Page 44 of Professional Liar
“Please…”
She didn’t answer, only stared at me stone faced.
“Please…” I begged. I begged and would plead and crawl and cower if I could keep her with me.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”
Tiny words, no more than a few letters, and they eviscerated me. Not because of what she said, but because she said them. I told her not to toy with me, not to threaten to leave. Her she sat, she didn’t say she was leaving, but I could feel it. She’d left me just as effectively as walking out the door.
Our future stretched out on a red carpet. I could see it now. We’d fuck, and we’d fight and we’d never be happy. Nothing but endless nights giving way to lonely days. “Baby, please…” I tried once more.
She glanced away now, and a hot tear slid down my cheek. I couldn’t stop it. Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Another tear fell, and I pulled away from her. Putting the physical distance between us she so effectively started.
I couldn’t stop the flood. She wouldn’t see me sob on my knees for her, not after this. We couldn’t come back from this. How many times had I thought the very same thing? How many times did she break us only to reel me back in?”
Despite the tears, I stood and offered her one last chance to take it back. One more shot not to break me, not to break us. “Tell me you love me, and we can fix this. Just say it once, three little words to let me know you are really the woman I fell in love with.” I wouldn’t beg again. But inside my head, I begged her to say it, I willed her to say it. I prayed to anyone who listened she’d say it.
Instead, she stood up and leveled those cold eyes with mine. “I don’t love you.”
A bullet to the chest would have been more merciful. I squared my shoulders and looked at her one last time. She might plan to spend the rest of our lives miserable but together. I had no intention of coming back here. Of seeing her face again. She could stay. I didn’t give a fuck.
Another tear broke free, and I walked out the door. Left her to her plans and her schemes and whatever fucking reasons she’d given herself to make this okay.
I left the house and went straight to the car Holt left on the curb. “Take me to Murphy’s.”
Right now, the only thing I saw cutting a hole in this pain was whiskey and bloody knuckles.
The place looked like any other dive bar in town. I pulled up a stool, slipped out of my jacket, unbuttoned my cuffs and gestured at Baker the bartender.
He turned over a glass and poured a finger. I put my hand on the bottle to stop him from taking it. Right now, this would be my lifeline. He glanced somewhere over my shoulder and then set it in front of me.
I tossed back three shots in second and went back for three more.
When my vision started to go fuzzy at the edges, Holt came in and took the seat beside me. “Hey Boss.”
I tipped my glass at him, not wanting to speak to him or anyone, for fear I’d start hitting anything within arms distance.
“Anything I can do?”
My answer was to pour another drink. Then another, until the bottle started to empty and patrons began giving me a wide berth. Holt stayed at my elbow, not forcing me to speak, but guarding my back while I worked on blacking out.
When I’d drained the last of the whiskey, I stood, intending to go to the bathroom, but I slid sideways. Holt caught me under the elbow and gestured to the back of the bar. Murphy and his gang hung out back there, and they were likely telling him to get me out of there.
I didn’t put up a fight, but leaned heavily on him as he led me to the car. “If she’s still there, take me to a hotel. Or one of the empty houses for the girls. I’m not going back.” Some far part of my brain told me I was slurring. He likely caught about half of my words.
“I won’t take you home. Gerry gave me the key to his apartment. He said you can stay there until you figure things out.”
He started to help me into the car when the sound of glass breaking came from behind us. I watched Holt crumple, and I fell in slow motion a few seconds later.
Two Italians approached in a slow gait. Bastards had balls attacking Irish outside Murphy’s bar. But no one came outside in the chilly evening light. I tried to push up onto my elbows, but one of the bastards kicked out. Their foot connected with my gut, and I rolled over to throw up at least some of what I drank.
The other got a shot in and flipped me onto my back. I sighed and lay in the broken glass and dirt. I’d been in worse situations. Kat’s words slicing me open came to mind. In comparison, this was nothing.
They lifted me up under the arms and stuffed me into the trunk of a car. Sober, I could have gotten out. In my state, my brain overloaded. All I could do was lay there and listen to the jostle of the vehicle on the road.
Maybe it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I’d be okay going out like this. My brothers would get revenge, and the world would settle on without me.
Kat would settle without me.
Just like she wanted.
The car hit a bump, I bounced up my forehead connecting with the roof. Stars swam in my vision and then nothing.
