Chapter 38
SWAYZE
“Jesus fuck, man, who goes on vacation and comes back looking like he’s just served time in Alcatraz?”
Beckett Fox, ladies and gentlemen.
Nothing gets by him.
Sure, my stubble is probably closer to a beard than a five o’clock shadow right now, but at least I bothered to show up to the fundraiser. That deserves a medal, not trash talk.
Axel slaps a hand on his shoulder, giving him his shut the fuck up look, before fixing me with a concerned gaze.
“You okay, man?”
I went from living the dream with my girl to crash landing in my own personal hell. I haven't slept. I haven’t eaten. And at this point I’m functioning on caffeine and high responsibility. The latter of which is dwindling fast because I quite frankly don’t give a fuck anymore.
So no, I’m not okay.
I’m so far from okay that the letters don’t even register in my alphabet.
“Sure.” I nod curtly, turning to scan the room, but I still feel the weight of his stare. Of course he doesn’t believe me.
Good ol’ Axel. He’s no stranger to heartbreak, so it tracks he’s noticed the bleeding hole where my heart used to be.
Spinning on my heel, I stride to the bar and order a double whiskey on the rocks. If I need to stand on that stage like a circus monkey for this fucking bachelor auction, I’m damn well gonna make sure I’m drunk doing it.
I drain the glass the second the barman sets it down in front of me before ordering another.
Axel comes up behind me just as I’m about to grab the refill and slides it to Beckett, who throws it back instead.
“Hey, that was mine, Axehole.”
“Clever, Wolfman. Very clever,” he responds dryly, arching a brow at me.
Beckett, on the other hand, roars with laughter.
“Axehole! That’s fucking brilliant. I’m texting Sparky, we need to make sure that’s in our rotation.
Can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before.
” He pulls out his phone, still chuckling while typing furiously.
Judging by the ping that came from Axel’s pocket, he texted our group chat, not that I would know.
My phone’s been switched off since I got on that plane.
“Sparky?” I look up at Axel quizzically.
“Lucas. Fox had the harebrained idea to upload the stupid videos he took of Lucas when they were helping me fix up the bakery to… TikTok? Think that’s what it’s called. Apparently, our boy was an instant hit.”
“Thirst trap, Wolfie. Baby Thor, aka ThorSpark is TikTok’s newest sensation. Check this out.”
He swipes to the app on his phone and a video of Lucas dancing shirtless in the half-renovated bakery lights up the screen and makes me laugh despite my shitty mood.
“Holy shit, it’s got a million views?” My jaw damn near hits the floor.
“In three days, my guy. Three days. If we play our cards right, our Viking might just make us rich. Well, if I can convince him to keep posting to his fucking channel, that is. Dipshit claims he’s too busy.”
Axel barks out a laugh just as the screech of the microphone alerts us to someone walking on stage.
Fuck no. Not the auction.
Mary tries to catch my eye from across the room, licking her lips like I’m a steak dinner she’s ready to devour and my dick shrivels up, ready to crawl off and die somewhere.
It’s the first time this week it's given me any indication that it’s still a fully functioning appendage so I guess I should be grateful for anything I can get… even the shrinkage.
Without Mia in our life, I don’t see it feeling anything but revulsion anytime soon.
I can’t believe how badly I’ve fucked everything up.
If I hadn’t pushed Mia too soon, she’d be here with me now. On my arm. Ready to bid for my virtue.
Now there’s not a snowball's chance in hell Mary isn’t winning.
Haven walks up to us, wrapping her arms around Axel's waist, and my heart pangs at the look of love passing between them.
They make it look so easy.
Sure it hasn’t always been the case for them, but look at them now.
Axel sinks his hand into her pink hair, tugging it back to devour her, not caring who’s watching.
If I’d kept my mouth shut, I could be doing the same with Mia, even if it was fake.
This is exactly what I shouldn’t be thinking about. I’ve spent the last few days driving myself insane, locked in a mental battle between convincing myself I did the right thing walking away and kicking my own ass for not just carrying on as we were.
Hell, I haven’t even been able to turn my phone on. I told the chief I broke it on vacation and have been using a temporary burner phone at work instead.
How’s that for fucked up? I can’t turn it on for two reasons.
Firstly, because I'm a total dumbass who set my favorite photo from the wedding—the one where she’s staring up at me like she loves me—as my phone background and I can’t bring myself to look at it, but I don’t wanna change it either.
It’s fucking stupid either way considering I see it every time I close my eyes.
But I also don’t want confirmation that she hasn’t tried to reach out to me.
Right now, I can stay in sweet denial.
