Chapter 41: JASON

I stumbled through the front door somewhere past three in the morning. My head was fuzzy enough to make my vision blurry. The living room swam a little when I finally felt my way into it in the dark. Dropping heavily onto the couch, grateful it was sturdy enough to take my weight, I kicked off my shoes and let the ceiling spin above me until everything went dark.

‘What the hell was that?’ I wondered dimly, shifting positions on the couch, and rubbing at the offending spot on my head.

A sharp smack at the back of my head, followed by an angry, “Jason Carter Spencer! You get up this minute!”

The sound of mom’s voice was enough to rouse me from my drunken slumber. I groaned and threw an arm over my eyes to block the sudden glare of lights.

Why was everywhere so fucking bright? And why was my mother standing over me, her arms crossed, the same look she used to give me whenever I came home past curfew in high school on her face?

“What is a grown-ass man like you doing passed out on the couch and smelling like a bar?” she said, voice tight.

Shit. It was never a good thing when she cursed.

My arm came off my face, and I squinted my eyes to look at her — yes, she really was mad at me, the glower on her face enough to shrivel a man’s balls off.

My mouth felt woolly when I made to speak, and something that felt suspiciously like spittle trailed at the corners of my mouth. I closed my eyes, absolutely mortified. This was a whole other level of low.

“I thought you quit?” she continued. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to touch another bottle again, Jason?”

Oh my God. Here we go again!

“What do you think would happen if it were your brother who found you instead?”

I winced, the last of the cobwebs clearing from my head. Yes, I’d made a mistake, obviously. I should not have let my friends egg me on, but after that first cup of alcohol — and the others after it — it’d have been a miracle if I remained sober. But what else could I have done? Kiss Stancy?

Besides, why was Mom acting like one night of spiraling would undo all the years of hard work?

“And where was that girlfriend of yours?” Mom was on a tirade now. “I don’t see her with you.”

I cleared my throat, so over this interrogation. “Leave Chloe out of this, Mum.” My voice was rough and raspy. “I’m sorry about this. It would not happen again.”

What I really wanted to say was: Don’t you think it was time everybody stopped acting like I was one step away from snapping.

This was the reason I didn’t come home.

Pushing up off the couch, I stretched my sore muscles, bones cracking. I walked past her, tripping over my shoes and bending to pick them up — and almost falling over.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I said, a hiccup interrupting my words.

Mom’s lips thinned, but she didn’t say anything further, which worked fine for me.

I understood her anger at me — after all, she’d had a front row seat to the shit hole I’d dug myself into about twelve years ago, but damn if I assumed that was a long-ass time to hold those grudges against me.

I expected that from Derek, not my mother.

The bedroom was dark and quiet when I walked in, the bed already made. Was Chloe up already? How weird.

Being an author meant she could afford to take it easy in the mornings — which she always did, so it really was weird to not see her curled up beneath the sheets. It was probably best she wasn’t in anyway — I certainly did not need another lecture so early in the morning.

And a lecture was definitely on its way.

I still hadn’t understood what went wrong between us. I mean, I wasn’t averse to marriage, but there was a reason I was still a bachelor at thirty – and it was certainly not for lack of female companions. We’d met at one of my firm's functions when she’d tagged along with Heidi, her manager and one of my friends, Jordan’s girlfriend.

To be fair, I’d been attracted to her laid-back charisma — well, that and her insane body, but after a night together, and several more after that, I’d asked her to be my girlfriend. And she’d accepted.

This was the first time in our relationship she was behaving like this — acting out of character and throwing allegations around every other day. I understood that she felt threatened by Stancy for whatever reason, but I’d also done my best to assure her Stancy was simply a close friend. Surely that was enough, no?

I stripped off my clothes, leaving them on the bathroom floor, and stepped into the shower. The water was hot, beating against the back of my neck until the fog cleared completely. I shut the water off when it began to run cold and dried off, feeling slightly rejuvenated. Tying the towel tightly around my waist, I caught my reflection in the mirror across me, and winced.

My eyes were bloodshot and a little dazed. Exactly how much had I had to drink last night? Nothing a cup of coffee wouldn’t cure. A cup — or two.

I squeezed toothpaste onto my brush, hoping to scrub the foul taste in my mouth off. Taking out the first thing I laid my hands on — cargo shorts and an old basketball jersey — I dressed quickly and headed downstairs in search of coffee.

“...think it’s a bad sign?” Mom was saying when I entered the kitchen.

The deer-in-the-headlights look on her face told me she’d been gossiping about me to Dad. Ignoring their stares, I walked to the coffee maker and poured myself a steaming cup. Draining it quickly, I welcomed the burning trail it left behind on its way down and refilled the cup.

Only then did I turn to them. “Please, by all means, go on,” I said, cradling the coffee cup and warming my hands. “You think last night was a bad sign,” I deadpanned. “You haven’t seen me in over a decade, and the one time I make a bad choice, you’re suddenly scared I’ll relapse and go apeshit, right? Is that all, or are there any other grievances you want to add to the list?”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way, Jason,” Dad said, sitting up from his slouch at the table. “You know she means well.”

“Yeah. By holding one mistake over my head for this long?” I queried, my hands tightening around the cup.

“It was more than a mistake, Jason,” Mom said tightly, her jaw clenched to the point of pain. “Mabel nearly—”

“Nearly what?” I asked softly. “Why don’t you say it? Why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me you still see me as a murderer?”

“Shut up!” Mom whispered sharply.

“That’s enough, Jason,” Dad slammed his hands on the table, startling me momentarily. It was the most animated I’d seen him since I came home. Since the incident that’d nearly torn our family apart twelve years ago.

“Is there even any reason for me to be here?” I asked after a moment of silence. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow — Chloe and I,” I continued, cutting her explanation short.

I did not want to hear it. Not right now anyway.

I loved my parents, but maybe a relationship just was not possible anymore. I left the kitchen, still clutching the now lukewarm coffee, and headed upstairs, stopping by the living room to check for my fiancee.

No Chloe.

I took a detour outside, but she wasn’t on the porch, or the poolhouse — or anywhere around the compound.

Frowning, I returned to my room to rummage the pockets of my discarded pants for my phone. Pulling up her contact info, I hit dial.

It rang once, then the automated voicemail kicked in: This is Chloe Davis. I’m unavailable to come to the phone right now, so leave a message, and I’ll call you back.

I hung up and tried again — same result.

My forehead was creased with the intensity of my scowl now. Where could she have gone so early in the morning? Or had she returned home at all?

Nate said she did.

Pacing the length of the floor, my eyes caught the glittering diamond on the nightstand. Feeling the first real drop in my stomach, I walked over on shaky legs, picked up the ring, and sat heavily on the bed.

It was Chloe’s engagement ring all right.

What did that mean? Why was the ring here when she wasn’t? Was she mad at me again for some reason? Now that I thought about it, she seemed angry at the party.

A foreboding feeling ran down my spine. Getting up so fast my head spun crazily, I rushed to the closet — it was empty. So was her stuff in the bathroom?

I dialed her number for the third time, and when the cheery sound of her voicemail came over the speaker, I flung the phone across the room in anger, watching it hit the wall and fall to the ground, broken.

Just like I felt.

She was gone — without even leaving me a note.