Chapter 16 - Oak
sixteen-Oak
I wasn’t drunk enough.
Not for this. Not for the way my chest felt like it was caving in every time I replayed what happened earlier. Her driving away with him like I didn’t exist. Like I wasn’t the man she’d once promised forever to.
I kept thinking about it all, obsessing; it kept looping like punishment.
And now? She was gone.
How the fuck did we get here? To a place where she couldn’t even look me in the eyes.
I fucked up, I get it, but did she have to be so cruel?
I sat slouched in a chair at the strip club, a glass of whiskey sweating in my hand.
Marcus thought this would help, dragging me here to “blow off steam.” But it wasn’t working.
Nothing was working. Even the bass from the speakers couldn’t drown out the noise in my head.
I kept thinking about Jordin and how she walked away with him.
How did we get here? Where there was another man in her life?
My eyes traveled the room. Across from me, a girl danced under flashing pink and blue lights. Her moves were fluid, practiced. She didn’t care who watched. But I didn’t see her. I saw Jordin.
“Why are you sitting here looking off into space? Enjoy yourself. Today was a victory,” Marcus said, leaning close so I could hear him over the music. He sounded annoyed, like he was tired of me already. “It’s over. She’s going to sign the divorce papers. And she wants nothing. Move the fuck on.”
I used to tell Jordin she imagined Marcus not liking her. But now I wasn’t so sure he was wrong. I didn’t respond, though. My grip tightened around the glass as I downed the rest of the whiskey, the burn in my throat barely registering.
I wondered if she was with the singer. I was thinking about hiring a private investigator.
Was he taking care of her? Was she with him for money?
I admit, I didn’t know how much Jordin made because I’d never ask her for money.
How was she going to live without my support since she asked for nothing?
A stripper approached, sliding into my lap without an invitation. A brunette with big tits, a small waist, and no ass—typical. She smelled like cheap perfume and desperation, but I let her sit there anyway. Maybe this was what I needed—to forget. To let go.
“What’s wrong, baby?” she purred, her hand trailing down my arm.
I laughed, but it came out bitter. “What’s not wrong?”
She tilted her head, trying to look interested. “You want to talk about it?”
I did. Staring at the melting ice in my glass. “She’s gone,” I muttered, more to myself than her. “Just fucking walked away with another man.”
The stripper raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure what to say. Marcus groaned from his seat nearby, rubbing his temples like he regretted bringing me.
“She was everything,” I said, my voice rising. “Everything I ever wanted, and now she’s gone. And you know what? Fuck her. She left me.”
The stripper tried to pat my shoulder, but I shrugged her off, standing abruptly and nearly dropping her from my lap. She sprang to her feet like a cat. My vision swam for a second. The alcohol was making my blood boil.
And then I heard him.
The beat shifted. The heavy bass was replaced by a smooth, soulful piano riff I recognized instantly. It was the song from the club video—the one she had written for him. Ciarán’s voice, slick as oil, flowed from the speakers, singing about a love he wasn't worthy of.
He’s haunting me.
My whole body went rigid. A few months ago, I hadn’t actually heard one of his complete songs.
I’d listened to all of them now. Now they felt like the soundtrack to my life falling apart.
And they were good songs. That was the fuck me.
The air grew thick, too thick to breathe.
Red blurred in my vision, the neon lights smearing into a nauseating haze.
“Turn it off,” I rasped.
Marcus looked up from his phone. “What?”
My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. His voice seemed to wrap around my throat, squeezing. “Turn that shit off!”
I didn’t wait. I started walking towards the DJ booth, sending glasses and a bottle crashing to the floor from the tables in my way. The music swelled, his voice taunting me.
“Turn it fucking off!” I roared. As I got closer, people were backing up, or maybe I was shoving them.
Strong arms locked around me from behind. “Oak, stop! What the hell is wrong with you?” Marcus grunted, hauling me back.
“Get the fuck off me! You hear that? That’s him! He’s doing this on purpose!” I thrashed against his hold, my focus locked on the DJ booth. “Turn it the fuck off!”
Security came out of nowhere. Two big linebackers. Marcus was already shoving a wad of cash at a bouncer, his voice a low apology. “He’s leaving. We’re gone.”
He didn’t let me go, half-dragging, half-carrying me through the gawking crowd, out of the exit and into the parking lot. The music faded, but the echo of it was still ringing in my skull.
He wrenched open the door of an idling car and shoved me inside. I collapsed against the leather, my breath coming in ragged gasps, the fight draining out of me as quickly as it had come.
Marcus leaned in, his face a mask of fury and pity. “Go home. Sober up. And get your shit together.”
The door slammed shut, sealing me in silence. As the car pulled away, I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I could see was Jordin’s face, and all I could hear was his song.
When I stumbled through the door of my house and made my way to the living room, my eyes landed on a framed photo of her on the mantel. She was smiling, her eyes bright, so full of life.
“I fucked up,” I choked out, grabbing the photo. My knees buckled, and I fell onto the couch, holding the picture like it was the last piece of her I’d ever have. “I fucking ruined us.”
The tears came hard, unstoppable. My chest ached like someone had ripped my heart out, and I let myself drown in the pain.
At some point, I passed out.
I sat on the couch I’d slept on the next morning, my head pounding, my body feeling heavy, trying to figure out how I could fix what I fucked up. And I couldn’t think of anything. There wasn’t a manual for this kind of shit.
Was there even a way to unbreak a broken heart? Did I even deserve a second chance? Jordin had given me everything—her trust, her love, her loyalty—and I’d stomped all over it. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, let alone a second chance.
With a heavy sigh, I pushed up from the sofa.
Dragging myself upstairs, I forced my legs to carry me to my office.
The divorce papers were sitting on my desk, her signature already in place.
Seeing her name written so neatly made my stomach turn.
It was like she’d already moved on, like I was just a chapter she’d closed.
For a long time, I just stared at the papers, my pen hovering over the dotted line. Signing them felt like admitting I’d lost her for good. Like giving up.
But I didn’t deserve her. I’d destroyed us, and she deserved better than the mess I’d turned our marriage into.
With a shaky breath, I scrawled my name across the line. The sound of the pen on paper was like a fucking death knell.
When it was done, I slumped back in my chair, staring at the papers like they might disappear if I blinked enough times. But they didn’t. It was done. I’d let her go.
“I hope you’re fucking happy,” I muttered to the empty room, my voice breaking.
I closed my eyes, leaning back in the chair, but the weight in my chest didn’t lift. It just sat there, a reminder of everything I’d lost. Everything I’d thrown away.