If I don’t see her name on that screen when I turn it on, well, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I know it won’t be pretty, though.
Cheering pulls me out of my dark spiral and I look up, my eyes snagging on the MC pointing in my direction.
“And now, we welcome our very own Deputy Heartthrob on stage for your bidding pleasure. Lieutenant Swayze Wolff.”
Oh god.
My feet are glued to the spot, every muscle heavy, almost like I’m trapped in quicksand.
I don’t want to do this.
I can’t do this.
Beckett slaps me on the shoulder, mouthing words in slow motion. Or maybe that’s me?
He shakes his head and shoves me. I stumble forward a step then drag myself on autopilot toward the stage.
The cheers and whistles are louder now, but I keep my gaze fixed on the tiny black spot of the microphone until it’s in front of me.
“Lieutenant Wolff, just listen to your adoring fans out here tonight. I know you’re a popular one. What would you like to say to everyone?”
The MC nods at me expectantly. Surely it’s written all over my face that I don’t wanna be here. I’m not drunk enough for this shit. Damn Axel for taking my whiskey.
I glare at his stupid, fire captain ass before scanning the rest of the room.
“Uhh, hi.”
The MC stares at me expectantly, but I got nothing. I’m not about to stand here and drone on about how excited I am to help raise funds for the cause.
Quite frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck about that or anything else anymore. I just want to be left alone to lick my wounds on the world's worst pull-out mattress in my office.
Why is that so hard to grasp?
“Oookay, not a talker, huh? I’m sure you have plenty of other talents though, amiright?”
The room erupts in wolf whistles and laughter as he elbows me conspiratorially. It takes all my restraint not to punch the guy. I don’t know who this fucker is, but I hate him already.
“Okay, so describe your ideal date to the crowd. What can our lucky winner expect from the esteemed Deputy Heartthrob?” He winks at me and white-hot rage boils my blood.
“I. Don’t. Date.” My hands fist at my sides and I don’t miss Haven’s concerned glance, or the way Axel and Beckett take a step closer to the stage.
Wonderful.
Rock bottom looks real good on me.
“International man of mystery right here. Deputy Heartthrob doesn’t want to spill all his secrets, but if the rumors are to be believed, I’m sure he won’t disappoint. Let’s start the bidding at one hundred dollars.”
He grins at me and it’s a lesson in restraint that my fists stay at my sides. It’s probably not even his fault. I’m usually a lot more controlled and rational, but I used up every last shred of my control walking away from my girl and my heart. And right now, I frankly have zero fucks left to give.
A hand shoots up from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, drawing my attention.
“One fifty.”
“Three hundred,” Mary shouts from the corner.
Oh god, please, no.
A flash of white catches my eye from the back of the room, but when I look it’s gone.
I could have sworn…
No. A woman walks past the doors again in a white dress, but she’s no Mia.
Fan-fucking-tastic, now my mind’s playing tricks on me. Maybe laying off the whiskey was a good choice. My sanity is already hanging on by a thread.
“Four hundred,” another voice to the left of the room bids this time.
Jesus, I hope they like Wendy's. I have nothing else to offer them.
“Six hundred.” Mary strikes again.
God, if you’re real, I know I probably don’t deserve shit, but please do not let Mary win this auction. I’ll do anything.
“Seven hundred,” the same voice from the middle shouts again.
“One thousand dollars.” Mary’s shrill voice almost pierces my ear drum.
Fuck me, she’s not gonna let this go.
“Twelve hundred,” the woman in the center shouts back, clearly gearing up for a bidding war.
Why the hell do they want me? I’m no one special.
I’m no hero running into burning buildings like Axel.
I’m not a medic who saves people’s lives like Beckett.
Mia needs to Dr. Reality Check these crazies before they throw good money after bad.
My heart pangs again just thinking of her name.
God, I miss her. I’ve slept probably three hours max since I left her side.
Apparently, I can’t sleep without her body wrapped around mine like a little koala anymore. Who knew how quickly you could form a new habit? I sure as shit didn’t. If I had, I’d have stayed on that sofa.
The only way I’m gonna get some shut-eye now is to physically push myself to the point of exhaustion or pass out blind drunk.
Both feasible options for when I creep back into my office later tonight.
“Fifteen hundred,” Mary shouts, the chief now storming furiously towards her.
That’s right, rein her in, sir.
“Two thousand dollars,” the woman in the middle volleys back.
“Three thousand,” Mary retorts sharply. I’m sure the crowd is getting whiplash with the way their heads are swiveling between the two women.
“Three thousand five hundred dollars,” Middle fires back.