Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Alex
The hotel room is empty. She’s already cleared out by the time I get back. She’d done a quick turnaround, considering I didn’t drag my feet getting here. I hoped I would catch her one last time. Not to say anything or stop her, but to just see her. To know she’s okay. Not that she’s okay.
Fuck!
I throw a vase against the wall, not feeling nearly satisfied enough with the destruction it causes.
Brit
Are you okay?
She wants to ask me now?
A
I’ve never been okay, Brit.
Get a fucking clue already. And then I power off my phone because I can’t.
I feel like I’m drowning.
No.
This is worse. It’s like being burned alive. Like my skin is being seared off my body, my being charred to nothing more than a husk of a man. Everything good about me seems to melt away, only existing with her. I’m only good around her. For her.
And Jess is the fire that strips me. Jess and I were that wildfire of destiny, roaring and strong, tearing down everything in its path. Loving Jess was like that. It was like looking into the sun. So goddamn beautiful and powerful, but how the fuck were you supposed to not get burned?
Emma had the magic to take the ashes and the dust and mold it into something new. She took the fire and used it to forge us together. Like pain meeting pain, two halves making a whole. It happened effortlessly, easily, and she sculpted us into something that was greater than its parts.
Emma was the salve that healed you. She was joy. She was the essence of my life.
And now she’s gone.
Every day bleeds into the next. Just nothing but an endless onslaught of waking, taking Delta out, drinking, napping, taking Delta out, then going back to sleep. Sleep isn’t the right word, though. I hardly sleep at all. Can’t.
If losing Jess was like losing an appendage, losing Emma is like missing a vital internal organ. It’s an invisible pain that yields for nothing.
After the first week, I turn my phone back on.
Brit
Where are you?
What did you do?
Damian is fuming.
Liam
Hey man, need anything?
Brit
I’m really worried.
Max
Connie wants me to come kick your ass, so maybe just call him back?
Brit
I don’t even care about what happened with Jess and Damian, okay? I just need to know that you’re fine.
Connie
Alexander, call me back. Please.
A
I’m fine. Don’t look for me.
I send the same message to every person and turn my phone back off.
There’s nothing from Emma.
I slam the bottle of Johnny Walker down, and Delta whines at the noise. He cries a lot lately. The house is unfamiliar to him. His person is missing. Life isn’t the same.
Same, bud.
“Baby,” I can feel her hand against my shoulder. “Wake up,” she whispers.
“Wake up.” This time, it’s with a shove. “Wake up,” he pushes again.
My eyelids are sore, my ribs are bruised, and my knuckles worn raw. Between the fight and the tequila, I’d finally gotten some sleep. But now, some asshole is here, taking it away from me.
I lash out with my fist, pissed that he’s taking her from me. Sure, it’s only in my dreams, but that’s all I have. And I rarely actually sleep.
“What the fuck, man?” I hear him walk away, so I try to reach back for sleep. I try to reach back for her with closed eyes.
And then water is being dumped on me.
“Fuck!” I stand up with a shout.
Blanks stands back, looking at me with disgust.
“I got a call from our lawyer this morning, about you spending the night in jail. For assault?”
“You got here fast,” I say, pushing the water off my face, feeling the nine shots of tequila slam into my skull.
“No, I didn’t. It’s 7:00 P.M. and,” he coughs, “you smell and look like shit, Alex.”
Ignoring him, I ask the only thing I care about. “Have you heard from her?”
His expression remains impassive. “I’m done with all that shit, Alex.” My stomach sinks, roiling with disappointment. “I just came to make sure you were alive, make sure the dog was okay.” Delta sits beside him, looking at me with the same level of disgust.
I sit back down before I throw up all over his Ferragamo loafers.
“Yeah, thriving,” I say as I run my hand across my forehead, finding it damp with sweat.
“Alright then, take care.” That’s it? He’s just leaving?
I take a long blink, and when I open my eyes to Delta licking my face, the sun has gone down. And I’m alone.
july
“Up.” The voice is loud and commanding. “Get up, Alex.” The sound booms in the living room, bouncing off the adobe walls.
Am I dead?
“Any day now…”
“Yeah, I’m getting up,” I finally say. I know better than to disobey this voice.
“Jesus Christ, Alex. Take a shower and put some clothes on. We’re going home.” When I open my eyes, all I see is Constantine’s disappointment shining back, and I pinch my eyes closed again.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Well, when your children can’t take care of themselves, you do it for them.” He knows just what to say and how to say it. The guilt is unbearable.
