I put the bottle of whiskey to my lips and bit back the burn as it made its way through my chest. I took another swig, hoping it would wash away the never-ending pain, and ran the back of my hand across my mouth.
I was in hell.
And I was done.
I stared at the gun in my hand.
I had tried. No one could say that I hadn’t. For twelve fucking months I had dragged myself out of bed every single fucking day, existing only to put one foot in front of the other. I ate. I worked. I pushed my body to the extreme at the gym. And sometimes I even fucked just so I could feel something—anything but the pain of losing Wendy—hating myself more and more with every passing day without her. Because no matter how hard I tried to keep her alive, the love of my life was dead, and every day I could feel the memory of her pulling further and further away from me.
Yeah, I was done with this shit.
If there was a heaven, then heaven was where I wanted to be.
With her.
And if there was no heaven, if there was just darkness waiting on the other side, then that would be fine too.
Anything but this.
I gripped the handle of the gun and stared at Wendy’s tombstone. I’m coming, baby. I raised my arm and pressed the gun to my temple.
“She’ll kick your ass,” came the voice behind me. “And then she’ll kick it some more.”
I knew without looking that it was Ruger. Wendy’s younger brother.
“You know it’s true. You know this isn’t what she would want.”
I closed my eyes and let the hand holding the gun drop to my side. “Go away, Ruger.”
I felt him walk up behind me. “I can’t do that, Bull.”
Rain ran down my face. I opened my eyes and looked at Wendy’s name carved into the marble tombstone, a renewed pain tightening around my heart. I raised the gun again and felt the cold, wet steel press into my skin.
“You really going to do this to me?” Ruger questioned.
Even through my mental agony, I realized it was a fucking weird thing for him to say. I turned my head but still didn’t look at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Through the corner of my eye I saw him walk around me to stand between me and his sister’s grave.
“I’m only twenty-two fucking years old. My sister just died. You’re really going to splatter my best friend’s brains all over the ground in front of me. Christ, Bull…I’ll end up a fucking basket case. And you know what, it’ll all be your damn fault.”
He crouched down so we were eye-level. And when I looked into his bright eyes, I saw his sister, and my face crumpled. I missed her. I missed our unborn baby. Bone-achingly so. And I wanted her back. Wanted them both back. I didn’t want to feel like this anymore. He had to understand that.
I narrowed my eyes as the rain continued to fall, running in rivulets down my face. “Go home, Ruger.”
But the fucker shook his head. “I can’t do that, man, and you know it.”
Too bad.
I had given him the option.
He wasn’t my responsibility. I couldn’t make him leave.
But he needed to look away.
Because I was ready.
Baby, I’m coming…
With a rush, I raised the gun to my temple and pulled the trigger.
Unfortunately, my motor skills were bourbon-soaked and unsteady, and no match for Ruger’s lightning-fast reflexes. He wrestled the gun from my hand and knocked me to the ground.
I fought back, sort of, but Ruger pushed me down and put my drunk ass to sleep with his fist.
Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t permanently.
BULL
Present Day
Fuck!
My eyes snapped open.
I wasn’t in my bed.
I had slept over.
Fuck!
I ripped the bed covers off and climbed out, walking naked across the room to where my clothes lay scattered across the floor. She had ripped them off of me the night before, piece by piece as we’d kissed ferociously on our way to her bedroom. The sex had been good. Good enough that I’d fallen into a contented asleep and ended up spending the night. Which wasn’t good. That wasn’t part of the deal. There were rules. My rules. We fucked. We talked. I left. It was a situation that suited us both fine. I couldn’t afford to be with someone who wanted anything more than a