Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
HAYES
T he morning light slashed through the heavy curtains of the guest suite, piercing straight into my pounding skull. I groaned, rolling onto my side, my stomach rolling right along with me. My mouth was dry, my muscles ached, and every nerve felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire. The remnants of last night’s scotch sat heavy in my veins.
I should’ve paced myself. Or maybe I shouldn’t have drunk half the bottle in the first place. But once I got started, it was about the only way I felt any relief from the pain. My dad and Kathy had tried to talk me off the ledge, so to speak, but they must have figured out it was a lost cause. I don’t remember exactly what time they went to bed, but I stayed up long after they did trying to crawl in that bottle.
Now, it was time to face the consequences of my actions. Dragging myself out of the plush bedding felt like climbing a mountain, but I managed it. My bare feet hit the plush carpet, which was nice. But then I stepped onto the cold hardwood floor. I winced at the sensation as I shuffled to the en suite bathroom. A splash of cold water to my face helped, but only just. The man staring back at me in the mirror looked like hell. Bloodshot eyes, scruffy jawline, and the unmistakable mark of someone who hadn’t slept well.
I put on my clothes from yesterday, smelling the faint aroma of the cigar I had smoked with my father. The sweet scent was going to make me sick. My stomach felt like it was on the verge of revolt. I made my way downstairs. The house was eerily quiet, except for the faint clink of dishes coming from the kitchen. I made my way toward the sound, every step a small battle against my protesting body. My original plan was to grab something from the fridge if I could stomach it. But when I walked into the kitchen, I found Kathy already at work.
She was humming to herself, moving around the massive space with an ease that said she had done this hundreds of times. The woman was mega-rich, but she did most of her own grocery shopping and cooking. My cousin told me they hired a chef for her, but she didn’t like not getting to have the run of her own kitchen. Even here, Dad had offered her staff, but she rarely used them. It was just Kathy, in a soft sweater and pants, looking as serene as ever.
“You’re up early,” she said without turning around.
“Hardly,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. “I feel brutal.”
She glanced over her shoulder, a warm smile playing on her lips. “You look it, too.”
“Thanks for that.” I dropped onto one of the stools at the island, slumping forward to rest my elbows on the cool surface.
“I’ll whip you up something,” she said, waving me off when I opened my mouth to protest. “Sit. You need proper food in you, not whatever you were planning to cobble together.”
“You don’t have to. Isn’t that what the staff is for?”
Kathy shook her head, cracking eggs into a bowl. “Not on Sundays. I send everyone home. It’s just me and Armand, and the peace and quiet is dreamy.”
“Except I’m here.”
She shot me a look, somewhere between fond and exasperated. “Don’t be silly. You’re family. I love having family in the house. No one tells you how sad it will be when you raise all your children and they leave you. There’s the celebration of the empty nest but then it gets quiet. Too quiet.”
I rested my chin in my hand, watching as she whisked the eggs with practiced efficiency. “Misery loves company, huh?”
Her hands stilled for a moment, and she looked up at me, her expression softening. “I’ve always thought that saying was wrong. Misery doesn’t love company; misery needs company.” She came around the island, resting her hand lightly on mine. “I’m sorry about Dixie. I know how much you cared for her. Maybe there’s still a chance, a glimmer of hope that she and her sister can work things out?”
I shook my head, swallowing hard. “I doubt it.”
She gave my hand a small squeeze before returning to the stove. The smell of butter melting in the pan filled the kitchen, and for a brief moment, it grounded me, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
She poured the eggs into the pan and glanced over her shoulder. “You’ll survive, you know.”
I tried for a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “It’s just a breakup.”
Kathy arched a brow, her back still to me. “Is it?”
“You’re supposed to make me feel better, not worse.”
She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Call Isaac. He’ll say what you want to hear.”
“He’ll drag me to a strip club.”
“Exactly.” She flashed me a grin before turning back to the stove. “I’ll get you some coffee and orange juice. I think you’re going to need lots of fluids and caffeine.”
I grumbled in response, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a strip club at nine in the morning.”
Kathy chuckled again. “There’s no ‘right time’ for a strip club, Hayes. That’s kind of the point.” She slid the scrambled eggs onto a plate and set them in front of me. “Eat up.”
Reluctantly, I took a forkful. The food was delicious, as Kathy’s cooking always was, but it did little to settle my queasy stomach.
“Thanks, Kathy,” I said after a few bites. “For the food and for listening.”
“Eat,” she said, pouring me a fresh cup of coffee.
I did as I was told, taking a tentative sip of the coffee. It was strong and black, just the way I liked it. The food was simple but comforting, and for the first time that morning, the tension in my chest loosened slightly.
She leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee. “I’m here anytime you want to talk, Hayes. You know that.” Her eyes softened. “And I meant what I said about Dixie. There might still be hope.”
I shook my head slowly. “She’s got her hands full now. Whatever that messy situation is with Frankie is going to take a while to clean up.”
Kathy nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. “Life can get complicated, can’t it? But people can surprise you. Maybe they’ll figure things out sooner than you think.”
“I hope so,” I murmured, though I couldn’t quite muster the optimism to match my words. It felt like certain things—once broken—couldn’t be mended.
“Keep your head up, Hayes.” Kathy’s voice was gentle as she touched my shoulder. “Life also has a way of working itself out. Sometimes it just requires a little faith and a lot of patience. It doesn’t always happen on the timeline we think it should. Just give it some time.”
I smiled wryly. “I’ve never been great at either of those.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to start learning.”
Dad walked into the kitchen looking a little worse for wear as well. He went to the coffee pot and picked up the empty carafe, turning to scowl at me. “Next time, bring your own hangover cure,” he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.
I smirked and pushed the plate of half-eaten eggs toward him. “Kathy’s got the cure right here if you want.”
Dad grinned, shaking his head as he accepted a fresh cup of coffee Kathy poured for him. “You always did know how to find your way out of trouble with charm,” he commented, eyeing the eggs but opting for just the coffee. He sat down on the stool beside me. “How are you holding up, really?”
“I’m not,” I said. “But I’ll get over it.”
Dad nodded. “That’s all anyone can do, son. Get over it, one day at a time.”
“And keep good company while you’re at it,” Kathy said. She refilled her coffee cup and leaned back against the counter. “It speeds up the healing.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said. “I think I’ve intruded on you guys long enough. I’m going to get out of your hair and let you guys enjoy the rest of your quiet Sunday.”
“You don’t need to go,” Kathy said. “We have lots of Sundays. We’re both retired. Every day is a Sunday. Stay. Rest.”
“Thank you, but I need to go home and shower. I can smell myself and it isn’t good.”
As I stood, Kathy raised an eyebrow, almost as if she were challenging me to stay. “You always have a bed here if you need it,” she reminded me gently.
“I know,” I replied, forcing a small smile. “And I appreciate it.”
I made my way out of the kitchen. The cool morning air hit my face with a refreshing sting as I opened the front door. I made it to my car, half-blind with only one eye open against the bright sunlight. I quickly reached for my sunglasses and put them on. The relief was immediate.
I opened the center console and found the bottle of Advil I kept there. I popped two and swallowed them without any water. My head was pounding. My stomach felt better, but I was still feeling a little under the weather.
The drive home was long and uneventful, giving me too much time to think. I couldn’t get Dixie out of my head—her laugh, the way her nose crinkled when she smiled, the way she’d curl up against me like she belonged there. The thought of going to Kathy and Armand’s wedding without her made my stomach churn all over again.
As usual, I was going to be the odd man out. I wondered if Kathy and my dad were still expecting me to bring a date. They had said we weren’t allowed to show up stag, but they had to know that rule couldn’t possibly apply to me anymore. I was dealing with a broken heart. I should get a free pass.
Back at my apartment, I went straight for the shower, hoping to wash away the lingering traces of my hangover.
The steaming water ran over my back and chest, soothing yet insufficient to wash away the deeper ache that clung like a second skin. After what felt like an eternity under the spray, I stepped out, wrapping a towel around my waist and catching sight of myself in the fogged-up mirror. My reflection was a blur—fitting, given how disconnected I felt in that moment.
I brushed my teeth but didn’t bother shaving.
I walked into my bedroom but couldn’t quite muster the energy to get dressed. Instead, I sat on the edge of my bed, scrolling through my phone, trying to distract myself. Emails, news updates, a few messages from friends. And then I made the mistake of opening Instagram.
Her profile was still there, staring back at me like a wound that refused to heal.
One of her posts caught my eye—a photo of a dresser she’d painted, the intricate floral design swirling across the surface like it had grown there naturally. I remembered her telling me about it, her eyes lighting up with passion as she described the process. She had given me every detail of the process. I didn’t understand most of it, but I had enjoyed listening to her tell me about it. I loved the way she gestured wildly and tried to explain it all in a way I would understand.
I stared at the screen, feeling a strange ache in my chest. I could almost feel her energy radiating through the photo, a reminder of everything I’d lost.
Without thinking, I blocked her account.
It wasn’t out of anger or bitterness—it was self-preservation. I needed to move forward, and I couldn’t do that with her ghost haunting my every scroll.
Dropping my phone onto the bed, I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
“Just a breakup,” I muttered to myself.
But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.