Pretty Ugly (Addicted Hearts Book 2)

by Jane Anthony

  To my wife, Diana, I forgive you. I wasn’t an easy man to live with; I know that. I pushed you into the arms of those men. It wasn’t totally your fault, and it wasn’t TJ’s fault, but I took it out on both of you just the same. I’m a man who gets what he wants no matter the cost, but this time, the price was far more than I could afford. I forced you both away, and for that, I’m sorry.

  TJ. I’m afraid I have nothing more to give you. My anger clouded my judgment and Iet you walk away without knowing the truth. I couldn’t stand to stare at the proof of your mother’s infidelity anymore. Not when I was so close to having everything, and all your presence did was threaten to take it away. But as I lay here dying, there’s no point in worrying about the past, and if you’ve come this far, you may as well go all the way. Find a man named Jim Waterston. Maybe after you meet him, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive an old man for his indiscretions.

  The muffled voice of the conductor rumbles overhead. “Next stop, Queen's Park Station!” The train lets out a godawful squeal as it sputters to a stop. One set of doors opens to let us off while on the opposite side, another set of doors opens to let new people on. The rat race continues, but I’m only going through the motions. My head’s lost in my father’s words, the cracks in my tender heart deepening the more I ponder them.

  The proof of my mother’s infidelity.

  He wasn’t my father.

  A blast of cold and brilliant sun smacks me in the face as I reach the sidewalk. A strange dichotomy that represents the whirlwind of feelings twisting inside me. A treacherous tightrope that has me dangling over reality at a frightening height.

  He doesn’t even feel sorry. He dropped this ball of shit in my lap, and now I’m left holding the stinking bag. The lies are starting to pile up like bodies. I’m the last man standing, forced to carry out the dying wish of a man who couldn’t even muster a vague apology in his deathbed demands. There’s no point in worrying about the past. Well, fuck it. I won’t.

  Through bleeding eyes, I watch the countdown on the corner at the crosswalk and head west until I’ve reached my destination. Jackson Adler, in his too-short pants and too-white teeth, waits in the lobby. He offers a grin, but I’m too fucked up to smile. “Let’s get this over with,” I tell him, blowing past him down the hallway to the morgue to see what’s left of Tanner Chase Senior. The man whose name I never asked for.

  Jackson’s shiny shoes tap out a rhythm on the linoleum floor as he speed walks ahead and opens the door. “Hi. Jackson Adler. We have an appointment.”

  A woman in long white coat gives a curt nod and turns toward the rows of silver squares to the one marked 714. That’s all he is now. A number. A frozen slab stored in a refrigerated vault. A piece of meat waiting to be laid to rest.

  Cold fog billows out of the little door when she pulls it open with a sickening suction sound. She grabs the handle and pulls out the body tray that holds the body of the man I called my father. “I’ll give you a minute,” she says, her voice somber and deep. I imagine she sees a lot of cases like this. People drowning in grief, saying goodbye to their loved ones one last time. I don’t need her false sympathy. I don’t need anything.

  I approach the tray, my heart thumping so hard I feel it in my brain. Blue plastic skin hangs off his face, his gray hair long and mussed. When I last saw him, it was still dark and trimmed neatly around his ears. When I was a kid, he seemed so big, so important. This person is none of those things. The man in front of me now is a stranger I hardly recognize. “Bet you imagined this scenario the other way around, huh, Pops?” I tell him, licking my dry lips. “Look at that. I outlived you, after all. But you got the last laugh, didn’t you?” Raising my arm, I grasp the book in my fist and hover it over him. I feel my restraint begin to unravel at a terrifying pace, but I’m powerless to stop it. I dreamed about what I would say had I ever gotten the chance to be face to face with him again. But in all those silly fantasies, he was alive, hearing my words. It’s not fucking fair. This isn’t the victory I imagined. This feels more like torture. A fucking game where I’m the loser, and he’s the winner. The story of my life as a whole. “Well, newsflash, old man. I never wanted your fucking name to begin with! I’m glad I’m not your son! You don’t deserve to see how well I’ve turned out! You don’t deserve to know that I have a life and someone who loves me the way you never have! Fuck you!” The table shakes as I kick the edge with my checkered style Van. “I hope you died slow, you motherfucker!”

