The plan went well until the clock hit seven and everyone left the office for home. I went straight to the bar.Again.
Other people—normal people—had someone waiting for them at home. A spouse, a girlfriend, a kid, a goddamn pet. For the first time in my life, there was someone I actually wanted to see, and I couldn’t. The only time I didn’t want solitude, I had been forced to have it.
The next day was the same. I functioned. I attended meetings. I assigned agents to cases. I briefed. I courted. I even got McAfee on the phone and, as expected, he seemed pleased with how I’d handled the Hallie Thorne kidnapping case. A case that was now appearing less on newspaper headlines and popping up more on pages four and five, right next to the grocery coupons and adult incontinence diaper ads.
After all, she was fine.
Iwas fine.
So fine, in fact, that I decided to visit the bar again after my conversation with McAfee, to celebrate. McAfee had promised to connect me with Thorne’s former security firm to talk about potential clients for my cybersecurity venture.
One week turned into two.
Two into three.
Before I knew it, I’d clocked in a whole month.
At some point around the two-week mark, I stopped hitting the bars and started hitting the liquor store. No point in shooting the shit with bartenders or sidestepping horny housewives looking for dirty fucks while I got good and hammered.
One day, I looked at the calendar and realized I’d drunk myself numb for thirty days straight. I briefly considered throwing my own ass into rehab for a spell. But that would be the smart thing to do. Therightthing to do.
I went cold turkey instead.
I threw all the bottles of whiskey and cognac into the trash. Doubled-down on the CrossFit. Cleaned up my act.
Sober, with a new haircut, and frequenting Tom’s Brady Bunch home for goddamn family dinners, I finally made it.
I stopped thinking about Hallie.
I stopped thinking about the day she told me to go fuck myself.
And started living my life.
It was really that simple.
See, asshole? You can do anything you put your mind to. You are, after all, Ransom Lockwood.
“Are we ever going to talk about him?” Keller peered at me from behind his kitchen wall, munching on a green nacho chip. Kale, probably.
“Who?” I didn’t look up from where I was sketching on the couch. Also known as my new bed for the past month, ever since I’d moved in after I kicked Ransom out, and never bothered to open any of the envelopes my parents sent containing new credit cards.
“Voldemort.”
“We do not speak his name.” I shuddered.
“Ransom, then.”
“Not talking about him, either.”
I was drawing a wounded heart strung together like a corset. The heart was melting, leaking from between the threads. I bit down my lower lip to suppress a moan of pain. His name alone made me want to cry.
“Oh, honey, it’s okay to not be okay.” Keller sat on the arm of the couch, stroking my hair.
“No, it’s not.” I stood up, waltzing over to my suitcase at the corner of his living room, flipping it open. In it, I’d stowed an envelope full of cash. Cash I’d saved from years ago. Dad always said it was good to have cash handy, and he wasn’t wrong. I needed it for when I paid for my occupational therapy as well as tutoring to help me manage my learning disabilities and dyslexia. Then there was Ilona. She didn’t come cheap, either.
I slipped the money out of the envelope, counting silently. Only a grand left there. Nothing more.Shit.
“I can lend you some money,” Keller’s voice offered from his spot on the couch.