by Gwyn McNamee
The silence is deafening and makes me feel about a thousand percent guiltier than if he had just come out raging. When he’s dressed, he turns to me and raises his eyebrows. “Are you getting out of bed? We have to be at work in half an hour.”
We have to be at work?
He can’t seriously still want to drive into work together after what just happened? Can he?
His dark eyes search mine, waiting for my response.
“Uh, yeah, I just need a quick shower, and then I’ll be ready to go. Give me five.” I climb from bed and brush past him on my way to the bathroom.
Well, this is hella awkward.
And I thought things with Gabe were uncomfortable. This gives “uncomfortable” a whole new definition.
It feels like I got hit by an RPG again. The ringing in my ears, ache in every damn joint in my body, and the hammering pain in my head only compare to the time the caravan I was in was attacked in Iraq, and I was thrown from the turret when the Stryker flipped.
I clench my eyes closed against the offending morning light and groan.
My throat is on fire, and the tell-tale taste of nicotine in my mouth and smell of smoke clinging to my hair and skin alert me that I fell off the wagon again. Another six months smokes-free out the fucking window.
Fuck. What happened last night?
After leaving the Hawkes’, I went to one of my favorite clubs to try to find someone to help me forget the Skye drama. I vividly remember the images of Skye in that bathing suit flitting through my head on the ride to the club in the cab.
There’s a foggy memory of a bottle of Maker’s Mark, but after that, nada. I’m afraid to even check the bed for who’s next to me. Did I come home with someone last night?
I take a deep breath and a quick glance to my left assures me I’m safe.
The space next to me is empty, and the sheets are cold when I reach out and lay my hand on them.
Thank God.
I can’t deal with another incident like yesterday morning—not when I feel like this.
A terrible squawking beep comes from my nightstand, and I scramble for my phone. It’s only 6:00 a.m. Savage and I usually don’t go to the gym until seven on Mondays.
Why the hell did I set an early alarm?
I turn it off and open my texts, searching for answers about last night. The last message is from Savage telling me he wants to get started early today.
Asshole. That explains the alarm.
My eyes move down to the next text conversation, and my breath stalls in my chest.
Shit.
Skye’s name is there in black and white. I don’t read what I can see of the message. I don’t even want to open it. Who the fuck knows what I may have said in the state I was in last night. If I don’t open it, I can ignore it. That’s the adult thing to do—ignore it, and it’s like it never happened.
A shower sounds like a much better idea than dealing with whatever reality lies in those messages. My pores seem to be seeping a nauseating stale booze smell to mix with the smoke, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to concentrate on my workout smelling like this.
I set my phone on the nightstand, and it vibrates.
Fuck. It’s Savage.
> Meet me in the hall in five. <
No shower. Fabulous.
I stare at the screen.
Just get it over with.
Skye’s name practically burns under my fingertip as I click on our exchange.
It’s worse than I thought.
I sent the first message, initiating whatever clusterfuck this surely was.
< Can’t stop thinking about you >
Seriously, fuck me!
Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to text her and tell her that? I must have been a full bottle in. A vague, hazy memory of a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl at the club hovers in the corner my mind. I push my free hand back through my hair and groan. I probably saw her and it sent me down the road to Idioticbehaviorville.
Skye’s response breaks my fucking heart and makes me feel like even more of an asshole than I already do.
> That’s not fair. <
She’s right; it’s not fair. I have no business telling her I’m thinking about her, or texting her in the middle of the night, or doing anything to her.
At least it doesn’t appear I elaborated and explained how I think about her with my cock in my hand. How I did exactly that right before I saw her yesterday.
And it’s all because of that fucking night. If I hadn’t let her kiss me, I could have remained blissfully ignorant of how sweet she tastes, and how soft her lips are…
I should have asked Storm to help me with Skye that night. We never would have been in that situation. I never would have been tempted. I wouldn’t be thinking about her practically every waking moment. And I wouldn’t be doing asshole, unfair shit like this to her.
All she did was point out the truth of what I’m doing to her and, rather than apologize, I only reiterated my position.
< It’s true. >
Safe enough response, I suppose.
Given the situation, and my apparent level of intoxication last night, it could have been much worse.
Her final text burns my eyes and brings back that unfamiliar pang I felt yesterday, knowing she left with another man. That feeling I have absolutely no business having.
< You rejected me, left me alone when I needed you, but I’m not alone pining for you anymore. >
As if her words weren’t enough…
This fucking picture. Shoot me in the fucking heart why don’t you…
Her…
In bed…
With someone else…
His sleeping silhouette…
Her smirking face…
And her middle finger.
It’s not like I don’t deserve it, but that doesn’t make the sting any more bearable.
Climbing out of bed is agonizing, and I clamp my eyes shut to prevent my stomach from ejecting what’s left of the booze.