When I turn around to head for the shower, Niko is standing, leaning against a wall with Delta at his side. Traitor.
He gives me a head nod as I pass by.
I actually stare at the window in the small bathroom and consider crawling through it to run away.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that here.
But I won’t do that to him. Constantine is probably the only person left on this Earth who could coerce me into leaving this shit hole.
He probably hates this place as much as I do. If not more.
Which is why I’m here. Punishment.
Self-induced exile in middle-of-fucking-nowhere, Arizona. Ray’s house. My former childhood home and hell on Earth.
I can’t remember the last time I put on a clean shirt. Do I have clean shirts? Doesn’t matter. If I can’t leave because I don’t have clothes, I’ll just stay.
The hot spray hits my back as I hang my head, ashamed of who I am at my core. Ashamed of all I’ve done. Who I’ve hurt.
I can’t say exactly how many days it’s been since I last saw her. Keeping track of time wasn’t exactly my strong suit right now. If I have to ballpark it, I’d say 45 days. That’s a long time. Almost as much time as she spent in the hospital.
It’s reminders like that that keep me drunk most days.
All the time I cost her. All the pain I caused her. For every one good thing I can remember, there are at least five bad memories standing right behind, yelling at me.
I pick up the only mechanism for cleaning myself in here, a single bar of Irish Spring. Likely 20 years old. Fuck me. I use the singular bar to wash my hair, my body, my face, and my beard that’s grown out uneven and thick.
I try to pick the pieces of myself up off the floor before I exit the shower, but it’s damn hard.
Niko knocks on the door, “Alright, bro, let’s pick up the pace.
It’s 85 degrees in the house, and it smells like rotting food and wet dog in here.
And it ain’t Delta.” The towel I grab off the rack is threadbare and thin, but I do my best to dry, and what I don’t evaporates quickly into the parched desert air.
I find my duffle strewn across my old room, picking out a plain t-shirt and rough pants. No underwear, though, fuck it.
I don’t bother with re-packing. I don’t want any of this shit anyways.
Constantine and Niko are waiting for me, with Delta already leashed. I nod, grab my wallet and the pair of $6 aviators I bought at the gas station, and motion for us to leave.
I can practically hear Niko’s gasp of relief.
I can practically feel him holding in whatever he really wants to say, and probably only for Connie’s benefit.
Once we’re in the black SUV and heading towards the airport, Connie turns to me, a grave look on his face.
“This is enough, Alexander.” He holds my eye contact, and I can feel the firmness of his words. How absolute they are. I don’t miss the slight tremble in the back of his voice. The worry. But I also hear the strength.
Enough is enough.
I nod, unable to say anything back because I understand. Georgia would have been disappointed. Connie already is.
The flight home takes us just under two hours. I vomit twice, cry once, and don’t speak a single word to anyone. Aside from Delta, who sat beside me the whole time, his head in my lap. The perks of flying private.
“Are you driving me home?” I ask Niko when we get into his SUV, me and the dog taking the back seat. He doesn’t answer me, looking at his dad instead.
“First, you’re gonna get some food. Probably something greasy as hell. Then, you’re coming home with me. When you’re ready, you can go home,” Connie says while looking straight ahead in the passenger seat. Great. I’m grounded.
I let my head fall back against the hot leather headrest and watch as we pull away from the airport.
Feels just as shitty this time as it did the last time. With Emma.
Niko takes us through Foster’s Freeze, and everyone gets something, even Delta. And then we drive the short distance to the Scala Family Home.
It’s practically a prison between the tall iron fence and the guarded shack at the gate. When we pull up, Connie passes the guard a bag from Foster’s. Through the window, he says, “Carl, you remember my son, Alexander, right?”
He nods, “Yes, sir.”
“Good, he lives here now.” I wave from the backseat without looking. Someday I’ll be polite and say hi, but it sure as fuck isn’t going to be today.
“Understood, sir,” Carl tips the top of his baseball cap that’s embroidered with “Security,” and Niko pulls away, up the circular drive, to park in front of the fountain.
The house reeks of old money and a life I hadn’t known till recently. It’s a large stone mansion in the old part of town, on a street that once hosted the Roosevelts as house guests. It’s a 1920s California palace with a gothic flair. Probably Connie’s ex-wife’s doing.
I shudder just thinking about Julie.
We file into the, thankfully, well-air-conditioned house and Delta bolts the second his paws hit the saltillo tile floor in the entry. Off to find Milton. Just happy as fuck to be back somewhere familiar, I’m sure.