Intoxicated (20 page)

“This particular facility has a tremendous success rate. It would be to your wife’s advantage to give it a try.”

“Can I see her?”

Jack followed the doctor to Chelsea’s room. At the door, the doctor placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I have to warn you that she’s been quite combative and we had to restrain her.”

“Yeah, I bet.”
 

Chelsea looked small and helpless on the bed, dark circles under her eyes. Padded restraints tied her arms and legs to the bed, holding her immobile. When she saw him, she turned her face toward the wall.

“I bet you think this is funny,” she said.

“There’s nothing funny about it.” He took the only chair, dragged it over to the bed, and took a seat where he could see the side of her face. “I think it’s sad and shameful and a waste of a pretty face — but I don’t find anything funny about it.”

“You know that I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re too damned mean.”

She snorted. “You’re such a dick.”

“The doctor says you’re pregnant.”

“He shouldn’t have told you that.” A solitary tear oozed down her cheek and plopped onto the bed sheet forming a gray circle of wet.
 

“What were you thinking, Chels? A baby? You realize that you have got to go to rehab now. You’ve got to make it stick. You have no other choice this time.” She said nothing so he continued. “What about the baby’s dad? Where is he? Have you told him?”

She rolled over and stared at him. The blue cat eyes which were usually so sharp and predatory looked flat and defeated. “It’s your baby, Jack.”

The words punched him in the gut like a fist. His breath rushed out in a whoosh like a burst balloon and all of his dreams for the future along with it.
 

“I can see by your expression that you’re thrilled,” she said, her tone flat. “I knew you would be. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I planned on taking care of things myself. That’s why I came to see you. I needed money to…for the...procedure.”
 

Fuck.

The weight of her confession settled around his shoulders like a cement yoke, choking him, weighing him down until he could barely hold up his head. He let his forehead drop into his palms. He felt the quicksand of failure sucking at his feet, threatening to bury him, to drown him.
 

“How could you let this happen?” His voice came out muffled through his hands. After a couple of deep breaths, he exhaled loudly and sat up straight, looked her in the eye like a man should. Once the initial shock had worn off, anger began to heat his blood.
 

“You were there too, dumb ass. And as I recall, you didn’t have any complaints.” She huffed her bangs out of her face with a mighty breath that sent the raven locks fluttering over her forehead.
 

The stubble of his beard chafed his fingers as he scrubbed both palms over his cheeks. “How can you be so sure it’s mine? We had sex one time in the last three years and it was months ago. Surely you’ve been with someone else since then?”

“It was exactly eleven weeks ago and no, there wasn’t anyone else…” Her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

“Well, you better be damned sure before you go naming me as your baby daddy. You can bet your sweet ass I want a paternity test.” The hot blood of anger surged through his veins bringing a thin sheen of perspiration to his forehead and causing his fists to clench with the urge to hit something. “This is just like you, Chelsea. Always fucking everything up. I swear to God if you’re making this up…”

A nurse walked in and squelched the threat that came to his lips. With great effort, he bit it back and nearly choked on the bitter taste of it.

“I think you should leave now, Mr. Jameson,” the nurse said with an eye on her patient. “Getting upset won’t do either of you any good. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? You’ll both feel better about things tomorrow.”

Seated on a concrete bench in the small courtyard outside the hospital, Jack lowered his head to his hands, scrubbed his face hard, and took a deep breath. After a full minute of deep breathing to slow his racing heart, he patted his breast pocket in search of cigarettes and came up with the one cigarette he carried in case of an emergency just like this one. A small sign in front of the bench read “Smoking is prohibited on hospital property”.
Fuck that,
he thought and lit up anyway. It had been almost a week since his last smoke. The tobacco tasted good on his tongue; the nicotine went straight to his head and left him dizzy. After a few glorious inhales, the panic began to lessen and the shaking in his hands calmed.

How the hell did this happen? It was a stupid question; the same one he’d asked Chelsea in her hospital room. He knew how it had happened. Even though he’d been drunk off his ass and the details were a bit fuzzy, he remembered the important parts. Like drinking entirely too much bourbon at his friend’s bachelor party and finding a naked Chelsea waiting in his bed afterward. As much as he wanted to hold Chelsea responsible, he had known exactly what he was doing and had been a willing participant. The next morning, he’d awakened with a headache the size of Hyde Park and a five-foot eight inch shackle with black hair and exotic blue eyes wrapped around his leg.
 

Yes, that had been a mistake of epic proportions. Chelsea had taken their little roll in the hay as a sign of reconciliation. She’d begun to chatter on about moving in together and all sorts of crazy shit that made his skin crawl. When he’d made his opinions on that subject very clear, Chelsea went off the deep end, throwing shit and screaming about his lack of humanity. The neighbors, alarmed by the racket, called the police and of course, being the man, Jack had gone to jail. He’d been so pissed off at himself and her that he’d filed for divorce the very next day. It was something he should have done years earlier, but it hadn’t really seemed important before then. Chelsea would disappear for months at a time. They hadn’t lived together for years. And somehow the knowledge that he was anchored to someone –
anyone
– had brought him a false sense of security in a life rife with uncertainty.
 

 
The day had begun with so much promise. Despite the little altercation with the Leather Jacket guy at Felony, he’d managed to rake in a profit last night. Not enough to get ahead or to support a family, but enough to show his efforts were effective. With a little more time and some hard work he might be able to pull the place out of debt before the end of the year. The best part of the morning had been waking up with Ally nestled beneath his chin, a pleasure that was much sweeter than anticipated. Her introduction into his life had been a welcome surprise and one that he had no intention of deserting.
 

