Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
17
Jamison
“Ramona!”
My pulse roars in my ear as I slam my fist against her bedroom door. I know she’s in there. I fucking know it. But she’s ignoring me. Fastidiously.
“Ramona!” I yell again, slamming my fist against the wood to the sound of silence on the other side. I grind my jaw, dropping my forehead to the door.
“Goddamnit,” I groan quietly. “Just talk to me, Ramona.”
“No.”
Her actually responding has my heart leaping into my throat.
“Ramon—”
“You fucked Melissa Cruz?” she says softly.
My eyes narrow, my rage boiling up inside.
“Fuck no,” I hiss.
I hear the sound of a sniffed sob through the door, and my heart breaks as I try the knob. It’s locked, of course.
“Open the door, Ramona,” I groan. “Please.”
“No,” she hitches out. “And I don’t even believe you anyways.”
“Yes, you do,” I hiss. “Ramona, you know me—”
“No, I don’t!” she sobs, making me wince as the knife twists in my heart.
“I—I thought I did,” she says thinly. “And I was very, very wrong.”
“Goddamnit,” I growl, slamming my palm on the door. “Ramona! You know I meant every fucking thing I said!”
“I want to,” she croaks. “Jamison, I want to so badly. But I can’t. This…” she sucks back a sob.
“This was mistake.”
My heart wrenches, my jaw tight as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Fuck, Ramona. You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” she whispers through the door. “Jamison, this… you and I…”
She starts to cry, and I drop to my knees, pounding at her door.
“This was never going to be,” she sobs. “Please just go away.”
“Not a chance,” I hiss. “Ramona, I’m not leaving until—”
“Please, Jamison,” she pleads softy, her voice so vulnerable and broken. “Please, just go.”
“Ramona—”
“I’m asking you,” she sobs quietly, her voice breaking. “Please.”
It’s a blur as I hear her put music on loudly in her room behind the locked door. My heart twists and breaks, and I’m vaguely aware of getting to my feet and staggering my way back down the hall. I make it downstairs without falling down them and stumble my way into my dad’s study. I’m not much of a drinker after all the shit with my mom, and my dad doesn’t imbibe at all. But he keeps some fancy shit around for guests or client meetings. And that’s what I’m after. Because right now, I need to numb.
I need to drown.
I need to kill the hurt welling up inside of me.
I drink straight from the bottle of old-looking scotch, groaning as the smoky heat warms my insides, already doing its job of numbing. I take a second pull, and a third, staggering my way over to the couch and falling into it as my pulse roars and carries the alcohol through my system. I pace myself, but I just keep drinking, my mind shattered and all over the place until at some point, I’m aware of the office door opening.
“Hey, buddy.”
I glance up to see my dad, who’s apparently back from his trip with Celia. I just nod and pluck the bottle off the coffee table. My dad frowns, but he doesn’t say anything as he steps in and closes the door behind him.
“You okay, J?”
I nod, saying nothing. He doesn’t yell at me for drinking, he’s just concerned. That’s the kind of dad he is. He gets that yelling would accomplish nothing right now, and he also gets that me drinking scotch from a bottle isn’t exactly normal for me.
“Jamison.”
“I’m fine,” I growl quietly.
Dad sighs. “Yeah? Well, bullshit.”
He steps over to me and settles into a chair across from me.
“Talk to me, buddy. What’s going on.”
I laugh a short, brittle laugh.
“This might be more than you’re ready for, dad,” I growl, tapping my fingers against the bottle.
He smiles. “I mean, my other son just moved in with his high school teacher halfway across the country in Chicago and was talking to me the other day about marriage.” He chuckles. “So, try me, J.”
I grin wryly.
“Forget it, dad. This one is…” I shake my head. “You’d prefer another Ethan situation to this.”
He nods slowly, watching me as I pluck at the label to the bottle.
“Got anything to do with Ramona?”
I tense at his words, but I just look away, saying nothing.
“Jamison—”
“Dad.”
He sighs. “Look, buddy. Your mom and I never clicked. Getting married and all of that was just something we knew was the next step, so we did it, even though there was nothing there. Celia, though?”
He smiles and shakes his head.
“That was a spark, kid. That one I felt right down to my soul. And I just knew.”
“I’m happy for you, dad,” I say quietly but sincerely. “Ethan is, too, you know.”
He smiles wryly.
“I want to be happy for you too, Jamison.”
“I’m working on it,” I growl.
“Talk to her.”
“Let’s drop this.”
“Let’s not.”
I look up, glaring at him, but he just glares right back.
“You think I don’t know a lover’s spat between two people when I see it?”