Did I even eat, or did I just enjoy a liquid diet last night?
When I make it to the bathroom, I have my answer staring back at me in the mirror.
Fuck. I look like death warmed over.
Another scan of my phone reminds me I don’t have time to shower before Savage will be waiting in the hall. A quick brushing of my teeth and change into workout clothes is all I manage before I open the door and find him already there.
“Jesus, Gabe, you look like fucking hell. What happened last night?”
I sent a text to your baby sister basically telling her I want to bone her.
“Uh, nothing. The usual.”
He doesn’t appear convinced, but he doesn’t push it, either. A year ago, he never would have let this slide. He would have been down my throat and up my ass about drinking enough to be this big of a mess. Not to mention he would whoop my ass for giving in and smoking again, which I’m sure he can smell all over me and hear in my voice.
But he also knows that after everything we went through last year, he needs to back off me. He has no idea how much killing Abello’s men affected me, but he suspects it, and has gratefully been focusing all his attentions and worry on Dani instead of me.
I’m thankful for the reprieve, although I do feel for Dani…having to be the focus of all Savage’s worry and dominance. Thankfully, she’s one fucking tough woman and probably the only person on this planet who can truly handle him.
“Well, are you still good to go, or are you going to puss out on me?”
God, I wish I could puss out, but what I really need, and deserve right now, is an ass-kicking.
I never stood a chance of getting into work with Lucas without being seen.
What was I thinking, agreeing to ride in with him, especially after this morning?
That was the most awkward car ride I’ve had in my entire life.
Silence.
The entire fucking drive was made in utter, complete silence. Th
e only sound breaking it was the droning of the local radio news anchor.
Our walk to the elevator that would take us up into the building from the underground employee parking structure was the same…silence.
When we reached the elevator bay and waited for the doors to open…silence.
Now, standing in the elevator on the way to our respective floors, surrounded by curious coworkers…silence.
The tension in the elevator car is only rivaled by the tension in the air outside.
August is always like this in New Orleans. The atmosphere is heavy with the continual threat of rain and thunderstorms. We’re going to get wet today.
The weatherman on the radio this morning also said a tropical depression had formed near Puerto Rico overnight. After Katrina, the constant danger from developing weather systems in the Atlantic keeps everyone on alert. No one wants a repeat, and we’d rather be over prepared.
This one better dissipate before it gets anywhere near us, I don’t have the energy to deal with a hurricane right now.
The ding sounds, alerting us we’ve reached the main floor, which is also Lucas’ stop.
I don’t know whether to say something to him or not, especially because there are other people in the car.
Shit, I might just make it worse.
A brief glance over at him tells me nothing. He’s still wearing a mask of indifference. The doors slide open and several people exit. Lucas steps forward and follows them out without a look back or a word.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Way to royally fuck up a good thing, Skye.
The doors slide closed, and I ride up to the second floor where I step off and make my way over the skywalk to the building that houses the physician offices in the hospital complex. I use my keycard to slip in the back door to the practice offices. Sometimes, I miss working in the main hospital. It was always more exciting to be in the center of the action when I worked in the ER, but working in a family medicine private practice gives me a much better schedule and more flexibility.
The employee break room is deserted this early. I’m almost always the first one in. Dumping my bag and jacket in my locker, I almost forget to grab my cell from my purse. I haven’t even had time to check my messages. That car ride was uncomfortable enough without me blatantly ignoring him by burying my face in my phone. Instead, I stared out the window at the city passing us by and wondered what was going on in his head.
How did I let things get so messed up? Star would know what to do, what to say, how to fix this. If it even can be fixed. How the hell will Lucas ever forgive me for what I did? How the hell do I get Gabe out of my heart and fucking head?
I really need you right now, Star. Tell me what to do.
As always, the fact that she isn’t here hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I have to drop down into a chair when the stabbing pain invades my heart. If I let the tears start, they won’t stop, and I’ll be utterly useless during my shift.
So, instead of dwelling on my missing other half, I open my messages…and my day goes from bad to worse.
The picture sends a pretty direct message even if I hadn’t typed the words right above it.
What the hell was I thinking?
I sent that to him?
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Why?
After months and months, why would I suddenly send him something like that?
I scroll up to his messages and get the answer.
Motherfucker!
Where does Gabe get off sending me a message saying he can’t stop thinking about me?
He crushes my soul, avoids me for months, lectures me about my relationship with my mother, and then sends me this?
Is he just fucking with me? Or is it true?
I guess it explains why I said his name at such a disastrous time. He got in my head last night with this bullshit. The fiasco with Lucas is all his fault.
Jamming my phone into my pocket, I head out to the reception area and check the patient schedule for today. It’s not too bad. Between me and the two doctors I work for, we can see a significant amount of patients every day, but the receptionists know not to put too many on. One thing you don’t want to deal with is a cranky, overworked doctor.
