Page 83 of Mister Cowboy
Love had cost him everything, and he’d never regretted it.
Tears streamed down his face as Brecken threw the journal at the wall and let out a scream. Placing his head in his hands, he cried, cursing not his father, but himself.
45
Brecken
“Brecken! Open, the damn door. I know you’re in there.” Neither the pounding on the door or Tina’s angry voice fazed him. Covering his eyes with a pillow, he blocked out the afternoon sun coming in through the windows and returned to trying to get some sleep. The pounding stopped, and he relaxed, satisfied that Tina had let him be as he rolled onto his side on the couch.
He’d barely registered the sound of footsteps before the pillow was ripped out of his hands, and he rolled to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder.
“What the fuck?” He locked eyes with Tina, who stood over him, holding the pillow and looking ready to smack him with it.
“What the fuck? I’ll tell you what the fuck. No one can get a hold of you.”
“Yeah, I turned my phone off. I needed a few hours of silence.”
“It’s been three days since anyone has been able to reach you.”
He shrugged, ignoring her piercing gaze.
“It’s Wednesday, Brecken.Wednesdayafternoon. You know, the middle of the work week. A day we usually reserve for meetings. Important meetings, like the one you were supposed to have with the new contractor this morning.” She tapped her foot while his schedule and the meeting Martin had set up for him, came back to him all at once.
“Shit.”
“Yes, precisely.”
He racked his brain, trying to remember where the last three days had gone but came up with nothing but a haze of takeout, alcohol, and bad television.
“Is he still in town?” Brecken asked, pushing himself to his feet.
Tina smirked and nodded. “Yes, I told him that you’d been pulled away for an emergency, but that we would meet him for a late lunch in,” she flipped her wrist over and looked at the watch, “thirty minutes.”
He wobbled and looked down at his clothes. When was the last time he’d showered or changed? “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Take twenty, you smell.” Tina sat, propping her feet on the cluttered coffee table. “Go on. I’ll wait.”
He trudged through his apartment, turning on his cell phone and cringing at the number of messages that flashed on the screen. He set the phone on the bathroom counter, trying to avoid looking at the spot where her toothbrush laid on the opposite sink.
Twenty minutes later, he was pulling on his favorite suit—the one he’d been wearing the night he’d met January. Hopefully, it would be a good luck charm like it had been that day.
“Brecken, let’s go!” Tina’s voice belted down the hallway.
Fixing his tie, he walked down the hall and back into the living room. “All right. I’m ready.”
“Much better. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were looking your best,” she said smugly, looking at him over the top of her glasses.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking down at his suit.
Tina stood, and they walked to the door. He held it open for her, and she walked out into the hallway. “It means I can tell by the bags under your eyes and the sad look on your face that you’re still a mess on the inside, regardless of the way you fill the suit out.”
His lips pulled into a small smile, and he pulled at the front of his jacket. “So, you’re saying I’ve got that whole broody, wounded hero thing going on?”
Tina rolled her eyes. “Come on before I regret saving your ass.”
46
January
