A Mess of a Man (Cruel & Beautiful #2)(2)
“I love you,” I whisper for the first time and in place of goodbye. I can only pray we both survive what’s to come.
The muddled sky is a reflection of the state of my life as I watch my best friend’s casket being lowered into the ground, gone forever. Drew, at twenty-nine, has passed on. And it’s so unf*cking fair. I stare, longing for a state of numbness, only to be denied. I feel far too much as the fist-sized organ in my chest continues to beat, ridiculing me that his doesn’t. It isn’t right and it’s killing me … slowly.
The beautiful woman who clings to me as if I could anchor her doesn’t belong to me. Cate belongs to Drew in the way poets write in sonnets. They belong together, as immortalized in every chick flick ever made.
For him, I do my damn best to hold his widow steady. Widow. Shit.
She needs a rock, not the * who’s lost everything that matters outside of his family. So I mask the emptiness that covers me like a blanket with a pair of useless sunglasses. They hide my red-rimmed eyes as the memories of his last few good days spent hanging at his house burn the backs of my eyelids.
Cate fairs little better as fat tears spill down her cheeks reminding me how life will never be the same. Who will put up with my shit or call me out on it when I need it?
Moisture rolls down my face and I’m grateful for the rain that bursts from the clouds with perfect f*cking timing. I open an umbrella and hold it over Cate and me. When the last words are spoken, we shuffle forward, like zombies, and drop freshly cut roses into the hole that’s the size of my messed up heart. I shouldn’t be so screwed up over losing him. It wasn’t like we were secret lovers or anything. But he was my other half in the way only a best friend could be. He had everything I didn’t. A good family, a career he enjoyed, and a woman he loved more than his last breath. So why did he have to be the one to die?
I would have volunteered to take his place if given the chance. What did I have to leave behind? A career that I love to hate? A woman? The thoughts make me laugh. My career is currently in the hands of my father. And women have never meant anything more to me than a temporary place for me to bury myself balls deep.
“Ben, I can’t.”
Cate’s shaky words are an echo of my own. Life is far too short and so very unfair. My next words are hollow, but I force them from my throat anyway.
“You can, for Drew.”
My memory from that awful day fades as the ice knocks around in the glass that I swirl in my hand. They say it’s a woman that always messes with your head. That’s not always true. In my case, I’m still royally f*cked up over watching Drew die from cancer—stolen from this world long before his time. And that’s all I seem to be able to focus on. Not the woman I just finished f*cking minutes ago.
She excitedly prances in front of me like she’s walking over hot coals, droning on, her voice like nails on a chalkboard as I tune her out. She’s striking in a way that any man can see. Yet any interest I ever had in her has long since fled. The fact I didn’t get off during our last round of sex is further proof it’s time for me to move on. My mistake is making sure she always gets hers, because she’s otherwise oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm. But I’m tired of going through the motions. It’s time for me to man up and figure out the best way to tell her to lose my number without it ending in her shouting curses at me. Not that I wouldn’t deserve it. I just don’t have the energy to endure it tonight.
“Ben, did you hear me?” Karen asks.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, dislodging the word from there.
“Anyway, I thought if you could get the day off tomorrow, we could drive up to the hospital tonight.”
I don’t have to ponder her question as I finally focus on her. She’s putting on the white lacey bra I’d taken off her an hour earlier. My eyes drop and I’ll admit she has a great ass. It’s even still a little red from my earlier taps. But nothing, there’s nothing there but pretty window dressing.
When she glares at me, I finally answer her question with another question.
“Why?”
She stops and scowls at me. “Why what?”
Here we go. Her voice has already started to rise.
“Why would I take the day off? I barely know the woman.” The truth is, I hardly know Karen.
“Why?” Her face turns an angry shade of pink. “I would think after all this time together you’d want to get to know my family.”
I’m about to say the wrong thing, but I say it anyway. “Why’s that?”
Her hands go to her waist and she leans towards me in that school teacher about to discipline a student kind of way. She wants a reaction and I can’t seem to wipe the bored look off my face. My hope is she gets my meaning without me spelling it out.
“Why?” She stops and takes a deep breath as if that will calm her. But I know better. Three. Two. One. Bingo. I see the change when she finally gets it. Her face softens and her hand reaches out to stroke mine. If she’s trying to smooth out my annoyed expression, it’s too late.
“The cancer thing freaks you out, I understand that. But it’s been …” she pulls back and taps her fingers against the side of her face, “what, over a year now? Granted, it’s sad your best friend died. In fact, it’s tragic. But life moves on, Ben.” Then as an afterthought she adds, “Sometimes I wonder if you two were more than just friends.”