  Arms lock around me from behind, dragging me from the scene as I continue to flail and curse even out in the hallway. “That went well,” Jackson chides, opening his arms. I fall to the floor, overwhelmed by the shot of emotions raging through my body. With the aggression beginning to wane, they all come out, pouring down my face in tears I swore I wouldn't let fall.

  “Fuck him.” I look up at Jackson, swiping my sweatshirt covered forearm over my face. The halo of hard fluorescent light beams around his yellow hair, all angelic and creepy. As if he’s the one who’s come to steal the last of my soul. “Cremate him. Sell the plots. I want nothing to do with any of this.”

  With that said, I peel myself off the floor and walk away from Mount Sinai, Jackson Adler, and Tanner Chase Senior forever. I should have thought better of my actions. If only I knew of a way to control my anger instead of letting it get the best of me the way it did. But the choices we make while under duress are the ones we regret the most. My choice brought me home. To the place I lost Desiree. The place I lost myself. The den every poor dopehead knows as the House of the Rising Sun.

  Chapter 11

  Kat

  Hey, it’s Chase. Leave a message.

  I disconnect the call with a pout, angry with myself for missing him this morning. I only got to talk to him briefly last night, forgetting about the three-hour time difference. He was half asleep when I called, so he didn’t say much. Hearing his voice just makes me feel better. His deep, smooth baritone crooning in my ear as he says he loves me is all I ever really need.

  Opening my messages, I tap out a quick text.

  Hoped to reach you. Sorry I missed you earlier. Phone sex tonight?

  Giggling, I hit send, picturing his crooked smile as he reads my text, his lids all droopy and hot. Warmth rushes to my lower half. I lift his pillow and hug it to my chest, inhaling the clean, masculine scent that clings to the case. He smells good even when he isn’t trying. It’s like his body’s natural pheromones or something. They call to me, throwing all my hormones into a tizzy.

  RuPaul and his merry band of drag superstars prance around on the television as I settle deeper into the mattress. It calls to mind an old life. The version of me at my worst, yet still one of the best times of my life. Chase and I watching Devin play Hedwig, dancing at the club, and the way he took care of me the next morning as I hung my aching head in shame. We were written in the stars way back when and destined to find each other. He sewed up the seams in my heart with tattooed fingers and never let go.

  One minute, I’m gearing up to sashay and chantey, the next I’m ripped from my sleep by the sound of Aphrodite whimpering at the door. My heavy lids blink as my gaze slides over to the digital clock on the cable box. 4:03. A jolt of sadness hits my stomach as I lift my phone to see if Chase called and I missed it. Another burst of heartache blooms in my chest when I realize he didn’t.

  “Okay, Aphro. Chill the fuck out.”

  Begrudgingly, I throw back the covers and slip out of bed, wrapping myself in Chase’s fleece before opening the door. The fresh fragrance of cotton and Cool Water surrounding me hurts my heart. He didn’t call, didn’t text. What if something happened? I’m sure Athena would have called me. What’s the deal?

  Aphro bolts down the hall, her little feet slipping on the hardwood as she cuts a sharp turn to the right. I work my arms through the sleeves and reach in into the pocket to find my smokes. My fingers curl around the white and gold box. I pull it out and slip the filter between my lips as I y
ank open the back door.

  With my phone nestled snug in my armpit, I light the tip, watching the orange glow highlight the darkness around me. Those months we spent apart were the loneliest of my life. I’d sit by my window, watching the world turn with a stagnant stare wondering what he was doing. If he was happy, if he’d moved on. The desolate feeling was a vacant hole in my chest. I’d gotten everything I ever wanted, but without him, it was nothing.

