Page 12 of Dirty Husband
My head knows better.
My heart—
There's nothing left. Only this empty space in my chest.
No doubt she's thinking the same thing right now. Sitting in the back seat of my limo, asking herself if there's any point in appealing to my mercy.
Under different circumstances, I'd pay for her father's treatment. I'd make sure someone was taking care of her.
Right now, I don't have the luxury.
I have to convince her. Whatever it takes.
Worse, I have to stay sober while I do it.
Nothing to dull my thoughts. Or my aches. Or that voice in my head reminding me exactly how powerless I was.
It's no use dreaming of bourbon.
Jasmine made her stance clear six years ago. When she gave me that ultimatum, I thought she was bluffing.
I did what I always did in negotiations. I called her on it.
But she wasn't bluffing. She walked away.
I respect her for making good on her promise. But I don't forgive her.
Jasmine: This is really overkill.
She's on her way. Almost here. Almost in this space that's mine and mine alone. The only place that makes sense.
Work is easy. A set of rules to manipulate. Victory conditions to obtain.
No subjectivity. No interpretation. No quests for truth.
Mom always went on about art and truth. For a long time, I thought it mattered. Now—
There's only one thing that matters.
Jasmine Lee as my wife.
* * *
My phone buzzeswith my driver's alert. She's downstairs.
In the lobby.
At the security desk.
The elevator.
My gaze shifts to the decanter on the glass table. A dark amber. Almost as dark as her eyes.
Only it's not a whiskey that will warm my throat.
It's iced tea.
Lock's idea. His full name is Aalock Oza, but I call him Lock, what with his role as the keeper of my sobriety.
