Chapter 24

Isat outside away from the partygoers, nursing the bottle of whiskey in my hand. I was not in the mood to party, but I was in no condition to drive home.

Murray's buddies had been making nuisances of themselves all night. They didn't seem to get I really wanted to be alone. I was not in the mood for their stupid shit. They were all spoiled rich kids that had gone to the same prep schools we did and got all the perks that went along with being someone from an affluent family.

One of his buddies, Carl I thought, approached me. "How long have you been out?" he asked.

"Why does it matter?" I shot back.

He smirked. "Typical Eugene."

"Excuse me?"

"It's Murray's fucking birthday," he said. "Why do you always have to make everything about you?"

"Fuck you."

One of the other guys happened to be lingering nearby. "Classic Archer moves," he said. "Just go in not giving a shit about anyone. Always burning everything to the ground."

I took another swig of whiskey, the burn of it searing down my throat as I tried to drown out the self-loathing that threatened to consume me.

"Fuck you guys," I said.

Standing up, I stumbled slightly, the world tilting. I gave them a glare before marching away. As I wandered away from the party and into the darkness by myself, the cold night air seemed to clear my head a bit. But not enough to drown out their voices in my head.

I found another spot toward the back of the property. I slid onto a bench and stared at what I assumed was supposed to be a reflection pond or some shit like that. It hadn't been here when I lived in the house. Maybe my family had had a reason to reflect after I left.

I couldn't stop thinking about what I had done. Rather, what I didn't do. I should have been honest. Mary Ellen was the first woman I met that seemed to see beyond my rough exterior.

Mary Ellen deserved better than what I gave her. She deserved honesty, trust, and respect. Instead, I let my fear and shame dictate my actions, and now I'd lost the best thing that had happened to me in years.

The look on her face when my mother blurted out the fact I had gone to prison was forever burned into my brain. Her eyes had widened in shock and disbelief, her mouth slightly agape as if she struggled to form words. For a moment, I had thought that maybe she would ask me to explain, that maybe she would give me a chance to tell her the truth. But instead, she assumed she understood. She walked away without giving me another thought.

I knew crime was crime, but I supposed I justified what I did. It wasn't like I really did anything horrible. No one got hurt. I wasn't a violent person.

I downed the rest of the whiskey in the bottle, letting its harsh burn rip through my chest. I thought it was supposed to dull the pain, but all it did was make my guilt more pronounced. I kept having flashbacks to the hotel room. She had given herself to me. I was the first man to touch her. That was an incredible responsibility, and I betrayed it by withholding the truth.

It was a gift. The most important gift I had ever received. It was something I would always remember and cherish. As the son of wealthy parents, I had received plenty of amazing gifts, but what she gave me was far better. It was special and it meant something.

I looked back at the mansion, the music ruining the silence of the night. It looked like a beautiful prison. I didn't want to be here another minute. I was ready to go home.

I stumbled to my feet, the world spinning around me. Suddenly, my mission changed. I made my way to the bushes on legs that felt like jelly. I barely made it before I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the grass. I felt like shit, both physically and emotionally, as I retched and heaved, the bitter taste of bile burning in my mouth.

After a few horrifyingly long minutes, the vomiting subsided, and I was left hunched over, gasping for air. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and tried to steady myself. The world still spun around me, but the nausea had eased up.

I straightened and leaned against a nearby tree for support. Just when I thought I was going to pass out right there on the ground, a familiar voice cut through my inebriated haze.

"Shit," Murray said. "You look like hell. Did you just puke in our bushes?"

"Yep," I murmured.

"Carl said you headed this way," Murray said. He held out a bottle of water. "I thought you might need this."

I took the water only because I was desperate. "Thanks," I said after I downed half the bottle. "You can go back to your party."

"I'm good," he said.

"I don't need a babysitter," I muttered.

"You're going to puke again," he said. "I'll be here to make sure you don't fall face first into the bushes."

I glared at him. "You might as well go back to your asshole friends. I don't want them to think I'm raining all over your birthday parade. I mean it's not like you don't have a party every year. It's not like you're a grown-ass man having a big-ass birthday party. I'm surprised they didn't bring in a petting zoo for you again. Whatever perfect Murray wants, Murray gets."

"The only asshole here tonight is you," he said bluntly, his words hitting me harder than any punch ever could. "And Mom."

I nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. "I fucked up," I murmured.

Murray led me back to the bench and sat beside me. "Mom shouldn't have thrown you under the bus like that," he said.

