Page 66 of Closer

“Well, you found me. I’m not dead yet.” I light my pipe and pull back several puffs. “How did you find me?”

“I’m the next of kin on your paperwork, you dick. When the bank noticed you’re dropping a few mil on this house and wiring several hundred thousand dollars to a French woman, they get a little suspicious. Seems they couldn’t find you to get in touch with because your phone no longer works.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, arsehole, shit.” He clears his throat. “When did you get a dog?”

“I don’t know.” I pause and look at the mutt in question. It’s strange that he wound up in my car during my drunken voyage through the south of France, and yet I didn’t make a single pitstop. “I think I may have stolen him.”

“Okay ... should I be worried?”

“I’m not fucking my dog, dumbarse. I was fucking the hot French cellist from Coop’s wedding.”

“What? How did you get from their wedding to fucking the hot cellist?”

“It’s a long story, involving a shit tonne of wine, a wheel of Brie, and a business card.”

“Oh Jesus, she’s the woman you wired money to? Is she a hooker on the side?”

I whack him upside the head. It’s a little clumsy given that I’ve been in a state of perma-drunk since Brie left. “No dickhead, she’s not a hooker. I paid her to play for me.”

“And you had sex with her? Sorry, dude, I’m not really seeing the difference here.”

“We weren’t fucking ... at first. I offered her seventy-five large to stay the week and play her cello for me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t fucking know. Because I was drunk, and it sounded like a bang-up idea at the time? Because when she got here, I realized how fucking hot she was. Because once she stalked into my house with her bitchy attitude and her obvious disdain for me, I had to get all up in that pussy. Take your fucking pick, any one of those answers will do.”

“Christ. You sure can pick ’em.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“So, where the hell is she?”

“Gone,” I whisper, my throat constricting around the words. “I offered her two hundred thousand to stay for the month. Her dad was sick, they needed the money. I knew she’d stay for him.”

“Dude, that’s cold.”

“Yeah, guess the joke’s on me though, huh?”

“You really are fucked up over her, aren’t you?”

“Just like old times, right?” I shrug. “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t losing my heart to a bitch who doesn’t have one.”

“Well hey, at least you’re over Red. Does that mean you can come back and play nice with Coop now?”

I glare at the arsehole who’s supposed to be my best friend. “Do you want me to beat your head in?”

“Oh please, like you could take me.” He settles into the couch cushion beside me and yawns. “You are coming back though, right?”

Back. Back to the band, the music, and the groupies. Back to Cooper fucking Ryan’s smug-as-fuck face? I don’t know if I want to go back at all.

“Right?” Ash prompts.

“Right,” I agree, but I don’t mean it. I don’t know what I want.

You can’t give me what I want.