Chapter 44 - Jordan
Fourty four- Jordan
I saw his release on the news. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t called me.
It was shocking, seeing Ciarán outside the hospital, looking wrecked. Cameras flashed. Reporters barked questions. The way his body coiled, I knew he was about to snap. When his fist connected and the camera hit the ground, shattering, I had to look away.
The headline scrolling at the bottom of the screen said it all: Ciarán James, Fresh Out of the Hospital’s Mental Ward, Spirals in Violent Outburst.
Some CNA had sold his information to the press. She was out of a job, but I doubt she cared after pocketing six figures for the story.
I’d been calling him for days without an answer.
I called him. No answer.
Again. No answer.
Again.
Again.
Now I was pacing his living room, gripping my phone so tight my fingers hurt, my heart pounding with each ignored call.
I called again. Straight to voicemail.
“Ciarán, please call me back. Please.”
Where the fuck was he?
He’d had a seizure lying beside me in bed less than three days ago. I’d spent hours at the hospital, fighting for scraps of information. And now this?
I ended the call and threw my phone onto the couch, my hands shaking. The anger, the helplessness, the fucking worry—it was eating me alive.
Oak walked in, looking too damn calm. Like he hadn’t just seen my world unravel on television.
I turned on him. “You don’t care, do you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You don’t give a shit about him, about any of this! You don’t even like him! So this is easy for you!”
Oak sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jordin, what the fuck do you want me to do? Magically fix him? Drag him back here?”
“I want you to care!” My voice cracked. “I want you to—” I stopped myself, breathing hard. I didn’t even know what I was asking for. I was just angry, looking for a target.
Oak stared at me for a long moment before shaking his head. “That’s not fair.”
I exhaled, long and shaky, and dragged my hands down my face. “I know.”
I knew I was wrong. I knew I was being unfair, taking my fears out on him, but I didn’t have anyone else.
You cheated, and he left.
I didn’t know if I meant Oak or Ciarán. Maybe both.
“I’m sorry.” I tried to sound calmer. “I didn’t mean that.”
Oak shrugged like it didn’t matter, but I saw the tension in his shoulders. “Whatever,” he muttered.
I needed a drink.
I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and poured a shot of whiskey. Slammed it back. Poured another. My stomach burned, but I didn’t stop. I reached for the bottle again, but Oak was there, his hand closing over mine.
“That’s enough.”
I yanked my hand away. “You ain’t my fucking daddy, Oak.”
He sighed. “So you’re going to drink yourself into liver damage?” His eyes locked on mine.
I let out a bitter laugh. “You wanted him gone, didn’t you? You wanted me all to yourself. Now you got me.” I was challenging him instead of sticking to the subject. I was driving myself crazy.
His face twisted, then he shook his head. “No, Jordin.” His voice was tired. “I don’t want you with me just because you’re mad he left and I’m the only option. I don’t know what to say to you anymore, Jordin.”
Something about the way he said it made my chest ache.
“I don’t know if I even should say anything at all.”
He hesitated, but then he just… gave up. I saw it happen. His body sagged. He turned and walked away, the weight on his cane making his steps heavier.
I squeezed my eyes shut, the reality of what I’d just done settling deep in my chest.
And I felt like the biggest fucking asshole in the world.
“Fuck.”