Page 47 of Truth Forever
Had I done that?
“Where is she going?”
“I don’t know, and that’s the truth.” She glared at me. “But she will be miles away from here by now. Leave her alone. Let her get on with her life.”
“I can’t.” I shook my head. Outwardly I was calm, just like always but inside I was boiling. If she had got on a plane, I might not ever get the chance to see her again. I might not get the opportunity to tell her how sorry I was. “Not until I’ve made this right.”
***
“Are you good?”
I turned to my brother. My hand curled around the beer bottle and thought about how to actually answer his question. It wasn’t a straightforward question.
Was I ok? No.
Would I be ok? Also no.
But would I hide the pain deep down inside of me and lock it away? Most definitely. Getting on with it was what I was good at.
“Stupid question, huh?”
“Yeah.” I ground out the word between clenched teeth. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to get steaming drunk and forget, at least for a few hours that I had fucked up so badly that the woman I loved would rather leave the country than talk to me. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Bull shit.” Wicked rolled his eyes. “I never took you for a fucking loser.”
Wicked words startled me, and I turned on the stool towards him. The beer bottle was forgotten in my hand. “What’s shit? And who the hell are you calling a loser?”
His brow creased. “You. I am calling you a loser brother.”
I ripped my bottle in salute. I wasn’t going to argue with him. However, I wasn’t above starting an argument with someone. My eyes drifted around the empty bar.
Violence would make me feel better.
It always did.
“You are just going to let her get away?”
“It’s not like I have a choice.”
“Of course not,” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Of course you don’t have a choice. Because you can’t try, can you? You can’t at least try and get her to give you another chance.”
“She’s gone.” I sipped at the beer in my hand.
“She isn’t fucking dead Truth. She’s hurting. You’re a mess. And neither of you is willing to try and heal yourselves.”
“I don’t know where she is.”
“And you couldn’t find out? You couldn’t call her? Like I said, you are a fucking loser.” He finished the drink in his hands with a slurp. “You good to go?”
“Go?”
He nodded. “Yeah Fender wants us on a job.”
My ears peeled upwards. A job sounded good. A job would mean danger and possibly violence. Both of which would help take my mind off of Cali. Because my brother had a point, I was a loser. I had Cali’s number, and I had always had it. I had just been too busy wallowing in my own self misery to pick up the damn phone and make that call.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I cracked my back loudly. “What’s the job?”
Wicked’s eyes creased. “Gotta pick Chelsea up from her mothers.”
