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Declan
Here’sthe problem with being 6’6 and weighing 280 pounds:
It takes a lot of fucking effort to get drunk.
Forget about beer. I’d have to drink gallons of the stuff, just to catch a buzz. And even then, it’s hard to keep. One good piss and I’m back to square one.
I’m convinced that’s why God invented whiskey.
After I dropped Jessica off, I headed back to the office and dug in. Yanked off my jacket and tie and kicked off my shoes. Poured myself a double and paced while I drank, unable to get Tess out of my head.
How good she looked.
How much I want her.
Love her.
None of that matters, asshole, because no matter how much you love her, you don’tdeserve her.
You never did.
Fuck.
I lift the bottle to my mouth and take a commiserating drink. I abandoned the glass, and all pretense of civility, about an hour ago.
Used to be simple.
If I saw something I wanted, I took it.
Didn’t matter what it was or who it belonged to.
Tess changed all that.
She changed me.
Sometimes I hate her for it.
Most of the time I just miss her like crazy.
Right now it happens to be both.
So, when I hear someone cop-knock on the door of my Fortress of Solitude, I know exactly who it is and I’m both relieved and pissed off that she’s standing on the other side of the door when I answer it.
“Why?” She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t scream. Lash out or attack. Tess just stands there, gaze aimed at my throat like she knows she has to look at me but doesn’t want to risk eye-contact.
Her one-word question rings in my ears.
Why?
She could be asking me about anything.
Why I’m marrying Jessica.
Why I keep stealing her cat.
Why I can’t seem to leave her alone.
I don’t answer her. I just step away from the doorway to give her room to pass through it.