick pivot, end of discussion.
It pisses me off. Not because I don’t get it—I do. It’s messy. It’s awkward. And maybe he’s still holding a grudge about how everything went down with Alley.
But Jesus. I’d rather he just say that than sit here dodging whatever bullshit he’s trying to avoid.
Matt always gives it to me straight. He’s solid. And he’s never given up on me. I owe him everything. For being there. For showing up. For helping Alley when I couldn’t. He’s always been more than a friend. He’s my brother.
But anytime I bring her up—
“Why won’t you talk to me about her?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just picks up his glass and takes another sip, like the whiskey might soften whatever it is he doesn’t want to say.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I know I fucked up, man. I know what I did. And I know the chances of her taking me back are slim. But I’ve changed. I’m not going to relapse. It’s different this time. I just… I need to see her. Talk to her. I need to show her.”
“You really think it’s that simple?” He sets his drink down.
“You put her through hell.” He sighs, rubbing his chin.
“Look, I know you’ve done the work. I know you’ve changed, and I’m proud of you.
I am. But she’s gone, brother. She moved.
She filed. And in four months… four months—she hasn’t asked about you. Not once.”
The words hit me like bricks to the face. I stare at him, stunned. Fuck. I thought I was ready for whatever he was about to say, but I wasn’t ready for that. Nausea punches up my throat so fast it nearly chokes me. I force it back, swallowing hard.
“Not once?” My voice cracks. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He shrugs. “What was I supposed to say? Hey, your wife hasn’t asked about you?
You were healing. You needed hope. I couldn’t be the one to take it away.
” He shakes his head. “I’ve given her every chance to ask.
She never has. And I’ve kept her in the loop, but only because she wanted to know why the papers hadn’t been served. ”
He takes another sip, and I stare at his drink while gripping my water glass, rubbing my thumb against the condensation. God, whiskey would be real fucking nice right now.
“I’m not saying it’s impossible, I’m just saying, don’t go back thinking a speech is going to fix it. That ship might’ve sailed. She’s in Chicago now.” His shoulders sag as he meets my gaze, sorrow deep in his eyes. “And I don’t think she’s coming back.”
Words fail me. The shock spreads through me like a virus, poisoning every part of my body. She hasn’t asked about me once?
All I’ve thought about for four fucking months is Alley. She’s the first thing I think of when I wake up, the thing that carries me through the hardest parts of the day, and the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep. She’s my number one. She’s everything.
Jesus. I knew I’d messed up, but I don’t know if I realized how bad things had gotten if she’s that far gone.
I swallow the lump in my throat and take another sip of water, washing down my new reality. Nothing like fucking tap water to take the edge off.
My gaze lands on Matt’s whiskey. “Yes,” I say, answering the question he asked earlier. “I’m planning to see my mom before Christmas Eve.”
I’m doing exactly what he’s been doing for the past goddamn month—avoiding any more talk of Alley.
“Look. I’m really sorry, bud. Don’t give up. I just don’t want to give you false hope.”
I nod, brushing it off. “I’m thinking I’ll reach out to Megan first. She’s hated me the longest, and if we don’t talk, Christmas Eve’s gonna be awkward for everyone.”
Christmas is two weeks away. I’ve got mixed feelings about it. A week ago, I was excited—ready to come home, see everyone, make amends, get back to our normal life.
But I don’t even know what normal is anymore. It sure as shit isn’t the life I used to have. The one where I woke up next to Alley, drank coffee with her in the mornings, spent weekends at brunch or watching football…
That life’s gone. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Matt says, offering a weak smile. “I think things will go better than you think with her.”
“Yeah? That’s good, then.”
The server comes by and we both order the same thing—the ribeye on a hot slab.
“My boss let me keep my job,” I say, trying to steer things in a more positive direction.
“Really? That’s great! When do you go back?”
“After the New Year. He told me to take some time to get settled back home. He was great about the whole thing.”
My boss was one of the first people I was approved to call.
I did it during a therapy session. I apologized, asked for forgiveness.
I figured I’d hang up without a job. But that’s not what happened.
He told me his brother was an addict—that he understood.
He said I’d have a job waiting for me. That he’d give me one more chance.
I’m grateful for that. More than I can say.
“How’s Jordan?” I ask, mostly to keep myself talking. If I don’t, I’ll start thinking about how Alley never asked about me—how she probably doesn’t even think about me. My pulse spikes. What if she’s over me? What if she’s already seeing someone?
My eyes flick to Matt’s drink again. God, just one would be nice. Just to relax. Slow the thoughts.
Fuck.
No.
I force my gaze to Matt’s face.
“She’s good, I guess. Don’t really know. I haven’t talked to her in weeks… She’s engaged, actually.”
My brows shoot up. “Really? God, I’m sorry.”
Matt shrugs. “Why? It’s not like she was my girlfriend.”
“Ah, come on. Cut the bullshit. I know you care more than you let on. It’s Jordan. You two have been off and on since fucking kindergarten.”
“Yeah, she’s a good friend. Of course I care about her.
I just hope she’s not marrying him as a last resort, you know?
I want her to be happy.” He lifts his glass, but pulls it back before taking a sip.
“It’s just bullshit that we can’t even be friends now.
Like that’s off the table because she’s engaged. So yeah, that fucking sucks.”
He’s so in love with her. He just can’t admit it. “So, Dr. Douchebag’s still a douchebag?”
“Yeah. He’s still a fucking douchebag.” He takes a larger sip this time, sets the glass down, then looks at me. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you about Alley until now. Let’s talk about her.”
Shit. Just hearing him say her name brings a rush of emotion to the surface.
“Thanks. But I’m good.”
“Okay. I just thought…” He trails off, shaking his head.
“You just thought?”
“I don’t know, man. I’m not trying to push. But they said I should try to get you to talk when something’s bothering you—so you don’t shut down and go looking for an escape. And this? Alley? Of course it’s going to bother you. Fuck, it bothers me.”
I let out a breathy chuckle. “Well, I don’t exactly feel like diving into the fact that my wife hasn’t asked about me in four months.
Or that I’m going home to an empty apartment and a stack of divorce papers.
I’m not spiraling. I don’t want to use. Would I like a drink?
Yeah. But I’m not going to. I just need to process it. I’m okay. Promise.”
“Alright. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
I attempt a smile. “It’s alright. I get it.
I’m still going to do everything I can to get her back, though.
I love her too much to just let her go. Even if she doesn’t love me anymore.
” My gaze flicks to the table, then back to Matt.
“I just thought she’d at least wait, you know?
Wait to see me clean. I never thought she’d file while I was in rehab.
” I pause, swallowing hard. “I need her to see me this way. To trust me again. I just want another chance—not to break her heart this time.”
I pause, trying to keep myself together. “I’ll respect her decision. I will. Eventually. But I’m not going down without a fight. I can’t.”
“I get that. And I respect it.” He offers a small smile. “I miss her, too.” Then he picks up his glass and drains the rest of his drink. “And I’m fucking rooting for you.”
The corners of my mouth lift. That makes two of us.
If she asked me to walk away, I would. But only if I knew—really knew—that it’s what she wanted.
But not before I burn the fucking world down for her.
This isn’t just some girl I fell in love with—had a good ride while it lasted. This is Alley. My best friend. My other half.
My wife.
And I don’t care what anyone says—therapist or not—it’s not fucking normal to just accept it and move on.
You fight for the ones you love.
Alley did.
For me.
And dammit, you’d better believe I’ll do the same for her.