Chelsea is pregnant
. One small sentence had altered the course of his life forever, had turned his life back to shit again. He couldn’t think of a curse word foul enough to do the situation justice. No matter how many times he said the words, he just couldn’t wrap his mind around them. Neither he nor Chelsea was equipped emotionally or financially to deal with a child, let alone a lifelong commitment to someone else’s well-being. Hell, he had trouble enough committing to a daily drink special for Jameson’s Pub. The thought made him snort with wry amusement as he tossed the spent cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his toe.

He was so freaking screwed.

An hour later, he parked himself on a barstool at Felony and watched as Randy disassembled and cleaned the long-suffering marguerita machine. The sight of his friend going about the mundane task of bar maintenance set the world right again. Randy was a walking contradiction with biceps the size of hams and a pair of delicate wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose instead of his usual contact lenses. The tight black t-shirt that stretched over his broad chest had a picture of a soulful-eyed puppy surrounded by butterflies silkscreened on the back of it.

Randy took one look at Jack, raised a ruddy eyebrow, and continued his work. Jack knew that Randy wouldn’t ask for details. He’d wait for Jack to offer up the information.

“I see you’re spending some quality time with your lover.” Jack nodded toward the machine. “Want me to come back later so you two can be alone?”

“Very funny,” Randy said but he smiled. “I hate this damned thing. I don’t understand why you don’t get rid of it. We shouldn’t be serving wussy drinks like this anyway. Just beer and hard liquor.”

“Said the man with butterflies and a puppy on his shirt,” replied Jack.
 

Randy grinned, showing big even white teeth against his sunburned skin. “They were giving them out at the animal shelter. You want one too?”

For all of his brawn and tough guy demeanor, Randy had a soft spot for people in need. Apparently that penchant stretched to animals as well. He was always volunteering for one charity or another, donating his time and muscle to help those less fortunate. His family had been homeless for a spell during his childhood, moving from shelter to shelter, and living off assistance from various organizations. Now, he saw a chance to give back. Jack admired him for that.

“No thanks.” Jack stood up and reached behind the bar to grab a glass and a bottle of bourbon from the shelf.

“That bad, is it?” Randy asked.

“You have no freaking clue,” Jack replied. “I’m in shit up to my eyeballs and I don’t see any way out of it this time.”

“You’ll come out alright,” Randy said with a shrug. “You always do. I don’t know how, but you always do. You’re like a freaking cat that always lands on its feet.”

“Not this time.” He sighed and tossed back a shot. It was cheap bourbon and burned down his throat like battery acid. He sputtered and poured another shot. “Chelsea’s pregnant and she says it’s mine.”

Randy dropped the screwdriver in his hand. It fell onto the floor with a clatter. He didn’t bother to pick it up, just stood there staring at Jack with shock on his face.

“My sentiments exactly,” Jack replied.
 

“Shit.” Randy shoved a hand back through his auburn hair. “I knew it was bad but I had no idea it was that bad. How did this happen?”

Jack raised a hand to stop him from going further. “You remember Forrester’s bachelor party? It was that night. It’s the only time we’ve hooked up in the last three years.”

“Dude, you were trashed that night. I told you to stay away from the tequila. Bad things always happen when you drink that.” Randy frowned then bent to pick up the fallen screwdriver. “Are you sure it’s yours? Chelsea’s not the most reliable person when it comes to telling the truth. Didn’t you wrap that thing up?”

Jack hung his head in his hands and groaned. “Hell if I know. I can’t remember a damned thing about that night except waking up with her in my bed. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Randy shuddered at the idea. “So what are you going to do? When’s your divorce final?”

“It won’t be final for another thirty days. It should’ve been finalized a month ago, but Chelsea kept dragging her feet over the settlement. Now I know why.” The bourbon had begun to do the trick, numbing his emotions from the inside out. “I guess I need to call my attorney and find out about child support and visitation and shit like that.”

“You can’t let her raise that child, Jack,” Randy’s voice was soft but it cut into Jack’s thoughts like a knife. “You know that, right? She’s a fucked up mess. I’d hate to see how many ways she could screw up a kid.”

“I know. I know.” The thought had tormented him ever since he found out about the pregnancy. The poor child was screwed from before birth and his heart ached for it. No kid deserved a druggie for a mom or a promiscuous barkeep for a dad. “You and I both know that I’m not cut out for fatherhood. I can’t very well raise a kid from your fold-out couch.”

Randy closed the lid on the marguerita machine with a sigh and tightened the screws before he spoke again. “Well, as I see it, you’ve got a couple of choices here. Either you take the kid or you don’t. You’ve got five or six months to figure it out. Hell, maybe it’s not even yours and all this worry will be for nothing. In the meantime, I think you have no other choice than to get shitfaced drunk.” He pulled a second bottle of bourbon from underneath the counter and set a glass on the bar for himself.
 

“You going to join me?” Jack eyed the second glass with a raised eyebrow. “Or am I going to be two-fisted?”

“Of course, I’m going to join you,” Randy said as he took a big gulp of the liquor. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer alone?” He tapped his chest with the side of his fist. “I’m here for you, man.”

As he spoke, Tasha came in through the side entrance and walked past without a word. Something in the stiffness of her shoulders triggered an alarm in Jack’s subconscious but he was too preoccupied to pay much notice. However, when she threw her purse behind the counter with a huff and stormed into the hallway without a backward glance, pink pigtails swaying, it was enough to rouse him from his misery.

“What’s up with her?” Jack wasn’t really interested but he needed something – anything – to distract him from his thoughts.

“Uh…yeah…I was meaning to talk to you about that.” Randy studied the bourbon bottle in front of him with intense interest.