But what really catches my attention is my Green Bay Packer shirt. It’s long-sleeved, charcoal gray, and something Joey stole when we first started living together. She wore it all the time.
It’s so big on her tiny body that it’s practically a dress. But it’s definitely something I couldn’t miss. That’s when I realize her leaving wasn’t a fear tactic. It was a choice. Her choice.
My heart sinks and hammers in tandem, like it simultaneously keeps me alive and promises me death. I choose the latter.
She left.
Abandoned me.
Something finally made her leave.
That alone hurts like a motherfucker.
I stare at my shaking hands and go to my liquor cabinet. Three weeks is nothing, right? Three weeks doesn’t matter. Three weeks means I’m not even that far into sobriety. I can cheat. I can indulge. I can rip out what’s left of my soul.
An unopened bottle of Jameson rests in my palm. The glass cools my heated skin. You’d think with realization would come doom and heartache and a bitter coolness like my wife’s heart, but that’s not true. It’s heated. Anger beats faster, rushing through your system with emotions on repeat. Almost like it’s heating you from the inside out, just like alcohol.
I take off the plastic wrapping and open the lid.
Bringing it to my lips, I scrunch my nose, inhaling way too deep. It smells like bad decisions and wrongness. Like my next fix, next overdose, next end.
Maybe I’ll die with my companion in my hands.
Maybe I’ll not live to see this outcome.
Maybe I’ll exhaust every organ inside me and won’t have to feel this kind of agony again.
It’s my fault.
All my fault.
I stare down at the bottle, bringing it to my lips once more, but then it hits me. What if she left so I’d change? Isn’t that why she said no to trying when I asked? Isn’t that why she played hard to get?
A newfound energy surges through me, and I cap the bottle and place it back inside my cabinet. And as I head toward the door to leave, I notice two things.
One, my wife took our favorite picture. She says it’s her favorite, but what she doesn’t know is that it’s my favorite too. I took that image while she rode my cock. That was the first night of our sexting. The first night I fucked her so hard that we were both exhausted the next day.
Two, her ring.
Ten feet to my right on our black marble counters sits her ring. Well, my mom’s ring. It’s rose gold, antique, and entwined with vines. It felt so fitting for us. It was the first time I asked Gene for anything. Ma stopped wearing it when Brant died. It was a ring his mother gave to him to give to my mom. Gene was happy to give it to me.
He’s the only one who knew of my marriage.
He came to our small redo ceremony.
He’s more of a dad than mine ever was.
Holding the dainty little band in my hands, it dawns on me... she left and she isn’t coming back. With this newfound information, I do something I never thought I would.
I call my brother.
Chapter Forty-Six
Present
Jase
Life takes many turns, but since dedicating myself to my wife and family, everything has changed for the better. Between counseling and my constant groveling, Peaches and I have come out stronger.
My heart aches when she’s gone, and nothing stops me from pursuing her as if we were just newly dating again.
She’s mine.
Again.
I fight for that right every day.
She deserves the entire fucking world.
To be worshiped. Adored over. Praised.
And fuck, do I praise her. Whether with words or on my knees as I eat her from behind, I fucking praise her. She doesn’t cease to amaze me day in and day out.
I’m at my corporate building, handling some things Sally and the team are unable to deal with. Since I’m still the owner of Collins & Co, it’s something I tend to do on occasion, even if I don’t do the usual day-to-day.
Flipping through the final files for expansion on Hollow Hills in Vegas, a smile takes over my face. Fuck. It feels good, knowing I chose the right man—or in this case, woman—for this job. Sally makes sure to get shit done, and in turn, my retiring feels less like a loss.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, the buzzing barely registering in my otherwise silent office. Today is one of those days when hardly anyone is in the office, which leaves me pretty much alone, sans Sally’s assistant.
“Hello?” I ask, not recognizing the number. Usually, I’d use the scan-call feature, opting to avoid speaking with a random caller. Most of the time, it’s a scammer or telemarketer. Either way, I’m not a fan.