Or a cranky, overworked me.
Cranky, overworked, and pissed the hell off.
Gabe didn’t respond to the picture. Maybe he didn’t see it?
Yeah, right, Skye, and maybe pigs will fly out of your ass.
None of this would have happened if Star had been at the wedding. I never would have been falling into the abyss. It never would have caused me to act on my feelings for Gabe. I knew it would only fuck things up. Throwing myself at him like that…
God!
He’s Savage’s best friend and practically grew up as my brother. How fucked up is that?
I jump when someone claps me on the shoulder. “Shit, Mackenzie, I didn’t hear you come in.”
She chuckles and brushes past me to take her seat at the reception desk. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You may need a defibrillator to get my heart going again.”
“Handy we have one of those, then.” She grins before turning to her computer. “Things look relatively light today.”
I sigh. “Thank God for that.” Usually, Mondays are a pain in the fucking ass.
“Are you all right? You look a little upset.”
Upset doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Forcing a smile I don’t feel, I stand and make my way around her. “I’m fine, just tired and not looking forward to the shift.”
She purses her lips, and I doubt my acting abilities were Oscar-worthy, but she lets it slide. I slip away before she can question me any further. Maybe reviewing patient charts will take my mind off the clusterfuck I’ve created.
Then again, maybe not.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’ve managed to only review the conversation with Gabe twice. And I only cursed my own stupidity twenty times, so it feels like a win.
I grab a salad from the buffet line, lustfully eyeing the French fries and grilled cheese I really want.
Fucking diet.
Who would have thought losing Star would actually make me gain weight? I’m apparently one of those people who drown their sorrows in booze and food, because I’ve gained at least fifteen pounds since the accident.
I drop my tray on the nearest open table and dig in to my less-than-satisfactory lunch.
My skin prickles when he walks in, almost as if I can feel the disdain in his glare. I peek up and briefly make eye contact before Lucas beelines for the food line, not bothering to glance back in my direction.
Shit. I really fucked this up.
The decision of whether or not to try to talk to him is removed from my control when he turns toward me, locks eyes with me, and proceeds to walk straight past me to a table against the back wall.
I guess that answers that question.
I didn’t realize we were in middle school and were playing the “you can’t sit with me” game.
My salad has become even less appetizing than it was before. I dump it in the trash and leave the cafeteria as fast as my legs can carry me.
There’s no way this is going to end well.
Gabe’s name slipping from my lips may well have been the deathblow to me and Lucas. I’m going to need a drink, or ten, after work tonight.
On my walk back to the office, I pull out my phone and call the first person who comes to mind.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey Storm, any chance you can pick your baby sister up from work around 7:00 and take her for a drink tonight?”
She lets out a sigh and then laughs. “I should be annoyed at having to drive all the way over there to get you, but I really need a drink, too. I’ll tell Ben to pick up Angelina from daycare and I’ll come get you. We need to go to the club though, I need Savage and Gabe to sign off on some plans and can kill two birds with one stone.”
>
Fuck.
The last place I want to go right now is the club. Especially if Gabe is going to be there. But if I decline, Storm will ask why, and there’s no way she needs to know about my morning slip or the ongoing saga of my unrequited love for Savage’s best friend.
“All right, sounds good. I’ll see you around seven.”
Maybe I can avoid him at the club tonight. If I’m lucky, he’ll be up in his office and won’t even come down to the bar area.
Yeah, right, who am I kidding? I’ve never been lucky.
Renee—stage name Scarlett—bends over in front of a patron in one of the chairs lining the stage and smiles at him from between her legs. He leans forward and slips a twenty into her G-string before she snaps up and makes her way back to the pole. “Cherry Pie” blasts over the speakers as Scarlett swirls around the pole in time with the music.
Beautiful, mostly-naked women surround me all day long, but none of them do a single thing for me. The only one who does is the one I can’t have. All I have is a long line of mindless fucks who drain my dick but not my desire for her.
Fuck my life. For real.
I lean back against the counter that runs along the wall behind the bar and watch Scarlett finish her dance to rousing applause from the crowd. There are quite a few people here for 7:30.
Normally, I would be out of here on a night like this—Mondays generally don’t get too busy, and I doubt the crowd will grow much—but Storm called and asked Savage and me to stay to review some final plans for yet another of our expansion projects.
I’m really starting to regret our decision to push development of multiple new locations all at once. We opened the second club and a restaurant less than a year ago, and now we are already neck-deep in development of a third club location and another restaurant. Not only do we need to supervise the construction of two separate buildings, but we have to hire staff and find suppliers for each location. We were lucky to find great managers for the second club and the restaurant, but the more locations we open and people we hire, the less control we have. Plus, Savage is pushing for a fourth club on Bourbon Street, which is utterly insane.