Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
My free hand is against the tile, my head under the shower spray, and I loosen my grip. God damn it. She’s going to be the death of me, and Big Richard. We’ll see who can survive the longest come Sunday night.
***
Wednesday. Check.
Thursday. Friday. Check. Check.
Saturday. Fuck.
I’m in no mood to be here. I pull at the noose around my neck and order another whiskey. Neat. Stepping off to the side, but sticking close to the bar, my comfort zone, I survey the room. That’s when I’m blindsided or maybe it’s more of a sideline tackle. Either way, I didn’t see it coming. Or her, more specifically.
“Hardy Richard. It’s been too long.”
Not long enough. “Has it, Isabella?”
“You were always so funny.” It’s impressive how she manages to say that without smiling. Maybe the Botox has gone two layers deep, which is about as deep as Isabella Collins, formerly Isabella Treaton when I dated her, gets.
“My parents call it sarcasm. You might remember it got me in a lot of trouble.”
“You were always in a lot of trouble.” She touches my tie to straighten it, but I cover her hand and kindly remove it. “But what’s the fun in playing it safe? I like this burgundy tie. It’s so festive for the season.”
I ignore the compliment. They always come with ulterior motives that I’m not interested in getting involved in again. “As for playing it safe, you have a kid, and a husband who commutes from Connecticut. Do you also have a dog and a Mercedes?”
“A Cavalier King Charles, more specifically, and a Mercedes GLS SUV in Iridium Silver.”
“You don’t exactly walk on the wild side.”
“You think because you’re single, I’m still assuming by that bare ring finger, and you live in Brooklyn that you’re living the high life?”
“I didn’t say I was, but I’m living, experiencing, and I’m better off than I was four years ago.”
“Better off?” She appears reflective as she sips her champagne. When her light blue eyes hit mine, she asks, “We had some good times together, right?”
“We were alike in many ways, but we were terrible together.” God’s honest truth. We were lucky the cops were never called during one of our blowout fights. The woman knows how to use words that cut right to your core. She also has always had a philandering problem. That’s why it’s just better to avoid that catastrophe of locking oneself down to another altogether. Then when you fuck around with someone, no one else gets hurt.
“I remember us so differently. Living in the city with great paying jobs right out of college. You had that great apartment with the view. So many good memories were made there.”
“Our family’s connections afforded us our degrees and careers. It was never what I wanted. I was working to protect the Richard name while destroying myself.”
“You didn’t seem unhappy.”
I finish my whiskey in one go. “I was drowning in my life, waking up every day wishing I was living another.”
Eyeing my empty glass, judgment creases her forehead as she raises an eyebrow. A motion I’m surprised she can still make. “You’re doing a good job now.”
“I have different reasons to drown out tonight.”
“You sound bitter, Hardy. It’s sad to see someone with so much potential throw it all away on a walk up in Brooklyn and a run down bar.”
I set my glass on the tray behind the bar and walk away. It’s a bad habit I’ve developed. Once I turned twenty-eight, I ran out of patience for people who carry negativity around like the latest designer bag. Isabella Collins is the queen of holding my past against me. She was always one for the low blow.
“Hardy?”
I stop walking, the exit is so close, but slips from my reach when I hear my mother’s voice. Plastering a big smile on my face, I turn around. “Mother. I was just looking for you.” Lies to appease.
Her face lights up. She’s actually a really good mom. Isabella just has a way of souring a good mood. I greet my mom with a kiss to her cheek and a hug. She embraces me and then leans back to get a good look at me. “Honey, you look so handsome in dark gray. Your suit fits you perfectly. Is this custom made? Though you’re too skinny living in the city. It’s so competitive there. You should move back to Connecticut and let me feed you home cooked meals every night.”
The suit is Gucci and tailored to me, but I know she’s more worried about my eating habits. Chuckling, I say, “I feel better when I’m fit.”
Wrapping her arm around my back, she leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m allowed to worry about my youngest. You don’t need anything else from me, so give me that. Okay?”
“Yes, Mother.”