  My whole life without him was nothing. A black hole threatening to swallow everything I’d worked for. But when he came to California to find me, I felt born again. I know how crazy I sound. Putting this much pressure on a singular person is intense, but I can’t help it. He’s everything—everything—and I can’t stand knowing he’s out there doing God knows what without me. I’m not strong enough to handle it.

  Without another thought, I whip out my phone and dial. My stomach hardens, my breaths coming coarser, faster. I just need to hear his voice. Need the reassurance that everything’s okay and he’s coming home to me soon.

  Hey, it’s Chase. Leave a message.

  “Uh, hey, baby. If you get this message, please call me. I love you.” I suck my cigarette down to the filter and flick it into the yard before whistling for the dogs to come inside. Light from the TV still flickers in my bedroom, creating a creepy gray hue hovering over my bed. That same sense of emptiness from long ago twists in my gut. Something’s wrong. I feel it like a sixth sense. We’re connected that way. Two halves of one whole.

  I’m still curled under the covers as the sun blazes through the windows. Sleep eluded me. I spent the night with Billy Mays and Jillian Michaels. I learned everything there was to know about Flex Tape and the TreadClimber, but I still didn’t know where my fiancé was hiding.

  With a heavy heart, I push myself up and dial Athena. “Geia sou, Kitty! What’s up?”

  “Did Chase come back to the house last night?” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I try my best to hold back the burning sting clawing up my esophagus as I wait for her answer.

  The creak of an opening door groans through the phone. “Bed’s still made. Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.” My fingers find the ends of my hair and twist it up in circles. “Have you heard from him at all?”

  “Do you think maybe he met up with some old friends while he’s in town? Maybe he ended up spending the night in the city or something.”

  “The only friends were me and grandma, Thene!”

  “Don’t freak out, okay? Relax. He has a lot on his plate right now. I’m sure you’ll hear from him today.”

  “Yeah,” I respond although I’m not convinced. “If you hear from him, please have him call me, okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Thanks, Thene. S'agapó.”

  “S'agapó, Kitty Kat. Let me know if you hear from him.”

  Athena’s ever-present optimism doesn’t appease me. In fact, it only serves to further exacerbate the unease that continues to stew. It’s been twenty-four hours. Little did I know, this would be day one of a shit storm I’d yet to see coming.

  Chapter 12

  Day two . . .

  Hey, it’s Chase. Leave a message.

  Chapter 13

  Day three . . .

  Hey, it’s Chase. Leave a message.

  Chapter 14

  Day four . . .

  Hey, it’s Chase. Leave a message.

  Chapter 15

  Kat

  “Hi. I’m Kat, and I’m an alcoholic. I have two years sober, but that’s not a number I’m concerned with anymore. You see, my fiancé left to take care of some family business in New York. So now, I’m back to counting the days. Five. It’s been five days since I’ve heard from him, and I don’t know where else to turn.”

  A sad round of pathetic gasps ripples through the small crowd. Standing at the podium, I feel as though my shaking legs are going to give out at any second. I push back a lock of greasy hair and tuck it behind my ear as I try like hell to wet my shriveled lips. Ironic that my mouth is a desert while my eyes are a rainforest. Two body parts so close that never seem to want to work together.

  “Many of you have heard me speak of Chase before. Hell, a bunch of you already know him. But what you might not know is that he’s the reason I’m sober. My rock-bottom moment ends with him waiting for me to wake up in the hospital after a failed suicide attempt. He’s always been there for me when I needed him most.” The tears that were hanging off the edge of my lids spill over onto my cheeks in an untamed rush of emotion I’m no longer able to control. “And I need him now more than anything, but he’s not here. I can’t find him, and I don’t know if he’s lost or hurt or dead or what, and it’s killing me inside in tiny bits.”

  I pause, running a tissue over my nose. I’ve filed a missing person’s report in both New York and New Jersey with no results from either. I’m told there’s nothing to do but wait at this point, but the waiting is making me lose my mind. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe. “Not sure what I expected from unloading all my shit onto you. I guess I thought throwing it out into the universe would somehow bring him back, but I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

  A swarm of people buzzes around me like honey bees in a hive. They all work together, doling out pithy words of remorse and hope, but none of it helps. That’s the biggest problem with support groups. You tell them your problems, and they’ll rally around to support you by force, if necessary.