"Nope. That was fucked up."

"It was, but you know, it wouldn't have been a thing if you would have told that girl about your past. That's kind of a big thing not to mention."

"I know."

"You don't have to let your past define you, though."

"I know," I said again. He was right, of course, but it was too late for should-haves and could-haves now. All I could do was try to make things right, even if it felt impossible.

"If you liked her, why wouldn't you have just been honest with her?" he asked.

"I don't know. Because she's the best thing that ever happened to me in over a decade. Maybe ever. She's the woman I've been looking for all my life. I finally found her and now she doesn't want anything to do with me."

"She was shocked to learn about your past," he said. "The way Mom put it, she made you sound like you were a fucking hardened criminal."

"Yeah, and that's exactly what Mary Ellen thinks," I said.

I took another drink of the water and stared into the darkness. The night had started out with such promise. Now, it was as if the dark itself had risen up to choke me. I could feel it creeping into my lungs, mixing with the bitter taste of bile and regret. I closed my eyes, trying to collect my thoughts, but the images of Mary Ellen's face when she learned about my past kept playing over and over in my head. The shock. The confusion. The disappointment.

"You could try and talk to her," he suggested.

"What's the point?" I said, shrugging him off. "She'll never look at me the same way again."

"You don't know that," he said, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice.

"I'm sorry for ruining your party," I said. "I didn't mean to cause a scene and draw attention to myself."

Murray laughed. "You just made some of their nights. They haven't had anything this exciting happen to them in a long time. The only reason half of these people come to parties like this is with the hope of getting some juicy gossip."

I groaned. "Great. Once again, I'm the subject of gossip. The rumors will be starting up all over again."

"You can't worry about that," he said. "These people are bored as hell. They live on gossip. They'll move on to the next thing in a day or two."

"What I care about is Mary Ellen," I admitted, my voice hoarse with emotion. "I have to tell her I'm sorry. I have to make it right."

Murray shook his head. "Maybe making it right means letting her go, Gene. You're a mess, and I say that with love. Maybe you should focus on yourself right now. Get right. Then worry about chicks. You can say you're fine, but we both know you're not. You're pissed at Mom and Dad. You're pissed at the bitch that got you locked up. You haven't really moved past all of that."

I bristled at his words, feeling defensive and wounded. Mary Ellen isn't just some girl to me. She's different, special. But Murray's right. I fucked up, and now I have to deal with the consequences.

"She's not just a chick, Murray," I protested, my voice tinged with frustration.

He sighed, his disappointment palpable. "Then why did you treat her like one?"

I had no answer to that question, no excuse for my actions. All I could do was swallow my pride, accept my mistakes, and try to do better in the future. Mary Ellen deserved that much, at least. And maybe, just maybe, if I could find a way to get my shit together, I could earn back her trust and make things right between us. But for now, all I could do was focus on putting one foot in front of the other and try to make it right.

"I need to go home," I said.

He laughed. "You and I both know you're not driving home."

"I know. I'll call a cab."

"Just stay here," he said.

"Fuck that."

"It's not like they'll even know you're here," he said. "They haven't been in the west wing in years. I think there's a family of raccoons living there."

"Murray, I've caused enough trouble for you tonight," I retorted, my voice strained. "I don't need to add being a nuisance to your list of woes."

"But it's not a bother, Gene," he insisted. He knew I was close to breaking, teetering on the edge of self-destruction. "I'd feel better if you stayed here. You're not in any state to be on your own right now."

"Last time I checked, it wasn't your job to babysit me," I snapped, instantly regretting the harshness of my tone. Murray was just trying to look out for me. But right now, I needed to be alone. To lick my wounds in solitude.

"You're right, it's not," Murray said. "But you're my brother. And if I can't look out for you, who will?"

"I know you think I'm a total wreck, but I swear, I'm not as bad as I seem. I'm actually kind of happy with my life. I had purpose before I came here tonight. I was going to help with that fundraiser. I had a good woman. Then I came home."

"And threw it all away," Murray finished for me with a hard sigh. "It's easy to blame the party, or the gossip, or even Mom. But really, it's not about any of that. You need to face your own demons, Gene."

I let out a bitter laugh at his words, my heart heavy in my chest. "You're right," I acknowledged. "I do. But tonight, I just want to drown them."

"I think you've been pretty successful at that." He chuckled.

"They survived. I puked it all up. I'm going to need another bottle."