Page 86 of Hard To Leave

Chapter 27

Jack

Leaningagainst my office window with a million-dollar view of midtown Manhattan, I concluded that there was nothing pretty about having your heart broken. I saw a reminder of her in almost every person that passed me on the streets. What really pissed me off was that I couldn’t even hate her for breaking my own damn heart, because I still loved her.

A lie was still a lie, even if it was one of omission. She didn’t exactly lie, but she sure as hell didn’t tell me the whole truth. If I learned anything from my parent’s marriage, it was that complete, unquestioning trust was essential to a relationship.

It’s been forty-eight hours since I last saw her, and I haven’t had a minute of sleep since. Why close your eyes when all you dream about is the nightmare that your life has become?

It felt like shit, but oddly enough it seemed like I deserved the pain for being so blind. I should have seen the signs because God knows there were plenty of them. There was too much that didn’t add up. I guess ignorance really was bliss.

I heard a knock at my door and spun around in my chair. My old friend, Brad Morgan, was leaning against the doorjamb holding a brown paper bag from Katz’s Deli.

Without waiting for an invite,he strolled through my office and took a seat, sporting the biggest smirk I’d ever seen on his face.

He kicked his feet up on my desk and shoved the bag in front of me. From the smell, I guessed it was my favorite, warm pastrami, with cool Russian dressing.

I raised an eyebrow because I specifically remember telling him when I sent him a text this morning that I was too busy to have lunch with him today.

The truth was, I didn’t want company. Especially from a man who just got engaged less than twenty-four hours ago. Given my current mood, I didn’t trust myself to be civil.

“Please, come in, make yourself at home.”

He leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “You plan on being pissed at the world forever?”

I closed my laptop, frozen on the homepage of TMZ.com, showing a picture of Brogan and Chloe. Every goddamned entertainment magazine and gossip site had a picture of her leaving his hotel room. His arm was wrapped possessively around her shoulders, while the other shielded her from the cameras.

Having your broken heart play out in front of everyone in the world was enough to ruin anyone’s mood. The clever headlines that were written just twisted the knife deeper in my soul. “Brogan’s Ex-babe Had His Baby” lead in theNY Postand “Chaos King of Country Has a Kid with Chloe” was on the cover ofUSA Today. I knew it was just there to grab attention and sell papers, but when they were talking about the love of your life, it started to fuck with your head.

I loosened my tie around my neck and fell back into my chair. “It’s kind of hard to put on a happy face when it feels like the world is giving you the middle finger everywhere you turn,” I said, peeking into the brown paper bag, confirming that it was a pastrami Rueben from my favorite deli. I tried to take a bite, but I couldn’t muster up the appetite.

Coffee during the day and vodka at night had been my diet for the past two days.

Brad opened a bag of chips then popped one into his mouth. “The least you could say would be, ‘thanks Brad for bringing me my favorite sandwich.’”

“Sorry, man. Not hungry,” I said, pushing the bag away. “I thought you had a plane to catch?”

“It’s good to see you, too, Jack.” He ignored my comment and shoved the sandwich back in my direction. “Eat it. You don’t need another thing you love going bad,” he said sarcastically.

“You must be confusing me with one of your lackeys, because last time I checked, detective, I didn’t take orders from you.”

Brad had recently left his job with the NYPD and relocated to Washington DC to take over his father’s security business. And by the strangest coincidences, he had just gotten engaged to the love of his life while I was mourning the loss of the very same. Lucky bastard.

He rolled his eyes so hard they practically spun like a slot machine. “So, what’s the plan? Are you just going to sit and sulk, ignore everyone’s calls, cut Tanner off, and pretend Chloe doesn’t exist anymore?”

I may have given him a little too much information last night when drowning my sorrows in a bottle of vodka. He had sent me a picture of their engagement, which made me want to throw my bottle of Tito’s across the room.

Just the mention of their names had me wanting to punch something—mainly him. I knew he wasn’t trying to gloat, yet I couldn’t help but continue to be an asshole.

I shot him a warning look. “You better watch it. You’re skating on very thin ice, my friend.”

“You’re forgetting that I’ve been in your shoes. I’ve had my heart ripped out of my chest; I’ve been lied to, too. I know the kind of damage it can do to your body and soul.”

“So, tell me. How did you move past it all? How were you able to finally let Emily go?”

If Brad had found a way to move on with his life, maybe there was hope for me after all. I’d never seen a man so distraught over a woman like he’d been until I looked in the mirror.

His breakup with Emily was rough, and the fall out was mucho ugly. I ended up smack-dab in the middle because they were both friends of mine.

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