Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 101488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Rattling the ice cubes that had barely had a chance to melt in my glass, I decided to make a call. I didn’t give a fuck if it was 2:30 in the morning.
A groggy woman’s voice answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Do you have an emerald ring?”
“Hudson? Is that you?”
I heard a man’s voice grumble in the background, but couldn’t make out what he’d said.
“Yeah, it’s Hudson, Alana.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“Can you just tell me if you have an emerald ring?”
“I don’t understand…”
My voice boomed. “Just fucking answer the question. Do you or do you not have an emerald ring from your husband?”
“No, I don’t. But what’s going on, Hudson? Is everything okay?”
Alana must’ve covered the phone, because I heard muffled voices, and then a few seconds later, my supposed best friend came on the line. “Hudson? What the hell is going on?”
“Your wife doesn’t have a fucking emerald ring.”
“Are you drunk?”
I ignored him. Whether I was drunk or not didn’t change the facts. “You know who does have a fucking emerald ring?”
“What are you talking about?”
“My ex-wife. That’s who has the fucking emerald ring. The one you told me you went shopping to get for your new girlfriend when I came home from Boston early.”
The line went quiet for a moment. Eventually, Jack cleared his throat. “Where are you?”
“The bar down the block from your house. Get your scrawny ass down here, or I’ll be at your apartment in ten minutes.” Without waiting for a response, I hung up and tossed my phone on the bar. Then I held up my empty glass to the bartender. “I’ll take another.”
***
Jack said nothing as he settled himself on the stool next to me.
I couldn’t even look at him. My voice was eerily calm as I stared down into my glass. “How could you?”
He didn’t immediately respond. For a moment, I thought he was going to try to play dumb, or worse, deny it—but at least he gave me that much respect.
“I wish I had an answer to that question,” he said, “other than I’m a fucking piece of shit.”
I scoffed and brought my drink to my lips. “Probably the first honest thing I’ve heard out of your mouth in years.”
Jack raised his hand for the bartender and ordered a double scotch. We waited until his glass was filled to continue.
“How long?” I asked.
He sucked back half of his glass and set it down on the bar. “About a year.”
“Were you in love with her, at least?”
Jack shook his head. “No. It was just sex.”
“Great,” I sneered. “Twenty-five years of friendship for just sex. Lexi didn’t even give a good blowjob. She was all fucking teeth.”
Through my peripheral vision, I saw Jack hang his head. He shook it for a long time. “I think I wanted to win at something,” he said. “You were always smarter, stronger, taller, more popular, and got all the girls you could handle. After we were dating for a few weeks, Alana admitted that the night we met her in that bar, she and her friend had walked over to talk to us after she’d called dibs on you. Even my wife would’ve picked you over me if she’d had the choice.” He shook his head again. “We were drunk the first time it happened, if it’s any consolation.”
“It’s not.”
We sat side by side for a solid ten minutes without either of us saying another word. I finished off my fourth scotch while my loyal friend sucked back his double. I wasn’t a big drinker, so the alcohol had really hit me. My vision was blurry, and I felt the room starting to spin.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to face Jack for the first time. He did the same, meeting my eyes as he blew out a jagged exhale.
“Is she yours?” Just asking the question caused a physical ache in my chest, and my voice cracked when I spoke again. “Is my daughter yours?”
Jack swallowed. “Lexi was never sure. As far as I know, she still isn’t.”
I pulled out my billfold. Tossing two hundreds on the bar, I raised my hand to call the bartender. “Hundred for the drinks. The other hundred is to not help him up.”
The bartender looked confused, so as I stood and steadied myself, I pointed to the piece-of-shit man I’d called my best friend for more than two decades. “He was fucking my wife while I was married to her.”
The bartender’s brows shot up, and he looked between us.
“Turn around,” I muttered at my oldest friend.
Jack turned in his seat to face me. I had to close one of my eyes to only see one of him, but he never raised his hands as I hauled back and landed a punch square in the center of his face. It was the least he could’ve done—taken it like a man.