Chapter 34 #2
Ironically though, when I reach the entrance to a local bar, I don’t hesitate to enter, ordering a Heineken at the bar table.
The beer burns my throat as I chug half the bottle down.
Did Mom cheat on Dad because he wasn’t good enough for her?
Fuck. The reason doesn’t matter. Mom was a cheater. That’s all.
And Andrew—how can he even face me at work and act as though everything were normal? He deserves a fucking Oscar for his performance.
“Never thought I’d see Jackson Carter day drinking.”
I immediately recognize the obnoxious voice of the person who’s sliding into the seat next to me and don’t bother looking at him. “Fuck off, Oliver.”
“What happened to you?” he prods. “You don’t look good.”
I take another swig of my beer, ignoring him. Aside from my mom and Andrew, he’s the last person I want to see right now.
“Did Isabelle finally dump you?”
Something in my stomach drops, and my beer freezes midair. That thought scares me more than anything.
“Isabelle and I are going strong,” I say. “Stop trying to stir shit.”
Oliver snickers. “If she sees you like this, maybe she’ll think twice.”
I finally jerk my head around to face him. “What the fuck is your problem, Morrison?” I say through clenched teeth.
“You,” Oliver hisses. “You had everything. You were student council president, speech and debate captain, captain of everything. Always top of the class, all the teachers loved you, everyone wanted to be your friend. Even Isabelle would talk about you, when she was my girlfriend.”
I stare at him in disbelief before a humorless laugh drips from my mouth. “You’re pathetic, Oliver.”
Oliver sneers, “No, you’re the pathetic one. You don’t know what it’s like to go out and chase your dreams because you had everything handed to you on a silver platter. You’d be nothing without your dad.”
Something akin to a heavy rock settles in the center of my chest. This time, I have nothing to say to him because he’s right.
A smirk pulls Oliver’s lips as he stands. “Maybe I don’t deserve Isabelle, but you sure don’t either.”
My body freezes. That possibility scares me more than anything. What if he’s right?
I reach for my beer again when Oliver leaves, my heart pounding.
Soon, one drink turns into two, then three. I’m not sure how much time passes. Maybe half an hour. Maybe an hour or five. Or maybe I’ve been sitting here my whole life.
“He’s over there!”
I turn around at the familiar voice, making out a murky image of Aaron and Isabelle racing toward me. Or maybe I’m only hallucinating.
“Oh my God, Jackson,” Isabelle breathes, standing beside me.
“Baby?” I slur. “Is that really you?”
She cups my face, and I lean into the warmth of her palm.
“It’s me,” she says, her voice sounding strained. “I’m here.”
“Let’s get you home,” Aaron adds. “Can you walk?”
Letting out a grunt, I stand and take a few unsteady steps ahead.
Aaron slings an arm around me, helping me with my balance. “Take it easy.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “Did I miss anything important at work?”
Aaron hesitates. “We lost the client deal with Williams Industries this afternoon.”
Shit. My rescheduled meeting with Peter. This is my fault.
“But it’s okay,” Aaron quickly adds, exchanging a look with Isabelle. “I mean, after what happened.”
My stomach does a turn. I can’t tell whether it’s from the drinks or what I’m hearing now. Aaron and Isabelle probably know now—about me being Andrew’s son. I wonder if they think any differently of me.
Isabelle’s eyes are soft as they meet mine. “We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just go home.”
Not trusting myself to speak, I nod.
I don’t protest as Aaron and Isabelle help me outside the bar and inside a cab. The journey home is quiet, with Aaron making small talk with the cab driver every now and then. Isabelle is also silent as she laces her fingers with mine.
“I’ll take over from here,” Isabelle says to Aaron once we arrive at my apartment. “Thanks, Aaron.”
“No problem.” Aaron takes out a cell phone from his pocket. “You left your phone inside your office. Sorry for all the spam messages and phone calls. I’ll hand it to Isabelle for now.” He gives my phone to Isabelle and turns to me. “Rest up, man. We’re all here for you.”
“Thanks,” I say.
After Aaron heads off, Isabelle leads me to my bedroom. I kick off my shoes and don’t resist her help when she takes off my tie and suit jacket.
My mouth feels dry as I lie down on my bed, closing my eyes and placing a hand on my forehead. I can’t remember the last time I got drunk like this before.
Isabelle places my phone on the nightstand. “I’m going to get you some water,” she says, giving me a weak smile.
She exits the room, and I hesitate before rolling over to check my phone, curiosity getting the better of me.
Fifty missed notifications.
The majority are missed calls and texts from Aaron, Isabelle, and my mom, but there’s also a message from the florist, informing me the bouquet I ordered was ready for pickup.
I drop my phone on the nightstand.
Fuck.
Our one-month anniversary.
I was supposed to grab the flowers, pick Isabelle up for our dinner date, and then reveal my surprise about Disneyland to her. Instead, I forgot about all those things because I was too busy drowning my sorrows in alcohol.
Not only was I a terrible son, but I’m also a horrible boyfriend.
Footsteps resound as Isabelle returns, handing a glass of water to me. I chug the water down before placing the glass on the nightstand.
“I’m so sorry,” I rasp. “Today was our one-month anniversary, and I ruined everything. I—”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” Isabelle firmly says. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I got so scared when you didn’t answer my calls, and Aaron said he had no idea where you were either.”
My stomach twists. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”
“Stop apologizing, Jackson.” Isabelle stares into my eyes, her gaze steady and unwavering. “I’m here for you. Tell me if there’s anything else I can do.”
“Stay with me,” I murmur. “Don’t go.”
Her face softens. “Of course.”
Two simple words, but they mean everything to me.
Isabelle slips off her shoes and crawls into the bed with me. Too tired to talk, I wrap my arms around her, inhaling her floral and fruity scent as my fingers brush her long hair.
“Happy one month,” she eventually says. “I know the timing isn’t ideal, but I still wanted to say it. It’s been the month of my life being your girlfriend, and I truly mean it.”
“Me too,” I say, voice hoarse.
She’s an angel. My angel.
Even when I feel like I’ve lost myself, she’s like a single star in the night sky, shining brightly, beautifully.
I just hate that she’s seeing me like this.