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My thoughts turn chaotic. Deep whiskey eyes and a mischievous smile. The whimper of my name, a weight off my chest. A free fall.
I fell hard.
No, I’m falling—actuallyfalling.
I attempt to catch myself, but my heavy arms aren’t quick enough, and I crash face-first. My world spins, and I decide staying on the floor is better than trying to stand. So I don’t.
“What in the actual fuck are you doing?”
I know that voice. Reality pierces through the haze, and I realize I’m in the room of the person who possesses the phone number I need. The problem is, I’m sprawled on the carpet, and standing is a monumental task when the floor is a tilt-a-whirl.
I groan and roll onto my back.
Jackson chuckles. “Wow, Coach. Can you even stand?”
Summoning all my strength, I push myself into a sitting position and cradle my head in my hands. “I need Aurora’s number.” My words are a drunken scramble.
“What are you saying? Jesus, it’s two in the morning.”
I lean against the wall and slowly articulate my thoughts. “I need. Aurora’s. Phone number.”
It doesn’t take him long to figure it out. After all these months, why else would I want to call her?
His expression contorts with rage, and his fists clench. “Are you fucking serious?” He shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. You didn’t want her then and don’t deserve her now.”
“I was married?—”
He looms over me. “So, what? You’re single and think you have a right to her?She’s not a second option!”
Somehow, I muster the last of my sobriety to face his anger—self-preservation and all. “I’m sorry. I was in a bad place.”
“And what? You’re in a good place now?” He scoffs. “You’re shitfaced and can hardly hold your head up. Real fucking mature,Coach. Weren’t you the one who told me to stop trying to solve my issues with alcohol?”
He mocks my title and guidance, and I realize I’ve only worsened the situation.
“Yeah, I have a problem facing my problems.” I sound like a tool, but at least it’s the truth. “But I just found out I’m having a baby with a woman who has every right to hate me.” I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “Oh, and you love her, so there’s that.”
He sits on the edge of the bed and drops his head into his hands.“How the fuck did this happen?”
“Condom broke,” I mutter.
“Shut the fuck up. It was a rhetorical question. God, I wish you were sober so I could beat the shit out of you.”
I regret being here, but I’m desperate. I pull myself to my feet, holding the table for balance. “I don’t want her. I want to be involved.”
“Fuck off. I saw you and her, remember? If that were true, my feelings for her wouldn’t concern you—theydon’tconcern you.”
Well, damn.
I stumble to the mini-fridge, grab a bottle of water, and chug it, attempting to clear the fog of alcohol from my head.
But my mind has a singular focus. “Can I please have her number?”
“Are you a fucking idiot?” He holds my blank stare. “The answer is no. You’re intoxicated. You’ll do something impulsive, such as call her at two in the morning. She deserves better, and she’s resting.” His gaze drops to his phone, inadvertently raising my hopes.
“You’ve changed from that person who ignored and demeaned her.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” He flashes his screen too quickly for me to comprehend. “And here I was, about to show you a picture of your kid.”