A Love That Saved Us (The Chicago #4)

Prologue

JENSEN

September

The couple beside me starts making out.

There goes her shirt.

And bra.

I barely blink. I’m too numb to care—or be turned on. Hell, it’s more irritating than anything. Just another reminder of what I’ve fucking lost. And what I’m about to do to forget her.

I sit up abruptly. Where the hell is Seth?

I sink back into the sofa with a sigh, glancing at my watch. My jaw aches. I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to ease the tightness. Shit. It’s locked up again.

Cupping my chin, I press my thumb and ring finger into the muscle. My pulse hammers in my chest, and I take a deep, slow breath… but it doesn’t help. My heart won’t settle.

Exasperated, I pull out my phone and text Seth.

Dude. Where the hell are you? I’ve been at this fucking party for over an hour.

My text immediately turns to read, and I stare at the screen. Nothing. The bastard leaves me on read.

Figures.

The guy lifts her skirt as she straddles him. I push up from the couch when he unzips his pants and she slips her hand inside. Jesus Christ. I’m about to witness full-on penetration. What the hell is wrong with people?

I pull at my shirt, airing it out from the sweat dripping down my back. I open and close my hand a few times. Everything’s tense. Someone laughs behind me and I wince, feeling wired and dead at the same time.

I shove my way through the bodies crowding the hallway. I don’t want to be around any of these fucking people right now. I’ll just have to meet up with Seth tomorrow.

I’ll need a bump, though, if I want to get home.

This penthouse is big. It reminds me of Matt’s. It’s dim, low music thumping in the background. Each beat grates across my nerves like a blade.

Everyone’s fucked up here, and the sexual tension is thick in the air. I’ve already had to push two girls off me. God, that’s the last thing I need—or want. All I care about is Alley.

And she’s gone.

It’s just pure survival at this point. Though, I’m not sure I even want that. I’ve been going from one hit to the next, overlapping, drinking, combining—anything to black me out, keep me from reliving the nightmare of her leaving me. I’m barely breathing. Just a walking pulse.

I took a leave from work. I don’t know if it was accepted. I don’t even know if I still have a job. It doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

I stumble into the back room, the fog of smoke settling over me. There’s a couple on the bed having sex.

Nope, not a couple. I squint, bringing them into focus. A threesome—two naked chicks and one lucky bastard.

One of them glances over her shoulder, noticing me. She doesn’t stop. And neither do I.

I head straight to the dresser by the oversized window. Everything I need is right there. A tray, a cutting blade, a candle, foil, sanitation wipes—not that anyone gives a shit about that when they’re desperate.

I clench my jaw, pull the bag of coke from my pocket, and shake a fat line onto the tray. After zipping the bag, I shove it back into my jeans and roll a bill tight between my fingers. I press a finger to one nostril, about to lean down when I catch movement in my peripheral.

I glance over. There’s a guy about my age, slumped in the corner of the room. He’s curled up on his side, arms wrapped around his stomach. He twitches, a low groan falling from his lips.

His shirt’s soaked in vomit and his skin’s slick with sweat. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in days.

My brows furrow. Fucking loser. He looks one hit away from dead.

I turn back to the tray, shaking my head. Junkies like that end up on the streets with nothing and no one.

Pressing my finger against my nostril again, I lean down, but the thought slams back into me, loud and disturbing and impossible to ignore. It wedges itself into the hollow parts of my brain—the parts that used to be filled with something real. Memories. Meaning. Alley. Work. Family.

My hand falls to my side. That was me.

I whip back around, eyes locking on the guy again, heart pounding in my chest. Holy fucking shit. This was me two weeks ago. The night Alley left. Is this what she saw when I came home?

A cold wave of clarity knocks the breath from my lungs, and I lean against the dresser, needing something to hold me up. I close my eyes, scrubbing a hand over my face, like maybe the haunting image will disappear when I open them.

It doesn’t.

For the first time, it’s like I’m seeing myself through Alley’s eyes. And I hate what I see. I can’t take it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and freeze—the bill still in my hand. The line still waiting.

Swallowing, I look down at the coke, then back at the guy. I clench my fist, opening and closing it again.

Fuck. Is this who I’ve become?