“Jase,” Toby’s voice rasps. It’s not usual for him to call. Hell, it’s been five years of silence. Just like Lo and I asked. Hearing his voice now, the strain in it, makes me believe something is wrong and reminds me how much missing him has become an inexorable ache. “I fucked up.” His voice strains, and that hollowness he left in my chest by his actions and my choices makes itself known, reminding me of simpler times.
“Jase, I messed up bad,” Toby grouses. His eyebrows are drawn in, his hair in disarray, and his busted lip and black eye stare at me like a crime scene.
It’s violent, the reminder of Dad and what he does to me and not Toby. God. I’ll protect him no matter what, though, because he’s my baby brother.
“What happened?” I ask, tipping his head back to peer at the shiner. It’s bad. Possibly did more damage than broken blood vessels. My brother is prone to fighting, it’s a reactionary thing for him. Someone will say shit and make him mad, and instead of being understanding or blowing it off like I do, he beats them.
This time, though, it seems like he went for someone too big.
“I-I,” he stutters, his eyes glossing. My brother may only be fourteen, but the little shit causes so much mayhem you’d think he was five.
“Spit it out, Tobes. Let me fix this.” Something is eating him up inside, and it has my body shifting uncomfortably. He’s not shy by any means, but he’s cowering into himself, hiding. It’s not something I’m used to seeing with him.
Running a hand through his hair, he frowns and grips the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze. It’s embarrassment and fear wrapped into one, and I hate every moment of his discomfort. Did someone attack him? Did—
“Dad caught me in the whiskey cabinet,” he mutters, stopping my train of thought. Dad did this? Hit him? My chest aches, rising with hatred and power, my mantra of “don’t react” not holding itself well inside me.
“What did he do?” I practically spit, the unabated vehemence spreading through the air with each word. Brant is a piece of shit, and even that is a kind descriptor for the waste of air that brought me my brother.
“You’re not going to ask why I was in the cabinet?” he deters the question, but I know it’s because he doesn’t want to talk about the fact that Brant hit him. While Brant used to be bigger than me, like he is with Tobes, it’s different now. I fight back. It gets me beat more, but it’s worth it.
“No. Doesn’t fucking matter. What. Did. He. Do?” My voice brooks no argument as I grip my brother’s shoulders. I stare into his fearful eyes, the ones that haven’t had that boyish glint in years.
He doesn’t realize I know his secrets.
He drinks.
Like a goddamn sailor.
Just like me, except my vice of choice is weed and Molly because booze barely does anything for me. Finally reaching my gaze, Tobes bites the inside of his cheek.
“I can’t stop, Jase. I’ve fucking tried.” I bring him to my chest, feeling him relax and breathe. His chest rises and falls as if the world finally let up on weighing him down.
“Let me help. Anything, Toby. I’ll do anything you need.”
And I will.
Even if Brant kills me.
I’ll save him.
Always.
“Jase? You there?” He sounds so fucking broken, showing me the lost fourteen-year-old kid is still in there. Broken. Scathed. Damaged.
“Yeah, yeah. What’s wrong?”
He lets out a heavy exhale, and fuck if that doesn’t make me feel like a shitty brother. “Can we meet?” The fact that he wants to see me face-to-face scares me far more than it should.
Does he want to ruin my life?
Does he need help?
Is he still my brother?
“Yeah, I’m at C&C for the day. Stop by.”
“That didn’t go so well the last time,” he mutters. Toby came here five years ago, causing havoc amongst my employees. It wasn’t pretty, and that asshole can throw a punch.
“That’s all I can give. Lo’s super busy at home,” I lie. Not wanting to admit the fact that we have a son and Toby has no fucking clue every secret bridled there.
“Be there in ten,” he finally responds, his exasperated breath only offers me more confusion.
