Page 3 of Bourbon Truths
That was why I’d chosen to live my life as if I were dead, because living it as if I was alive would be too painful. To experience joy would be wrong. To know what love was… that emotion wasn’t deserved.
That was why I kept Lyla at a safe distance, so she could keep away from my toxic tendencies. I had my moments, my slip-ups with her, but overall, she knew I wasn’t emotionally available, and I knew she was an absolute dream I wasn’t privileged to ever enjoy.
I was emotionally detached, deprived, stripped bare because of my wrongdoings.
I’d chosen to live in grief.
I’d chosen misery. It was a slice of the penance I actually deserved.
I’d killed a man.
Kace fucking Haywood, washed-up boxer and short-tempered monster, had killed a man.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and signaled to the bartender for another as my demons resurfaced.
Like every other night, I grasped the only thing I knew that could ease my pain. I allowed the amber liquid to run rapidly through my blood, numbing me to the world.
Chapter Two
My Past…
“That was one hell of a knockout,” Jett said, tossing me a beer from the fridge and taking a seat at the chrome-and-marble bar in my living room.
Looking around my house, I was pleased with how it had come out. It wasn’t quite as luxurious as Jett’s mansion, but it was a huge step up from the trailer I’d grown up in. Being on top of my game in the ring had paid off. Sponsorships quickly started sprouting from everywhere, and I was inundated with endorsements, tripling my bank account in a week.
Money wasn’t an asset I was dependent upon. I was more driven by success, and by proving my worth to myself and to my father. But I wasn’t going to lie; being able to buy whatever I wanted was kind of nice. Being able to not worry about living paycheck to paycheck was a relief, a feeling I would always cherish since I knew from experience how the other half lived.
“I was really impressed tonight,” Jett said in all sincerity. “Working with Jono has really paid off.”
“I agree,” I said after taking a sip from my bottle.
Jono was my new trainer, and he had really beefed me up in the last couple of months, adding more muscle and working on my timing and distance. My ability to think on the spot while reading my opponent had always been a strong suit of mine, so that was why we’d spent so much time focusing on my timing. After tonight, I could tell all my hard work was starting to pay off.
Previously, I‘d trained on my own, but recently I’d decided to step up my game, given the amount of talent I was showing, so I hired Jono. Best decision I’d made, because after a few short months, I was the man to beat in the ring, a hefty goal of mine.
I was on top, a feeling I would never forget.
“Still think you can take me?” I jokingly asked Jett. When we were young, we would always get in stupid fights, and we were pretty evenly matched, but with my new training regimen, I had no doubt I would own him.
“I will always be able to take you,” Jett said with a smirk, letting me know how much he didn’t believe his statement.
“So how are you feeling about the whole Natasha thing?”
Natasha had been Jett’s fiancée, “had been” being the key word. She’d recently left him for another man. For a guy of Jett’s stature, it was a giant blow to his self-esteem.
“Don’t really want to talk about it,” Jett curtly stated, trying to drop the topic, but I wouldn’t let him off that easily.
“Are you ever going to talk about it?”
“No.”
“She was a bitch anyway,” I said, taking a long pull of my beer. After I put my bottle down, I looked at Jett, who had a questioning look of fury in his eyes. I shrugged. “What? You can’t tell me she was a fucking dream to be around. She was as cold as a witch’s tit.”
Jett shook his head. “Why do people say that? Are witch’s tits really cold? How did they get such a cliché term attached to their breasts?”
“Are you some kind of spokesperson for witches now?” I asked, confused.
“Just got to stick up for all witches and their warts.”
