But in the morning, Jodie was gone, and I was deployed the next day. There was no way to reach her, no chance to tell her how I felt.
Not that it matters if what she said in the kitchen is true.
She said it was just a fling, but I don’t believe her. I felt the way her pulse jumped when I took her hands. I saw her pupils dilate.
She said it didn’t mean anything to her. She’s in denial. I’ll make it mean something to her. I’ll make it mean everything to her.
If Jodie just gives me one more chance, I’ll prove to her what my heart already knows—we’re meant to be together.
My throat is parched, and the hangover has subsided to a dull emptiness.
On autopilot, I open the fridge and reach for a beer. This is what I do. When the drink wears off and the emptiness slides in, I reach for a drink.
I pop open the bottle to a cold beer and bring it to my lips.
Then I remember Jodie’s face in the kitchen, her critical look as she took in my disheveled appearance, the way she stepped away from me when I went toward her.
I’m not the man she met eighteen months ago. Back then I was holding back my demons by frequenting bars. I met her on a Friday night, and I didn’t drink again until I realized she’d left on Sunday.
If I’m going to prove to Jodie that I’m her man, then I need to clean myself up. I need to face my demons and get off the booze.
I take the beer bottle from my lips. The bitter smell is tempting, but not as tempting as being in the arms of Jodie.
Upending the bottle, I tip the contents down the sink. The stench of sour beer fills the kitchen and I nearly retch. The glugging noise feels like my insides are draining away.
I grab the other bottles from my fridge and drain those too. Then I take the half-finished bottle of bourbon from the cupboard and pour that after the beer.
It fizzes in the sink and gurgles down the drain, adding a sharp alcohol stench to my kitchen.
“Time to get some fresh air.”
I change into my jogging shorts and slip on my running shoes. Dropping the empty bottles in my over-flowing recycling bin, I head out for my first jog in months.
With fresh air in my lungs and my head clearing, I breathe deeply, feeling better with ever step, feeling more alive.
If Jodie won’t take me as I am, then I’ll be a better man. I’ll be the type of man she can be proud of. The type of man she deserves.
6
JODIE
I’m humming as I swipe my cloth over the kitchen bench in the Sunset Security kitchen. This has got to be the easiest gig. These guys are all ex-military and know how to keep things neat and tidy. I barely have to do anything.
My mind drifts, as it has so annoyingly been doing over the past week, to Kieren. He’s kept out of my way or not been in the office over the last week, and I’m grateful for that.
And if I find myself spending a little extra time on my appearance in the mornings and making sure my clothes are at least not dirty or torn, then I tell myself it’s because I want to make a good impression at work. It’s definitely not for him.
It was a shock seeing Kieren again, and I’m not sure my body has totally relaxed yet. I remember his hands on me and the way his skilled fingers worked my pulsing core until I came undone.
The thought makes my body flush hot, and I pause in wiping the kitchen counter until my racing pulse gets under control.
The door to the kitchen opens, and my heart leaps into my throat. But it’s not Kieren. It’s Bronn. And I’m annoyed at how disappointed I feel by that.
“You do anything other than cleaning work?”
I’ve gotten used to Bronn’s straight talking, and his lack of pleasantries doesn’t faze me.
“I did some bar work once.”