Twelve minutes later, I’m opening the door to my brother, and he looks worse for wear. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin sallow, and the fucking haunted expression on his face isn’t one I recognize. The only time he ever agonized like this was when Lo tried committing suicide.
“You look like shit,” I offer.
“No shit, Sherlock. Got anymore compliments?”
“Still a fucking brat, it seems.” We both laugh at that. The familiarity wraps around me, but with that, memories do too. The rose vines wrapping around my heart, needling the appendage with pain and hatred. Why does this exist? Why does this ache still hit me?
“I’m sorry for coming out of nowhere.” Our eyes meet, his full of remorse. The surprise on my face must show since he’s grimacing in the next moment. “I’m a shit brother, a fuck-up. I mean, it’s not news, Jase. Since we were kids, you were perfect, and I was the troubled child.”
“You said it,” I return, walking back to my desk. Instead of sitting behind it, I lean against it, feeling the way Tobe watches me with heated anger. But unlike five years ago, it isn’t leveled at me, it’s elsewhere, somewhere I’m not privy to. Makes sense since we’ve been apart for so long.
“I’m married,” he shoots out, scratching his stubbly chin. Closing his eyes, he grips his forehead and starts rubbing it as if it’s throbbing.
“No shit?” I question, not believing my own ears. Hearing that he moved on from my life is the best news I’ve had since Lev was born.
“Such surprise, brother,” he complains. “Fuck you very much.”
“Going to explain why you’re here?” I ignore his baiting. He better not want anything to do with my son. He just fucking better not.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
And there it is.
“No.”
“Why the fuck not?” he bites out, gripping his hair, tugging like the thought is blasphemous. Is it really? To think he fucked everything up—no matter our relation—and doesn’t feel bad? To believe he’d have any right to my child? Fuck that.
“He’s not yours.”
“DNA doesn’t lie, fucker.”
“DNA doesn’t make a father, dick. Just ask Gene.”
He rushes me, his fists gripping my shirt. I ball up my own, preparing to fight if need be. This is my family. Lev is mine. Lo is mine. They’re all mine.
Letting go and pushing off my chest, he lets out a strangled noise. Then his eyes are wet. “That’s not why I’m here,” he says raggedly. My eyes wander over his face, trying to detect lies.
“You said you fucked up. What happened?” Just like being a sixteen-year-old protecting his little brother, I watch as he crumples in front of me. The cocky son of a bitch who always had this front of confidence and edge is nowhere to be found. But this Toby? This is the little kid who drank to wash away his sins. The one who nearly killed himself to be happier. The one who made choices that ruined both of us forever.
“I married someone, and she changed my fucking life,” he moans, his voice sad and strangled. The way the mood has vastly changed has me shaking with adrenaline and anger, yet very aware that the man on the chair across from me is anything but challenging right now.
“Keep going,” I push, wanting to know what he’s done and what I need to do to fix this. That’s what I am, after all—the fixer. Whether he sees it that way or not, it’s what he’s always reduced me to.
“Her name is Joey. Joey Moore-Hayes.”
“Moore... like Mayor Moore?” I nearly choke. If I had water, I’d be a comical commercial, spitting it everywhere. Leaning against my desk once more, I grip the table, not knowing what to make of this information.
“We got wasted in Vegas five years ago. Tied the knot. Then when we finally found out, instead of annulling it like Joey deserved, her father convinced her to stay for her inheritance.” He sputters this information out so fast that when he takes in a sharp breath, I’m stuck on the fact that this wasn’t a choice marriage. “Before he convinced her, he threatened me. To ruin my life. He knew about my alcoholism and how finicky my business handlings have been.”
“What a piece of shit,” slips out from my mouth without me acknowledging it.
“Yeah, but that’s not the worst part.”
“There’s more?”
He laughs bitterly, the jaded front present on his features. “Much more. Might need to sit for this, brother.” Letting out a heavy breath, I nod, heading to my chair.
