Fearless.
I start my bike, the usual adrenaline that always accompanies it gone. Just like it’s been for days.
Fucking pathetic. Not even work makes me happy. I twist the throttle numerous times as I take off, splitting lanes, kissing fenders, anything to make myself feel alive.
But it’s gone.
None of it helps. I’m in a dark cave, and I can’t find the light to get out.
When I lean forward, the wind stings my face, and I let my mind go blank, feeling the warmth of my bike.
I lied when I said I was going home to work.
I’m not.
I’m gonna crack open a new bottle and see where I end up, because anywhere is better than this.
BRETT
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Misty looks back at me as I wonder for the hundredth time how I let her convince me working out would help.
It hasn’t. All it’s doing is making me pissed. Running right now, with my head pounding and sweat pouring out of every pore and my legs feeling like twenty-pound weights have been attached to them, is not fun.
“I think this might be the only time I’ve ever been able to beat you.” She jumps up and down, her fake tits not even moving.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” I grumble, my lungs burning from too much tequila and an impulsive decision that Taco Bell would be good last night. Not only did I spend more than I should have on my DoorDash order, but this morning I felt like shit.
“Well, you turned down a blowjob, which you’ve never done. I didn’t know what else to do.” She keeps jumping and running backward as I stop to catch my breath, my hands on my knees.
“Christ, I’m done for today,” I say, trying to gulp in the ocean air, willing myself not to think about her after a whiff of coconut from Misty’s sunscreen hits me.
“Oh, honey.” She walks over to rub my back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fuck you? Might help you snap out of whatever this is.” She keeps rubbing my sweaty back, and as much as I appreciate her offer, nothing about Misty sounds appealing, which means I’m fucked.
Misty is always my go-to. I make her feel good, and she returns the favor. So when she showed up this morning trying to crawl into bed with me, and my dick wouldn’t work, I dragged my ass outside and tried to sweat out the poisons. My thought process was to get myself up and going, and maybe my cock would work. Well, besides with my hand; then it works fine—I just close my eyes and see Alex.
I shake my head and straighten, looking at Misty. She’s the same as always. Just go in the house and let her blow you, and all thoughts of Alex will be gone…
Fuck.
“I’m sorry, Mist, I just have shit going on.” I start to walk toward my stairs.
“Don’t be. I only wish I could help. I’m worried about you.” She frowns. “Well, if you need me, just holler, or if you want to come over for dinner, I know Hank would love to see you.” She stretches her hands up in the air, then goes into Proud Warrior stance.
“Thanks.” I grin, because coming from anyone but Misty, that would sound fucked up. I strip off my shirt and walk up the stairs leading to my side door, which stands wide open.
Jesus, did I forget to shut it?
“Well, well, well. At least I don’t have to call the hospitals.” Jett stands in the middle of the room on his phone. “I hope you don’t mind if I get some air in this tomb of alcohol and shit.” He kicks at the bags of fast food.
“What’s wrong? Why are you here?” I snap, walking around him to the refrigerator for a Gatorade.
“You tell me.” He pockets his phone, rolling up a sleeve.
“Jett.” I toss the Gatorade lid into my sink, which is full of dirty dishes. When was the last time Denise came and cleaned?
“If you came here to lecture me, I’m not in the mood.” I chug the orange-flavored sports drink.
“Yeah.” He nods. “Because I love driving over from Beverly Hills on a fucking Thursday morning. Richard is borderline hysterical that his protégé is derailing.”
I snort as I keep guzzling. “I’m fine,” I say and let out a burp so huge it echoes around the room.
His fists open and close. Clearly, he doesn’t find it funny. My eyes narrow. Jett and I haven’t gotten into a fistfight in years, but the thought of smashing my fist into his face makes me smile.
“Go ahead, big brother…” I set the bottle down.
He shakes his head and smiles. “Forget it, Brett. I’d love to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours, but you have a big day tomorrow, remember?”
“Then get out.” I move to the couch and drop down, reaching for my remote.
“Jesus Christ.” Jett looks up at the ceiling, as if that can give him patience. It can’t. It’s not one of my brother’s fortes.
“You’re making it really hard to be sympathetic, man.”
I sit up and mute the TV. “Sympathetic? I don’t want your sympathy, Jett. I have everything under control. I’m working from home today. You can assure Richard I’ll be dressed and ready to accept his job tomorrow morning.”
“Tell him yourself. Do you even want it anymore?” Jett’s question makes my heart ache, and I’m not even sure why. Standing, I walk to my liquor cabinet.
“Of course, I do.” It sounds hollow even to my ears as I grab a bottle of Jack.
“You want a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll drink with you.” He sits down on one of the kitchen barstools.
After taking a swig, I hand it to him.
“Look.” He takes a blast, then another, and sets the bottle on the island.
“I’ve been where you are, brother.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Jett, you’re so full of shit. When? You have no idea what’s going on in my fucked-up head.” Taking the bottle again, I continue, “I’ve lost my passion. Trust me, you don’t understand.” I want to punch myself. That’s why I’ve been drinking so much. I’m grasping at anything to make this ache go away.
“I’m not here to compete with you about who has had more pain. I’m here to make sure you’re making the right decision.”
“Jesus, I’ll be there. You can all relax. She’s gone,” I grumble as I put the bottle down and hold my hands up.
“Alexandrea?” I yell as I walk around. “Are you hiding?” I wait, dramatically cocking my head to listen. “No?”
I look over at Jett. “See, I made the right decision.” And for a second, I think he’s finally gonna put me out of my misery and hit me. Instead, he grabs my face.
“The fuck, Brett? You love this woman. Do you need me to spell it out for you?”
I pull back, because if he had punched me it would have hurt less.
“Don’t say that.” I point at him, my voice growing louder. “I don’t know what love is.”
“This.” He looks around at the hell I’ve created. “This is love. All of this that you’re feeling is love, Brett. You love Alexandrea. You’re risking everything for her, and you don’t even know it.”
His words buzz around my head like a numerical expression. He doesn’t get it—he can’t.