Chapter 16
VICTOR
“Someone torched your truck?” My boss, Alan Boone, stared at me, the beads of sweat on his bald head glistening beneath the fluorescent lights. I hated this tiny cabin he resided in; it stunk of fat-man sweat and cheese. Fuck knows why, but I suspected my boss as the source.
Grim.
“Yep.” I grimaced. “I’ve hired one for now, but my tools are fucked.”
“Jeez, Rossi, who did you piss off?” Alan boomed, filling the air with more cheesy breath.
Christ.
“Who knows,” I muttered, backing away so I was closer to fresh air.
“Well, were you insured for the tools?”
I nodded and Alan eased back in his chair. “Okay, no worries then. So why are you here?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole. “I need a few days off.”
“More?” Alan arched a bushy brow. “C’mon, Rossi. You need to get a grip. I can’t keep giving you time off to lick your wounds. Besides, the work will give you something to focus on.”
That fat fucking prick. I was sick of living at Enzo’s and drinking until I couldn’t see just to get through the day. I needed some time to sort myself out, get my finances in order—
“You can’t keep turning up smelling like a brewery either.” The absolute audacity of this man. He sat there telling me I stank when—
I took a deep breath; I needed my job.
“Sorry, boss.”
He nodded and stared back at the paperwork on his desk, a silent dismissal. I exited the cabin, inhaling plenty of fresh air, when Ryan, one of the younger workers, wrinkled his nose as he passed me.
“Fucking hell, Rossi. Are you drinking on site now?”
Ryan laughed as he continued walking, but I had to resist the urge to drive my fist into the back of his head. He must be what, thirty? What does he fucking know about your world falling apart at my age? Nothing. That was what.
“Fuck off, Henderson,” I muttered, and he chuckled.
“Hey, from what I heard, you did this to yourself.”
I wish I could’ve taken a breath or paused, anything other than what I did.
I punched the cheeky motherfucker in his smug face, revelling in the shock in his eyes and the hot blood that spurted from his nose.
Instantly, other men were shoving me away from him, men I’d worked with for years.
“What the fuck, man?” Lennie grunted, his hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. “Hey, Rossi.”
I was panting, ready for a fight. I wanted to kick the shit out of that kid for speaking to me like that.
“Why don’t you go home?” Mase suggested from the other side of me. “Chill the fuck out.”
I glanced at them both, my heart racing as Ryan jumped to his feet
“You stupid motherfucker! You’ll pay for that!” Ryan was the one being held back now.
“What’s going on?” a voice boomed from above us, and dread filled my gut.
Shit.
Alan.
“He just fucking punched me!” Ryan told him, jutting a finger at me. “He’s been drinking. He’s a fucking mess, boss.”
I saw myself through Alan’s eyes, a grown man being held back by his work colleagues, stinking of whiskey and punching people.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Get off the site, Rossi. Unpaid. I don’t want to see you back here until you’ve sorted yourself out.”
Rage filled my gut. Unpaid? I could do better than this anyway. I’d been working in construction all my life. I had experience. I needed an understanding boss. Not this shit.
I shook the men off me. “Fuck you. And fuck your job.”
“Alright, Rossi,” Alan said, shaking his head in disappointment.
What was it with everyone looking at me like that?
I flipped him the bird and stormed out, fury making me tremble.
This was all because of my fucking stupidity. I climbed into my hire car and slammed the door, spying the bottle of whiskey in the footwell.
Honestly? Fuck it at this point. I started the engine and began the drive back to Enzo’s, swigging from the bottle on the way. It numbed the pain, and the burn in my throat took my thoughts away from Lila.
I couldn’t think about Lila. I scrunched my eyes shut for a second, trying to block out the sight of her smile, the way she’d snuggled against me at night.
Why did I fuck that up?
And more importantly, what could I do to get her back?
I wasn’t signing the fucking divorce papers, that much was for sure.
The impact of my car hitting something was fucking shocking to say the least. The airbag blew up in my face; the whiskey bottle was knocked from my hand. The roar of twisted metal filled my ears, and the side of my head screamed in pain.
Someone was yelling.
Then I passed out.
When I came to, I was in the hospital with a pretty nurse staring down at me like I was the scum of the earth.
“Good, you’re awake,” she said crisply, handing me a cup of water. I went to take it, but my hand stopped in midair, a clanging sound alerting me to the handcuff on my wrist.
What the fuck?
My head throbbed, and my mouth was drier than the desert.
“What...” my voice sounded like a scratched record.
The nurse gave me a cool stare then explained, “You’re physically fine. I’ll get the officer that brought you in.”
Officer?
I stared at my wrist, at the cool metal holding me captive to the hospital bed.
Handcuffs.
Then I remembered.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Oh, fuck indeed,” said a cheerful voice as a cop stood at the end of my bed. “I’m Officer Merton, and you were involved in a crash with a parked car.”
I squinted at him. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. You are under arrest on suspicion of driving under the influence.”
Holy fuck. My entire body ached as I tried to sit up, but it was hard being cuffed to the bed.
“We would like to ask you for a blood test, sir.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the bed, shame burning my cheeks.
“Sure.” What was the point in arguing now? They’d have found the whiskey bottle, seen the state of me…
The officer nodded and disappeared before coming back in with the same nurse from earlier. She took a blood draw from my uncuffed arm, avoiding my gaze the entire time. She must think I was a fucking shambles of a man. A drunken criminal.
The officer stared out the window, humming to himself. His wedding band glinted smugly, reminding me that I’d truly fucked up. I stared down at my own, having decided not to take it off. Not now, not ever.
“We called your emergency contact,” the nurse told me, pressing a band-aid to my skin.
“My wife?” My stomach dropped. “She knows?”
“She knows you’re here, yes. All done.” The nurse turned to the officer. “I’ll just get his discharge papers.”
The officer nodded, then gazed at me. “Your wife is gonna be so pissed, huh?”
I rested back on the bed, wishing it could absorb me into it and relieve me of this shit.
“You have no idea.”