“I’m still awake, so not enough, apparently.”

He sighs. “Do you want me to get you a plane? Given that it’s midafternoon, you’ve missed your flight.”

I drop my hand and look around the room. I did. I missed my flight. But instead of the panic I expect to feel, I don’t. Maybe I’m just numb?

Or maybe nothing matters anymore.

I’m displaced, a man without a home. The only place that feels like I belong is the one place I can’t go.

“I’ll see about getting another ticket,” I say, my voice devoid of any enthusiasm.

“Dude, let me make some calls. I can get you a private plane in the morning.”

“It’s fine, Fish.”

He scoffs. “If Nicole wasn’t sick as shit, I’d be on my way. I’d haul you over my shoulder and bring you back here and make sure you’re gonna make it—which you will, by the way. But I gotta stay here with her.”

I get up. My body screams at me to sit back down, but I ignore it. The pain feels good in a weird way.

“You’re overreacting,” I say.

“I hope I am,” he mutters. “You’re welcome to stay in the apartment as long as you want. But maybe you should get home and decompress a bit.”

“But maybe you should get home.” I wish.

I stumble around the room until I find my bag on top of a chair with its contents scattered all over the floor. Great.

“I’ll check flights now and let you know,” I say, kicking off my pants. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

“All right. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Call me if you need me, Cole.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Later.”

I end the call and then toss my phone on the bed. There’s no sense in looking for missed calls or texts.

There won’t be any.

Checking for any communication from Palmer will result in me and the bottle of whiskey again.

That won’t help anyone. Least of all my broken heart.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE PALMER

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

PALMER

Just remember that old saying: ‘You won’t get more to deal with than you can handle.’ Or whatever. Isn’t that what they say?” Val asks.

“You know what? Fuck that person.”

Val chuckles. “Sorry. I’m still getting used to ragey Palmer.”

I rest the back of my head against the seat of my car and look at my office trailer. I usually sit in my car and finish my coffee, thinking about all the ways I’m going to slay the day. Especially Mondays. They’re the first day of the week and a start to a new line on the calendar. The possibilities are endless.

But today? This Monday? The possibilities all lead me to the same place: more heartache.