Is this what she sees when she looks at me?

I drop the bill onto the tray, stepping back like it’s a loaded gun. Because it fucking is.

Sweat beads down my forehead, and I swipe at my brow, nausea rising, feeling sick as hell.

What the hell happened? I’m not this guy. No fucking way.

Do I really want to be the guy who lost his wife to drugs? Is that my story? My legacy?

My stomach knots, chills following.

I don’t want this. I don’t want to be this guy. I’m successful, smart, motivated—hell, I’m a good time. I’m the guy that Alley Evans fell in love with. She’d never fall for this guy on the floor. She left that fucking guy.

I’m so much better than that. So much better than this.

I back away from the line. My heart pounds in my head as I take one last look at the guy on the floor. I turn and walk toward the door, shaking my head as moans echo behind me.

I push through the crowd again, my shirt clinging to my skin, anxiety climbing.

I need to get the hell out of here. Fear grips my chest as I step into the elevator, exhaling slowly.

I’m not taking another hit. My mind’s made up.

But the second I think it, my hand slips into my pocket and wraps around the coke.

Just one more.

Fuck.

No.

I grip the coke, the sting of tears threatening. I can’t fucking do this. I need it. Just one more.

I clench my jaw so hard it aches. I’m stronger than this. I have to be. I press my back against the elevator wall and sink to the floor, forcing myself to think of one thing.

Alley.

I want her back. I have to get her back. I won’t lose her.

I can’t.

A few minutes later, I stumble outside and manage to get a cab.

It’s only ten minutes. Only ten more minutes, I repeat as I stare at the coke in my hands. I’m this close to pouring a line onto my jeans and sniffing it in the backseat.

We pull up to my building, and I practically roll out of the taxi.

Suddenly, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not strong enough. I can’t do this. I’m seven floors away from relief. As I approach my elevator I picture Alley again. But this time I picture her looking at me on the floor, covered in vomit, and I veer to the left—to the private elevator.

“Hey, Mikey,” I say, barely able to think straight. I’m a mess. My shirt’s drenched, and I know I look like hell. “Matt home?”

“He is...” He hesitates, like he’s deciding whether he can trust me or not—like Matt’s told him not to.

It stings.

“Is he expecting you?”

“Jesus. Come on, man. You know me. Just let me up.” My hand opens and closes again, and I can’t make eye contact. My head’s a buzzing mess.

He calls up to Matt instead. My patience is running thin, and I feel myself giving in. I don’t even hear what he says to Matt. I’m too focused on keeping my shit together—on not punching Mikey in the face.

Alley. Just think of her face. Think of her eyes when she looks at me.

Matt’s voice finally comes through, bringing me back. “Let him up.” I let his words pull me into the elevator. They wrap around me as I ascend with a flicker of hope. He hasn’t given up on me. Not completely. Not yet.

The doors open, and I lock eyes with Matt. His brows are raised, arms crossed, already bracing for whatever bullshit I’m about to dish out.

I step into the penthouse. “I want her back,” I say, my voice cracking like a fucking twelve-year-old boy. “Please… help me get her back.”

Matt stares me down as I drag a hand through my hair. “I need help. For real this time. I’m done. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “Are we just not going to talk about the last time you were here? When you fucking swung at me?”

“I didn’t mean it, man. You know I didn’t mean it. I lost her.” I fall back against the elevator doors, the sturdy steel barely holding me up. My head tips back as I take a shaky breath. “I lost her. I fucking lost my wife.” My eyes flutter closed, and a tear slides down my cheek.

I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling Matt’s gaze on me. Then his hands grip my shoulders, steadying me.

I open my eyes, vision blurred from emotion and fear.

He’s silent for too long, and panic strikes. I’m too late. He’s given up on me too. There’s no hope.

Then his face softens, and finally he says, “I’ll help you. Of course I’ll help you.”

I collapse, sliding to the floor. Sobs break out of me, and my body shakes as I crumble.

This is it.

Rock bottom.

I’m not sure what took me so long—to realize I lost her. To admit I’m no longer the kind of man she can love. But I can’t go on knowing that.

So I fix one image in my mind, and one image only.

My wife.

Alley.