Chapter 33 Thirty Three
The bar was dim, soft jazz played from hidden speakers, the notes slow and heavy, matching the weight sitting squarely on Kennedy Walton’s shoulders.
He sat alone in a corner booth, his jacket discarded beside him, a half-filled glass of whiskey resting untouched in his hand. He’d been nursing the same drink for nearly an hour.
Around him, laughter rose and fell—groups of friends clinking glasses, couples leaning into each other, strangers sharing stories that would be forgotten by morning. Life, moving on effortlessly.
Kennedy felt removed from it all.
His mind refused to settle, looping relentlessly back to the same image: Antonia standing in his office, composed, distant, placing that envelope on his desk like a final verdict. Her calm had unsettled him more than anger ever could have.
I’m relocating. Permanently.
The word echoed again.
He lifted the glass and took a slow sip, the burn sliding down his throat, doing nothing to dull the ache pressing against his chest. He welcomed the pain—it felt like punishment. Appropriate.
He deserved it.
The stool across from him scraped softly as someone pulled it back.
“What brings you hiding in a place like this?”
Kennedy looked up.
Nelson stood there, scanning him with concern that wasn’t even remotely hidden. His casual shirt was half-buttoned, his jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes sharp despite the relaxed exterior.
For the first time that evening, something in Kennedy’s expression shifted.
Relief.
“You came,” Kennedy said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Nelson raised an eyebrow. “Of course I did. You don’t call me sounding like that and expect me to ignore it.”
He slid into the seat opposite Kennedy, gesturing to the bartender. “Whiskey. Same as his.”
Kennedy exhaled, leaning back. “Thanks.”
Nelson studied him closely as the drinks arrived. “Alright,” he said after a beat. “Talk to me Ken, what's going on? You sounded… off earlier.”
Kennedy’s fingers tightened briefly around his glass. “She resigned.”
Nelson frowned. “Who?”
“Antonia.”
Recognition dawned instantly. “Your Antonia?”
Kennedy nodded quietly, “My fake fiancee.”
Nelson stilled. “What do you mean resigned?”
“She handed in her resignation today,” Kennedy said, staring into his drink. “Effective immediately. She’s leaving the city.”
Nelson’s brows shot up. “Leaving the city? Just like that?”
Kennedy nodded once. “Relocating. Permanently.”
“That’s… sudden.”
“Yes.”
Nelson took a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving Kennedy. “And you’re taking this badly because…?”
Kennedy let out a humorless laugh. “Because I let her go.”
Nelson leaned back. “You want to expand on that?”
Kennedy hesitated. For a moment, he considered brushing it off, hiding behind vague explanations. But the weight inside him was too heavy to keep carrying alone.
“You were right, I think I have fallen for her,” he admitted finally. “We had sex. It shouldn’t have happened. But it did.”
Nelson’s expression sharpened. “And?”
“And I told myself it was a mistake,” Kennedy continued. “I told her the same thing.”
Nelson’s jaw tightened. “Let me guess. You didn’t mean it.”
Kennedy’s silence was answer enough.
“She’s gone now,” Kennedy said quietly. “She looked… resolved. Like she’d already said goodbye weeks ago.”
Nelson shook his head slowly. “So go after her.”
Kennedy looked up sharply. “What?”
“Go after her,” Nelson repeated. “Talk to her. Tell her how you really feel.”
“I can’t,” Kennedy said immediately.
“Why not? Because of Ruth?”
“I can't just move on and be happy with another woman,” Kennedy sighed. “I wasn't the best husband to Ruth. I rarely spent time with her. I was too busy building my company, and then she left this world.” He looked at Nelson, "The guilt won't let me."
Nelson scoffed. “You’re listing excuses.”
Kennedy snapped. “What don’t you understand?”
“I understand perfectly,” Nelson shot back, leaning forward now. “I understand you feel you didn't give your best to Ruth, and it would be unfair to give it to another woman.”
Kennedy clenched his jaw. “I’m doing right by Ruth.”
“You’re being a coward,” Nelson said bluntly.
The word hit hard.
Kennedy’s eyes darkened. “Watch it.”
Nelson didn’t back down. “Why are you being so hard on yourself? You care about Antonia. That much is obvious. And instead of owning it, you pushed her away and called it a mistake, just because you're guilt-ridden.”
Kennedy swallowed. “It was the right thing to do.”
“If it was,” Nelson said sharply, “you wouldn’t be sitting here drowning yourself in whiskey.”
Kennedy looked away, his grip tightening on the glass.
“She’s leaving,” Nelson continued. “That’s your cue. Last chance. If you don’t speak now, you lose her for good.”
Kennedy’s voice dropped. “I don't know if I can love her the way she deserves. What if I ruin her life? What if dragging her back into this only hurts her more?”
Nelson’s expression hardened. “Or what if she leaves believing she meant nothing to you?”
That struck something deep.
Kennedy’s chest tightened. “I don’t get to want things,” he said quietly. “Not when they cost other people peace.”
Nelson stared at him for a long moment, disappointment flickering openly now. He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back.
“You know what?” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t listen to this.”
Kennedy looked up. “Nelson—”
“No,” Nelson cut in. “I came here worried you were falling apart. Turns out, you’re choosing it.”
He tossed some cash onto the table. “If you can’t fight for what you want, then don’t sit here crying over what you lose.”
The words were sharp. Final.
Nelson grabbed his jacket and turned away.
Kennedy watched him go, something hollow cracking open inside his chest.
The bar felt quieter after that.
Lonelier.
He stared down at the untouched whiskey Nelson had ordered, then pushed it aside.
Nelson was right.
And that was the worst part.
Kennedy Walton sat alone in the dim corner long after his friend had left, the truth settling heavily around him like smoke.
If Antonia disappeared from his life for good.
He would have no one to blame but himself.
He had to stop her before it was too late.