Page 31 of Goodbye, Mr. Winters

In the final days of our marriage, I had enough. I’d called her every name on earth. She’d cursed me out to the max already. We wore ourselves out with the emotional pain we caused each other.

I broke, and I told her about what I’d been doing.

I’m a fucking murderer.

That was the end. She never looked at me the same way. The awe and love in her eyes dissolved. I could’ve stopped. It was early, and Travis was my friend. He would’ve let me leave peacefully. He didn’t need my help. He offered me a job to pay my bills. That was all.

But I didn’t.

The damage had been done, and I had chosen my path.

For the next five years, I disappeared from the surface of the earth. While my son grew up with another man, I worked hard with Travis. He had his family in Chicago, so I did most of the traveling. Big corporations like Spencer’s had a lot of loose ends.

It was my job to cut them off.

When in the zone, it’s straining to keep up with real life. The less baggage I carry, the easier it is to disappear.

Eventually, the whispers got to us. My son’s best friend, the son of my ex-wife’s best friend from work, had been abducted in broad daylight. His father was a big-time lawyer that had messed with the wrong people.

I returned to my son’s life, but the damage was already done.

Being a father is a full-time job. I felt ashamed that I had been reduced to seeing my son on the weekends.

Our divorce hadn’t been the result of cheating. I never hit her. She didn’t want my money. In the end, it came down to a difference in character. If we’d been older and if I had grown up under different circumstances, we would’ve worked it out.

My son is a constant reminder of my failures. I despise what I put him through. His mother is a good woman, and I shouldn’t have lost her.

I’ve grieved this relationship. I seehereverywhere, the options we could’ve had. All the stages of grief, I’ve passed them. I’m stuck on that final one, though. I can’t accept my fate. Doe eyes flicker in my memory…

I ruined it.

“I take that as a no,” Aretta comments.

“Excuse me?” I remark.

Felicita clears her throat while Aretta asks, “Aren’t you going to show me around the island?”

Looking at my watch, I frown. It’s already late. I respond, “I don’t think so. You wouldn’t like it anyway. I have to go to work.”

“Wouldn’t it be nicer if you took a day off? It’s her first time here,” Felicita reminded me. She was gawking at me intently, trying to steer me toward my ex-wife. “You should take it easy after—”

“You ladies should do something together,” I proposed. “I can’t take a day off. I’ll see you later.”

I don’t bother with niceties. We’re civil. We’re not best friends. I don’t owe her anything anymore.

My brain knows, but I simply must convince the rest of me.

* * *

I can’t stop fidgetingwith my beanie.

For a week, a crew has been trying to salvage whatever’s possible from the ruins of the gym I trashed. I haven’t been able to sleep properly, but my workload has magically decreased after the incident.

I balance it out.

My Escalade is parked right outside the gym, and I’ve got the perfect view of the working men. I’ve got so much shit to do, things to clear, calls to make. Every decision made concerning my employees passes through me first.

I’m not themurdererI once was, but on some days, I want to go back to that time. I traveled more, but I had fewer responsibilities.