  Everyone’s worried I’ll run right back to the bottle. It’s the underlying theme of my life. Being sad is the devil’s playground. It’s not allowed. I’m expected to be a ray of fucking sunshine every damn day for fear that I’ll wash my life away with booze if I’m not. It fucking sucks.

  Erik’s squad car purrs in the parking lot. I twist my hair in a ponytail, shuffling over and slipping into the passenger seat. “Who called you?”

  “Sandy.” The dispatcher's voice crackles through the cab. Erik touches the knob, filling the car with silence. “We’re all worried about you.”

  My head whips around until I’m facing him directly. “I’m worried about me!” I wail, letting the tears land where they may. Two days ago, in a fit of panic, I placed a call to Berghammer and Stein. The lawyer who met with Chase said he was “visibly upset” when he left. Visibly. What the fuck does that even mean?

  “C’mon. Let’s grab some food.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “When’s the last time you ate anything?”

  “I don’t feel good, okay?” I snap. Erik sits in the unmoving car, staring ahead. Bitch is usually my default setting, but that seems to have turned up a notch. I reel it back. “My stomach’s queasy,” I add, the apology evident in my voice. Erik’s my friend. He cares about me. I shouldn’t be taking it out on him.

  “Well, then you can watch me eat,” he says, pulling away from the curb. We drive in uncomfortable silence until the car comes to a stop near a burger joint. A jolly clown smiles down at me from high above. The circus-themed restaurant is one of my favorites, a little secret I’ve never told Chase. It’s bad. I swear they put some kind of crack in their chicken that makes you crave it day and night. I’ve never even mentioned it to Lainie, squirreling my food in private like a chicken fiend. Only Erik knows my fast food shame.

  I roll my eyes as he swerves into the drive-thru. “Gimme a number six with fries and a grilled chicken wrap with apple slices, no mayonnaise.”

  “I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Then let it sit there.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare out the window as Erik rests the grease-laden bags on the console between us. The smell of deep-fried potato and beef wafts through the space, turning my stomach. Even the spice on my beloved chicken turns my gut to mush. “Pull over!” I clamp my hand over my mouth, the sudden bout of nausea hitting me hard as he cuts the wheel to the right.

 
; I’m out of the car before it’s even come to a full stop. The only thing inside me right now is bile, but it all flies out, splattering the grass between my palms. Crying and yacking as I dig my nails into the earth. My body heaves, the awful sound echoing in the wind as I continue to retch with nothing left.

  “I told you I didn’t feel well, you dick!” I wail as Erik rests his hand on my hunched over back.

  “I made a few calls back east.” I sit up on my haunches, taking the clown-faced napkins from Erik’s pinched fingers. “A few guys on the squad owed me a favor or two. I was going to wait until I had some solid evidence to tell you, but there’s nothing. Kat, I know you don’t want to hear this, but he hasn’t made any calls. He hasn’t used his credit cards. There’s no trail of him.”

  “Don’t,” I warn, my eyes staring straight through him. “He’s out there.”

  “If he is, they’ll find him.” He pulls me into his arms, encasing me in warmth.

  Chapter 16

  Kat

  The vomit wasn’t an isolated incident. I threw up once before the meeting and twice the day after—day six in the search for Chase. So here I am on day seven, my panties stretched around my ankles, my stomach tied up in a thousand knots. Three minutes. It’s virtually no time at all yet feels like forever when you’re locked in a vacuum.

  The test sits on the lip of the sink. Standing up to adjust my clothes, I dart my attention around the room. I count the hooks holding up the shower curtain, eye the pattern in the rug, mentally tracing the outline of the flattened plush holding the vague shape of my feet. Anything to avoid the truth I already know. But I turn back just enough to glance in its direction. It’s like watching a horror movie unfold in front of you. You don’t want to look, but you still can’t help but peek anyway.