Page 68 of Bourbon Truths
I knew she wasn’t meant for me, but at the time, I’d wished for once I had been able to hold something positive in my life.
And then came Lyla.
I’d thought I knew what it felt like to be knocked on my ass by a woman, but damn had I been wrong.
Lyla had swept into my life and grabbed me by the motherfucking balls with a vise grip, never letting up. She still clutched them now, even from so far away.
“How the hell did we get so lucky to have you grace us with your presence tonight?” Diego asked Jett.
Goldie and Jett walked into the main room, holding hands and smiling brightly. Their love was sickening, and I was fucking green with envy.
“I wanted to show Jett all the rooms I painted.”
Goldie was a brilliant artist and had painted murals and designs on the walls to coincide with the theme of each room. I’d had the opportunity to look at some of her work and would be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.
Jett nodded in greeting. “How’s the hangover?”
“Sitting pretty,” I responded with a tilt of my beer bottle. His jaw tensed when he saw the alcohol in my hand. “Don’t worry, Mom. It’s only a couple of beers.”
“That’s cute,” Blane said. “That you call him Mom. Do you suckle his tit too?”
“Watch it,” I warned, not really in the mood.
“Blane, don’t you know you can’t joke with Kace?” Goldie chimed in, her arms crossed and looking pissed. I didn’t blame her. I’d wronged her best friend and was usually a dick to her.
“Calm down, little one,” Jett cooed. “He’s having a rough day.”
“When is he not?” Goldie rolled her eyes and took off down the hall.
Jett gave me an apologetic look and went after Goldie.
“Taming her has got to be a damn good time,” Diego said.
“It’s not fucking easy,” I responded, knowing damn well how hard it was to wrangle her in.
“How’s the community center?” Blane asked. “Is it open yet?”
Honestly, I had no clue. It was supposed to be opening soon, but my alcohol-induced coma had left me currently unaware of where the community center stood. Nausea and dread continuously flowed through me, making my days uncomfortable.
It wasn’t like me to skip out on my responsibilities, especially when I was in charge, but the dark abyss I slipped into after my night with Lyla was hard to climb out of. That combined with the fact that I had almost missed Madeline’s birthday had my stomach churning at an alarming rate.
“Don’t know,” I answered.
“Can I be honest with you, man?” Blane asked, looking serious.
“Don’t stop now,” I encouraged.
Rolling his eyes, Blane said, “Why are you letting your demons win? Why are you letting them run your life?”
“Because I don’t deserve a life,” I replied, like the Debby fucking downer I was.
“Fair enough.” Blane sipped his beer. “I don’t understand what happened, and I will probably never know your story, but damn, man, you have to at least give the people around you a chance to include you in their life. You’re a good guy, a fucking fun guy when your head isn’t shoved up your ass. If you want to grieve, be depressed about the hand you drew, by all means, go ahead and fucking grieve, but when you’re around your friends, people who care about you, just fucking lighten up for an hour or so, because damn, you’re disheartening to be around.”
The motherfucker had a serious point, and I hated it.
I nodded at Blane, drained the rest of my beer, and got out of my chair. “Sorry about killing your buzz, dude.”
I walked away while both Diego and Blane called after me, but I ignored them. I wasn’t leaving because I‘d been told I was being a giant pussy. I left because what Blane said was so right.
