“So, why stay? Why not reach out to your to mom and ask her for help? Don’t you think she would’ve helped you?” I stand and go to her. Her eyes glisten with fresh tears.
“My mother died when Liam was about three years old.”
I take a step back and shake my head.
“What?” she asks.
“Your mother died sometime after Liam moved to California. She’s the reason he went.”
Bianca covers her mouth and lets her tears fall. When I go to her, she puts her hand up, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I must go.”
Before I can ask her to stay, she’s out the door and down my driveway, ignoring my calls to her.
“Son of a bitch,” I say as I slam my door. I need a stiff drink... or ten. I also need to tell Liam how screwed up his father is - maybe he’ll know why Sterling would lie about Betty being dead.
I want to throw my phone across the room, but that would undoubtedly break it, resulting in me having to go out and buy a new one. I can’t even imagine what the headline would be “Liam Page Secures a Secret Phone For His Mistress” or something equally as asinine. Instead, I throw it onto my bed, cover it with a pillow and beat the ever-loving shit out of it.
One would think that I’d feel better, but I don’t. The agony in her voice is the only sound I can hear in the room. When Josie asked if I loved her – her being Layla - it tore my heart out. I should’ve never paused when she mentioned the pictures, but I couldn’t find the words to tell her that it’s all a lie. The only thing I could think of was “it’s not how it looks” and, in my eyes, that makes me look as guilty as fuck. Everything about that conversation went wrong. I knew something was up with all the missed calls and her disjointed voicemail. I should’ve answered the phone differently, but after the bullshit from the media junket, my mind was fried.
Losing my cool with my wife isn’t something I’m proud of. Fighting over the phone isn’t either, and it’s definitely not something I like to do. But finding out my wife believes those shitty ass magazines before even speaking to me is fucking painful. Time and time again, I’ve shown her where it says I was in one place, when in fact I was with either her or Noah. For her to assume that I’d kiss another woman tells me that something is wrong in our marriage, I just don’t know what. But we need to figure it out and fix it because I need her to support my career, just as I’ve supported hers. I can’t do this without her.
I told her before we hung up that I’d call her after Noah is asleep so she and I can have some adult time. I miss my wife and, frankly, my hand isn’t cutting it anymore. Cold showers and lotions are becoming my enemy. I need her to recharge me, to fuel me.
The whiskey taunts me, teasing me. There are too many habits here for me to fall back into and drinking heavily is one of them. The last time I intentionally set out to get drunk was the night before I left to go back to Beaumont. I was lonely and desperate, spending the majority of my nights in a stupor so I wouldn’t have to remember in the morning. That all changed when I hopped on my motorcycle and checked in at the seedy motel just outside of town.
I pour two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler and bring it to my lips. My hard liquor of choice swirls in the glass, waiting to be tasted. One sip won’t hurt. It’ll soothe my anger and pain. It’ll help me fall asleep, and maybe I’ll dream something happy about my life, instead of the recurring nightmare that I’ve been having.
It’s not a nightmare though, at least not when it starts out. I move the chair to face the window and sit down, setting my glass of whiskey on my knee. I close my eyes and it only takes a coupl
e of minutes before the scene replays all over again.
“I can’t be with you anymore, Josephine.”
The slap burns my skin as I hold my hand in place of where hers had just been. When I look at her, I see rage. Never in the years that I’ve known her, have I seen her like this. And I swear she’s just grown five inches and is towering over me.
“Get your spoiled ass in my room now, Liam Westbury, before I cause a scene.”
I do as she says, jumping when she slams the door behind me. Her room is decorated with pictures of her and me, Mason and Katelyn and the four of us together. It looks like Kodak took a crap in here, and it makes me jealous that I’m not a part of her life here.
Josie wraps her arms around me, kissing the spot she slapped. “I’m sorry, baby; it’s just that I’m pregnant.”
Pregnant
Pregnant
“Beaumont’s Golden Boy named manager at Stop ‘N Shop.”
I startle awake, spilling the whiskey down the side of my pants. I remember the night I went to her dorm to ends things, but the dream I keep having doesn’t end like that. She tells me she’s pregnant and my life fast forwards to working in a grocery store to support my family. I would’ve dropped out of college and married her on the spot. I would’ve never been able to provide for her the way she needed me to.
I meant to get her pregnant; although she doesn’t know it and I don’t think I can ever tell her. It was my intention, the night I left campus and drove all night to get to her, yet I didn’t know it was until I felt myself on edge and I made the decision not to pullout. I wanted her pregnant. I needed the excuse to move back to Beaumont and be with my friends.
One weak moment is all it takes and the rest of the whiskey is down my throat. There wasn’t much left, at least that’s what I’m telling myself as I finish off the glass. The burn feels good and instantly starts to numb my self-inflicted pain. My pity party has a reservation for one, and I’ve already arrived.
Pouring another two fingers, I don’t waste any time letting the potent liquor coat the back of my throat. I’ve missed this flavor and I can tell it’s missed me. I pour another, and another, until the bottle provided by the hotel is barely inches from the bottom. The more I drink, the louder her voice is.
“Do you love her?”
“Do you love her?”