“Joey and I fell in love,” he admits, wiping his thumb across his lip as contemplation festers above the surface. “She was bright and perfect. Fierce. So fucking fierce,” he rambles. “She changed my life. I got sober. We had everything, Jase. Every-fucking-thing.”
I stare at him as I recognize the lost soul leaking from his pores. Something happened. A damaged moment that tethered them was somehow severed, and the foreboding present in my veins only has me on edge. Whether our hatred runs deep from past memories, seeing my brother on the brink of throwing in the towel has me on edge.
“We got pregnant.” The tears leaving his eyes make my throat feel sticky, and I try swallowing back the emotion, thinking of Lilac. “We lost it.”
My chest pinches at that. The barren look in my brother’s eyes is one I know all too well. He’s hurting, resigned to the fact that pain is his routine.
“What did you do?” I whisper, wanting to know if he fucked up as I did or if he truly became a better man than the one I allowed myself to be.
“She pushed me away and found herself with Francis.”
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“Sound like a fucking sob story?” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh, and it takes all my strength to stay seated and not hug him. Not too long ago, he was Francis.
“I was wrong,” he angrily adds. “About everything.”
“What do you mean?” I ask hesitantly, not sure if I want to know.
“Well, I saw them. Hugging, he kissed her face and shit.”
“He’s French,” I offer.
“Don’t act like you weren’t always on edge when I’d kiss Lo’s forehead.”
“You were in love with her,” I bite, grinding my molars, feeling my nails dig into my flesh. God, the fact that the resentment rides me this hard isn’t pleasant at all.
“Francis and Joey have history.”
Rubbing a palm down my face, I pinch the bridge of my nose. The fact that his story somehow mirrors mine is fucking astounding.
“They didn’t do anything, according to both of them.”
“Do you believe them?”
“Starting to,” he admits. “That didn’t stop me from telling her to sleep with who she wants and I’d do the same.”
“Please don’t say—”
“I fucked other people,” he spits. “In spite of her and hating myself every fucking time, I did it. Didn’t enjoy it or fall in love, but to hurt her, I fucked oth
er women.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss, suddenly not feeling as bad for him. He’s goddamn toxic, always has been.
“I don’t know, bro. How much time you got?”
“Seriously, why wouldn’t you try?”
“And repeat the same actions? She had more power than Lo did to break me. Albeit, I broke us apart and felt like shit the past two years, I felt I had control.”
“You started drinking again, didn’t you?”
He nods, his face scrunched. He stands, pacing back and forth. Then he’s at my desk, palms flat, his gaze hitting mine. “She’s gone, Jase. That’s why I’m here. She fucking left, and I don’t know why.”
“What do you think I can do?” He stares at me, his expression imploring all while he seems visibly shaken.
“We own the top floor of Hollow Hills.”
“So that was you,” I mock. “Couldn’t just find somewhere not relative to me and everyone else?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he taunts. “Glad I did now because you have access to the database, no?”
I nod, hating that he knows this. If anyone knew outside of us, I could be facing lawsuits.
“Find out what happened,” he begs, straightening himself and backing away.
So, I do.
After combing through the time frames Toby supplied, I find his wife in the elevator with some woman.
“That fucking cunt,” he growls. I’m so surprised I almost punch him for calling his wife that. “Whatever she said to Joey set her off.”
Turning the audio on, we both listen to that lady say, in explicit detail, what she wanted and planned on doing with a married man’s dick.
Apparently, that man is my brother.
“I didn’t love her. I’d never leave Joey, and I’d just cut things off with her. Fuck.”
He grips his head and bites his fist. I understand his helplessness. It’s something that I used to feel often. Even now, there are moments when the distrust haunts Lo. Even with therapy, that little niggling at the back of her mind doesn’t fully disappear.
“I have to go find her,” he says a moment later. He’s a mess. A goddamn tornado terrorizing his own mind.
Breathe Page 27